A/N: It's meant to be kind of lighthearted and funny, so if they seem OOC… (nervous laughter) Apologies.
Yzak had known it was a bad idea from the start. But somehow, he hadn't been able to avoid it. Maybe it was the stupid grin plastered on Dearka's mug just before the daring blonde had hurled a loosely packed snowball into his face. All the irate silver-head knew was that it had been unexpected, damn it, and there was no way he was letting that cheeky son of a bitch get away with it.
The pale youth stood mutely, picking the leftover chunks of snow from his now damp silver locks in distaste. "You, Dearka Elsman, are an absolute prick. Are you aware of that?"
The blonde's cheeky grin grew wider. "Oh come on, Yzak. It's just a little snow."
"It's cold."
"Snow tends to be."
The tight-lipped Coordinator looked up sharply, forgetting about the freezing water that matted his hair as he glared icy blue daggers at his opponent. "Either way, it was highly unnecessary." His narrowed eyes widened suddenly at the bent form of the other male in front of him. "What are you doing?" he demanded at once.
Dearka straightened, another handful of the heavy mush clamped between his palms. "Preparing to hit you again, of course."
"Bastard," the targeted soldier gritted, dodging the flying sphere of white in the nick of time. He teetered with an unsteady wobble as his foot caught on a pile of the blasted stuff.
Dearka puckered his lips and whistled, resting one hand on his hip in impressed approval. "Nice dodge. But I'll get you yet." With that the blonde pivoted on the heel of his boot and set off in the opposite direction, towards a small copse of pine trees.
"Like hell you will," Yzak frothed in Dearka's direction, balling his gloved hands into fists at his sides. "And where exactly do you think you're going?" He couldn't see the other male's face, but he was sure the Buster pilot was laughing at him.
"Off to plan my next attack," Dearka called back over his shoulder, departing with a lazy wave of dismissal.
Yzak gaped after him. How dare he.
With a huff of extreme outrage, the silver head examined the terrain around him. Curse the PLANTs, and curse their desire to create false snow just because it was Season to be Jolly. He hated the wet, slushy stuff. Yzak glanced up again, and Dearka was gone. The silver-haired youth snorted in contempt.
Fine. If Dearka wanted a snowball fight, he'd get one.
With a little growl of frustration, he whirled and stalked off to find some decent snow. God damn it, this was war…
◊◊◊
Dearka chuckled as he slipped in and out of the tree trunks, molding a snowball beneath his frosty fingers. The look on Yzak's face had been priceless. Priceless. He couldn't imagine what the irate Duel pilot would do if he learned about the hidden stashes of ammo that had been prepared ahead of time, meticulously and strategically placed in various locations throughout the area in case of emergency. No doubt the silver-hired youth would seek to throttle him.
But really, it was all a matter of technique and quick thinking. The extra piles of snowballs would serve as reassurance should anything go unexpectedly wrong. But it wouldn't. Dearka Elsman happened to be King of games such as these, and snowball fights perfectly fit the criteria. Growing up around numerous siblings had taught him to fend for himself, and to be patient. War had taught him to survive. With careful planning, his training, and his instinct behind him, there was no way he would l—
Piff!
Dearka Elsman cursed. Caught his foot on a snow-covered log. Fell, then cursed again, his face buried in the snow bank at the base of the rock he'd been about to duck behind.
Yzak Joule was laughing.
"Nice reflexes, Dearka," came a caustic snicker that sounded over the howl of the chill wind. "I see you've made good friends with that lump of snow. Why don't you lift your face free and tell it that I said hello."
The Buster pilot determined to hide his shock and climbed slowly to his feet, brushing powder from his jacket casually. Then he looked up, and realized that Yzak was yards farther away than he'd anticipated.
"I can read you like a book, Elsman," came the taunt from afar after Dearka had accidentally allowed his jaw to drop. "You didn't think I could throw that long distance, did you?"
As if to accompany the statement, Yzak lobbed an experimental orb, sending it spinning past the place where the blonde stood. It sailed over his head and onward until it spattered against a protruding branch.
"Clearly," Dearka called, amusement evident in his tone regardless of his disadvantage, "I underestimated you."
Indeed, it seemed Yzak had even found him right away, despite the fact that the tanned Coordinator had been careful to wipe away his trail. A shiver of simultaneous dread and excitement darted through the blonde's spine. He couldn't help but raise both his eyebrows and grin from ear to ear after that. The battle had just grown even more perilous.
"Wipe that stupid senseless grin off, you fool," Yzak seethed, packing another snowball even as he shouted the order. "You aren't supposed to smile at the enemy." Then the pale Coordinator released his projectile, giving it a deadly spin and the menace of a cannonball.
