Title: Flurry
Summary: Ryoma makes a snowman. Tezuka watches.
Tezuka doesn't understand why standing outside in the cold rolling up round balls of snow appeals to so many people. Personally he prefers to stay inside on such a cold winter's day, reading a book with a cup of steaming tea.
Even so, that doesn't stop him from standing inches in the snow, hands buried deep in his pocket as Ryoma rolls up a ball half his size. He is standing there, bored, but one could never tell because Tezuka never lets it show on his face. He looks as he always does, expressionless, if not a bit stern, but his eyes are fixated on Ryoma's body, following every move he makes. One of these days Tezuka would try to understand what was so fun about making snowmen in the freezing cold. Today however he'll settle for watching the younger boy throw glares at him from beneath his woolen hat.
Tezuka breathes out heavily, willing himself not to move around on the spot to try and keep warm much like Ryoma is doing. It's colder than predicted but at least it isn't snowing. Tezuka watches thoughtfully as Ryoma piles a smaller ball on top of the large one, still trying to understand what Ryoma is thinking. Surely Ryoma can't enjoy this; Tezuka can see him jumping up and down, similar to his one-footed split step, rubbing his hands together in hopes of trying to keep warm. Tezuka knows Ryoma prefers the summer and absolutely detests the cold, so why was Ryoma so eager to be outside almost knee-deep in the icy snow?
He removes his hands from his pockets and folds one across his torso to support the other as he rubs his chin reflectively. Ryoma is scurrying over towards the frosted tree, searching through the thick snow for twigs. Even then Ryoma isn't happy with the amount available and breaks off a few tiny branches that he could reach. He is back in front of the crude snowman just as quickly and dumps the wood at the foot of the snowman. Tezuka feels the urge to smile when Ryoma crouches down and starts sorting through his assorted twigs. Not bothering to suppress his amusement, he calls out to the preoccupied boy, "Ryoma."
Ryoma doesn't look up. Instead he almost literally stabs a small branch into the side of the larger ball, a small frown tugging at his lips. Tezuka wonders briefly again what he is thinking about. Was he mad at Tezuka for refusing to play in the snow with him? Tezuka brushes off the doubt easily enough. He knows Ryoma will never get upset over something so petty. "Ryoma," he calls again.
Ryoma inclines his head towards Tezuka but his eyes are focused on a small black speck on the snowman's face. He furrows his brow at the tingling familiarity, feeling annoyance rising as the reason continues to elude him. His frown deepens as he carelessly drags his finger where the mouth should be, not at all concerned with his creation's expression.
He steps back to survey his handiwork and suddenly sees a flash of frilly shirts and maniacal laughter. Ryoma scowls, immediately glaring fiercely at the lopsided rocks that are its eyes. His eyes are drawn back to the little black spot next to the right eye.
Definitely the Monkey King.
And then Ryoma grins, a small sadistic gleam shining in his eyes. As wonderful as Monkey King the snowman looks bald, it was not yet the perfect imitation of the Monkey King himself. He picks up some twigs and snaps them into tiny pieces. A few sticks spiking out from random places on the head will remedy that. And once Ryoma is satisfied with his masterpiece, he imagines slicing through it with a thick branch and tearing it down to the ground. His grin widens.
He hears Tezuka calling his name again and distractedly makes a small noise of acknowledgement. The rest of Tezuka's sentence doesn't register through his mind, what with his attention focused on making the small sticks resemble the Monkey King's butchered hair. Ryoma frowns again when he sees no more sticks at his feet. He turns around, intent on hunting for more.
Only to be yanked forward with the scarf suddenly thrown around his neck. Ryoma stumbles forward, but at the same time Tezuka pushes him back roughly, allowing himself to fall on top of Ryoma.
Ryoma's yelp is cut off by Tezuka's kiss and he momentarily loses his breath as he falls to the ground, his landing cushioned by the thick snow as Tezuka uses his forearms to keep his weight from crushing him.
Ryoma's mind suddenly becomes a mess, confused and not quite sure that the person kissing him really is Tezuka despite appearances. He struggles weakly, his hands gripping broad shoulders and trying vainly to push the man off. He stops soon enough, though when he feels something hot and wet run across his lips. Ryoma shivers, and this time he isn't quite sure whether it's because of the cold or the feel of Tezuka's tongue in his mouth.
Ryoma is thankful that Tezuka had the foresight to wrap his scarf around his neck.
Note: Just wanted to thank everyone who reads my fics, and especially to those who take the time to review them. ♥ I um, don't think they're anything great, but it's a way for me to share my love for this gorgeous, adorable pairing. So it really makes me happy to know people enjoy it. :D
This fic isn't anything new, written last year, and one of my first attempts (quite obvious too) at present tense if I recall correctly. It makes me nervous to post old works here, but eh, in spirit of the snowy winter Christmas, all that nostalgic feelings. ;)