Previously written for an inception_kink prompt. "Why does he normally avoid going under in the field? Allow me to introduce you to Yusuf, the pyromaniac."
give it a twist, a flick of the wrist
Yusuf sits down. He cradles a new box of matches in one hand, cheaply made with rough paper, adorned with a garishly bright logo printed on the top. He slides open the box and picks one, sliding the case shut and listening to the rasp of the paper. With a practiced snap of the wrist the match flares into life, making a hiss that sounds like a protest. He cups a hand protectively around it, the light bleeding out into the room. Yusuf watches the flame for a while, until it gets close to his fingers, then he blows it out.
He picks out another match, flicks the match head across the strip and watches the yellow flame. Maybe he'd make another set of colored matches, those were always good. He had time to spare anyway. The match burns down, and he extinguishes it with a huff of air.
Another match, a little faster. Smoke is getting in the air, in his eyes and in his lungs but Yusuf doesn't care. In fact it's almost comforting. It reminds of the incense his mother used to burn every day in the same corner of the house.
Snap. Hiss. Extinguish. Maybe in his dreams tonight he could walk among bonfires, fireworks, cosy fires that warmed his hands and huge, raw wildfires that threatened to engulf him.
Snap. Hiss. What would happen if the matches weren't really extinguished? If there was one solitary orange dot in the darkness, waiting to leap up into a proper inferno.
Snap. Hiss. There are only a few matches left but Yusuf doesn't care.
Snap. The light blazes, shrinks, flickers, dies.
Snap. One more.
Snap.