Dearka was long out of the way when it landed, and the outraged shrieks of the distant silver head was music to his ears as he bolted farther away in search of cover.
After a time he stopped, aware that Yzak had rocketed forward in pursuit and was gaining on him too speedily for his liking. He scooped a handful of bark-flecked snow off the low branch of a near tree, forged a misshapen circle at lightning speed and spun round.
It was almost a hit. Almost. Yzak swerved to one side in time to avoid full impact, and the snowball clipped the side of his head instead. This, however, judging by the shade of purple that was now spreading across the pale boy's face, appeared to do more damage than a direct strike.
"ELSMAN!" the silver-haired Coordinator roared. The Buster pilot fled for his life.
He skidded to an ungainly halt among the low branches of an evergreen and crouched, the deep hue of his jacket blending with the long, prickly needles. There was Yzak, in the distance, muttering to himself in irritation and then - as if suddenly thinking better of it - silencing entirely and melting into the scenery with a swiftness and skill that Dearka had almost forgotten his best friend possessed.
He supposed he ought to have included this scenario in his calculations.
Dearka resisted an agonized groan. He should have anticipated such a reaction from the former ZAFT red. He'd been hoping that Yzak would simply get riled, much like in other cases when Dearka dared to taunt him. But this was different, and Yzak appeared far too serious for the occasion. The silver-haired wraith would make the event a full-scale crusade. And Yzak in battle mode was one that Dearka did not want to reckon with.
With a sigh, the blonde wondered why he didn't just suggest they make a snowman.
Then he shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to lose focus. No way. For all he knew, the pale youth could already be…
Aha. Behind him. Dearka let a triumphant smirk play across his features as his ears picked up the telltale crunch of snow. Yzak was behind him and attempting to creep his way forward unnoticed.
And so Dearka stood. Whirled. He pegged his opponent square in the face and immediately hoisted himself into the lower branches of a rough pine, to gauge his friend's response from a guarded vantage point. All of it happened in the time it had taken to fire the Genesis - too quick for words.
Yzak sat staggered, unwilling to react. The stricken soldier blinked once, finally regaining his senses long enough to eye Dearka with contempt and shake himself free of the glittering, glacial substance.
"You know, Elsman, I think one day I'm going to freeze your miserable ass inside an ice block. A big fucking ice block in Alaska, where you'll be surrounded by Naturals outside their stupid JOSH-A base, and where you'll get so cold your goddamn face will suffer frostbite. I suspect it'll feel kind of like my face does right now, seeing as you've hit me there so many times. How would you like that, you frigid bastard?"
Dearka fought as hard as he could, struggling until his gut nearly burst, but the fit of guffaws thundered forth with a gleeful vengeance and he laughed until he felt sick from lack of air.
"Yzak…" he fought to maintain control of his jelly limbs, which had gone weak in his hysterics. "Yzak, do you know what you look like right now?"
The reply he got was chill -- too calm and emotionless to suggest anything good to come from his insolence, but Dearka just couldn't help himself. A little pile of snow squatted mutely atop the other soldier's head in a cone shape, while the male perched beneath it seemed oblivious to its existence.
The pale youth hissed at him and glared. "No, Elsman, I don't know what I look like. But I assume you must find it rather entertaining, because you're laughing like an imbecile."
Dearka doubled over, choking in the sea of hilarity that engulfed him. "I do."
"Is that so."
"Bwahaha. Yeah." Now his eyes were watering with tears of mirth. He wiped them quickly, lest the cheery droplets freeze in the below zero temperature. And then Yzak launched a single, well-aimed snowball that ended the blonde's entertainment with a rude jolt.
The round bullet hit its target with a puff of white and a low thump. The impact rattled the branch just above Dearka's head, shaking loose the large collection of snow that balanced precariously atop the fanned pine needles. Like a chain of unforeseen reactions, the whole lot bombarded the Buster pilot without mercy, and when he opened his eyes he was on the ground.
He'd fallen clean out of the tree. Great. Just great. And Yzak was standing over him, snorting in disdain.
"If you hadn't gotten distracted," the silver-haired male lectured smugly, "You might have had me pinned down. You had the higher ground, you know."
Dearka said nothing for a time, wondering whether he should surrender, lying there on his back like that. Instead he began shifting his arms and legs up and down, ignoring the disgusted look on his companion's face.
"What the hell are you doing?"
The blonde didn't answer. He made sure to imprint the shapes into the snow just right, still sliding his lanky limbs about with determination.
A light seemed to go on in the silver head's attic. "Dearka!" he growled in impatience.
Apparently Yzak Joule had no appreciation for a good snow angel.
"That's pathetic, Elsman," the pale youth went on, "If you're going to give up, then…"
Perfect. His distraction had the desired effect. Yzak had relaxed his stance, crossed his arms in disapproval, and shifted his weight onto one leg. It wasn't hard for Dearka to shoot upward after that, to seize the opposite Coordinator by the cuff of his sleeve and haul him down onto the snow. He carried out the task with a wolfish grin that said they were back in business, and as Yzak sputtered in shock and indignation, Dearka made his calculated escape.
"Not so fast!" Yzak hollered, furious.
And Yzak was fast. The blonde barely had time to dance out of his grasp; all he could do was take cover behind a low boulder as snowball after snowball came at him with terrifying speed.
Screw war convention, Yzak's attack said. Now I just want to slaughter you at all costs.
The Buster pilot ducked and dodged for a while, until something clicked in the back of his mind. Those snowballs were flying awfully quickly. How on earth did the pale boy have time to pack them right?
"Shit," Dearka wailed as the answer struck him, nursing the back of his head after the sting of a rather hard lump of snow. He turned around to confirm his fears. Yes. Yzak had found one of his hidden hoards of pre-prepared snowballs, and the pile didn't seem to be diminishing anytime soon. Neither did Yzak's enthusiasm.
Only one thing for it – he'd need to retreat for now.
"I'm nowhere near done with you yet, Yzak," Dearka called over his shoulder as he sprinted away while still under fire. "Loser has to make the hot cocoa!"
◊◊◊
That bastard. That snide, conniving, over-confident bastard.
Yzak boiled inside his heavy winter jacket. Just when he'd had his enemy pinned down, just when things were finally getting good, Dearka had fled like a coward and still had the gall to taunt him as he disappeared. On top of that, the silver-haired Coordinator had no idea where the other male had gone. Perhaps he'd used up too much of his energy during his previous rapid-fire attack. He could hardly breathe smoothly anymore.
He spat a melody of curse words, low in case Dearka was near. "Snowball fights! Whose bright idea was this, anyway?"
He'd long ago given up hope of another close-range assault. His only hope now, with his body weary and fatigued, was to take the blonde down with one big coup and end it.
Something ahead glittered in the cold winter light. A pond, frozen over and sparkling like a sheet of flattened diamonds. It was wide. It was open. It was not a good place for him to go, because then he'd become an easy target.
But Yzak paused to consider. What if Dearka had anticipated that he would think that? What if Dearka knew he'd bypass the pond and head for that safe-looking graveyard of rubble and rocks to the left? Would he be ambushed if he did so?
Damn it all to hell. Why did games like this have to screw so much with your mind?
Then like the map of a battle plan, the answer was laid out before him. The pale Duel pilot caught a glimpse of golden hair – the back of Dearka's head as the tanned male attempted to creep around one side of the shimmering pond unnoticed.
A win for Yzak Joule.
Slowly, stealthily, Yzak made his way forward, a superior curve gracing his thin lips, snow in his stiff hands. A lot of snow, for a snowball that was gargantuan and decidedly oversized. He waited until he was just feet behind his adversary, then he spoke, breaking the silence with his whip-crack of a voice.
"Turn around, Elsman, and you'll most definitely have lost."
At first, Dearka didn't move. Then Yzak saw a shiver course down his adversary's back, a shiver long and deep that reached him to his core.
Yzak remained frozen, waiting while he anticipated retaliation. He watched the droplets of snow from their earlier encounter melt into water upon contact with the warm back of Dearka's neck. And suddenly Yzak got a wicked idea.
He moved forward a step, slowly and deliberately, until he was mere inches from Dearka's unmoving figure. Dearka could sense him, he knew it, and he leaned forward to breathe his next words suggestively onto the flesh of Dearka's exposed neck.
"Gotcha," he whispered sinisterly.
At once the blonde spun around with a speed that seemed inhuman.
Yzak found himself flat on his back, his wind knocked clean away as more of the frigid, wet snow went dripping over his nose and across his cheeks. He shuddered, choking back a cry of surprise. His blue eyes found the evidence on Dearka's gloves, little flecks of snow leftover from the snowball the sly blonde had been hiding while his back was turned.
The Duel pilot couldn't speak – there was snow in his mouth. With an irate snarl, he spat it aside and landed the guffawing male above him a vicious kick to the shins.
Dearka toppled over like a felled tree, catching himself skillfully on his elbows and lying suspended just above the prostrate silver head. His hearty laughter was cut short, and violet eyes met crystal blue in the sudden, startled pause.
Yzak's gaze went livid once his initial shock had passed, and he opened his mouth to let loose a string of profanities. Instead he felt tender lips close insistently over his.
Dearka's mouth was warm and his lips were pleasantly firm against the slender youth's more soft, pliant ones. The blonde pressed him against the ground, seeming to bestow him with a fond apology at the same time that he was expressing his obvious desire. An apology for taking the win? Suddenly Yzak didn't care. The sensation he was feeling was too deliciously overpowering.
The cold of the snow seeped in through his jacket from behind, the warmth from Dearka's masculine body from in front. Heat from their breaths shimmered in the chill air, collecting in silvery puffs above them while a tingle of emotion reached the Duel pilot through the unusual mix of hot and cold. The breathing of both males grew more ragged, and just as their breaths had begun to make pretty patterns over their heads, Dearka pulled away.
"We should go inside and drink some hot cocoa to warm ourselves up."
Yzak frowned. "Idiot. If you want to get warm, we should go inside and do something more constructive than drinking stupid cocoa." His insides were aching with barely-contained desire for the domineering blonde above him.
"Naw. I don't want to. You tried to nail me with a giant snowball."
"You hit me in the face more times than I can keep track of!" The other Coordinator countered irritably, receiving no immediate reply. "Dearka! You're the one that made me…" He stopped.
Dearka was kissing him again, more rigorously this time. The pale Coordinator let out a deep, desirous moan that rose from within his burning limbs and traveled to the surface with waves of pleasure. The blonde thrust his tongue inside next, caressing demandingly the sticky cavern of his mouth, imploring, initiating, and controlling the silver-head's yearning with firm, expert lips.
Strong, resolute hands found Yzak's matted silver hair at once - as was so often the taller male's habit – and raked pleasantly along his scalp, through his wet hair to send shudders of ecstasy cascading about his nerves. The pale youth was in too much of an elated fog to wonder when his partner had discarded his snowy gloves. The blonde's tongue felt so good, so appealingly erotic as it danced against his and kindled a fire of inevitable passion. It was enough to make him forget that there were outside in freezing temperatures.
They broke apart for much-needed breath, Yzak's heart racing and his body aching with lust for further satisfaction.
"Better?" Dearka asked cheekily, monitoring him for signs of approval.
It took the opposite Coordinator a moment to piece together an intelligible response through his haze of growing hunger. "I'd still rather take it inside, considering I'm soaking wet from snow and it's all your fault."
Dearka chuckled, rolling off of him and standing, then offering a hand to haul him upright. Yzak took it, gasping at the whoosh of cold wind on his raw face as the violet-eyed male hefted him up with a speed born of impatience.
"Let's go, then," the blonde said with a hint of a smirk on his desirable lips. "And we'll skip the hot cocoa."
Yzak took one last look at the surrounding winter wonderland as he was led inside by the wrist. Maybe a snowball fight wasn't so bad after all, even if he couldn't wallop Dearka. He fixed his blue gaze on the blonde figure that led him.
Well, at least he could conquer the cocky Buster pilot in other ways.
◊◊◊
A/N: If you guys are at all familiar with the New England region of the United States, or to be more specific, Massachusetts (where our country's history began!)… Then you will know that we are famous for our absolutely unpredictable weather. Random heat waves in October when we're supposed to have chill, autumn winds. Some frost in May when spring flowers are supposed to be blooming.
And now, mild temperatures around 60 degrees Fahrenheit in the dead of winter when it should be below freezing. People up here are supposed to have White Christmases. People up here DO like the snow, although we complain about our tremendous snowstorms that so often try to kill us. We're used to living like Eskimos at this time of year. So what the HELL has been going on? Damn you, Global Warming, god damn you.
I'm a snow fanatic. I tried snow dances. I tried playing the Red Hot Chili Pepper's "Snow (Hey Oh)" on repeat. I got nothing. So I decided that it must have been this fanfiction's fault. I'd left it unfinished because I was waiting for snow to inspire me. It never occurred to me that the snow might be waiting for my fanfic. And what do you know? I finished my story, woke up the next morning… and it was snowing! (Oh, the irony of my life.) Which leads me to conclude:
DEARKA plus YZAK plus SNOWBALL FIGHT equals MAGICAL
We'll disregard the fact that it only snowed lightly for an hour, did not collect or stick, then stopped, and that now people are walking around again with open jackets and no hats. (sweatdrop)
Thanks for reading!