Har har…
Kon'wa, minna. This is just a little ficlet that reached me at an ungodly awful hour. It's a songfic, and each chapter starts with a line from the same song. ^_^
It's from a Dido song. ^_^ Eat your hearts out. But don't think what it would look like. Yarg. Some sayings are so weird, and I never realize it until… yeah. *wrinkles nose* but ya'know and all. *purrs happily* this is a 'what-if' – an alternate take on what they did when the camera left. Because all the other fics are like clones of one another now. -_- Sorry, minna.
So yeah, this was supposed to be way out of it, OOC, and bizzare. Honest.
Standard disclaimers apply, kays?
____________
"My lover's gone."
Do you know what it's like to know that they aren't coming back? Because he isn't, you know. He never, ever is.
Ever.
Pale skin and long, soft fingers that trace you so softly that the touch is like a brush with angel wings.
Angel.
Angel.
Soft, also, was his attire. He wore a velvety gold undershirt beneath the customary uniform. There was nothing as wonderful as when he took my hand in a teasingly gentle way, guiding it slowly along the contours of the shirt.
I had him dress up. First, we found an old bin of Misato's clothes - she wouldn't mind, and was to drunk to notice even the large trunk as we lugged it out the door to *HIS* apartment.
I let him change while I waited outside his room.
No one comes close to how cute he was in the army uniform. It clung to him (No wonder Misato had stored it; she must have been flat as a door - caving inward, almost, to be able to wear it) It smugly revealed everything hidden before on Kaworu's figure - chiseling out his body in camo-folds for everyone to see. The boots were high-topped and leather. Wrinkling his nose, he stripped down, bearing all his flesh, and slid into a suit. Where on EARTH had Misato worn that? The collar was a little low, but much higher than her costomary ones. Painfully obvious, it was a 'manly outfit' - though Kaworu pulled off almost maternal in it. Almost.
For me, I chose the next outfit, on a dare. Following his example and exposing my body in the most casual way I could manage, I slid into the attire that Kaworu had selected. He had warned me to close my eyes. Cool, the touch of the satiny fabric against my skin was almost alien. I knew only that it was put on like a nightgown.
I found out something I never wanted to know.
Misato is completely and without a doubt as flat as Kaji. And I mean without those rediculous melons clutched to his chest.
The outfit was almost painful, contorting my chest into two, Misato-sized... well, you know. Caging in my waist, I looked like the latest model in lingere.
We looked damn good together. He said we could take turns - I would be the bride, because I carried a 'figure' well, but he would let me lead whenever we danced.
Because of course we would marry. And of course we would dance.
We did dance, too, that night.
His grace was inhuman, and he looked perfect in the humble moonlight that had been sparingly filtered through the window of the apartment. I should have known, then, as he defied gravity with erethreal (SP) grace, that he was not mine.
I should have known he was an angel.
My heart knew ahead of time - every movement away from me earned him a pleading glance - [Please, Kaworu, stay....] and that in turn earned me a few teasing remarks when I wouldn't take off the dress for fear of letting him leave my sight.
You don't let go of angels.
Kon'wa, minna. This is just a little ficlet that reached me at an ungodly awful hour. It's a songfic, and each chapter starts with a line from the same song. ^_^
It's from a Dido song. ^_^ Eat your hearts out. But don't think what it would look like. Yarg. Some sayings are so weird, and I never realize it until… yeah. *wrinkles nose* but ya'know and all. *purrs happily* this is a 'what-if' – an alternate take on what they did when the camera left. Because all the other fics are like clones of one another now. -_- Sorry, minna.
So yeah, this was supposed to be way out of it, OOC, and bizzare. Honest.
Standard disclaimers apply, kays?
____________
"My lover's gone."
Do you know what it's like to know that they aren't coming back? Because he isn't, you know. He never, ever is.
Ever.
Pale skin and long, soft fingers that trace you so softly that the touch is like a brush with angel wings.
Angel.
Angel.
Soft, also, was his attire. He wore a velvety gold undershirt beneath the customary uniform. There was nothing as wonderful as when he took my hand in a teasingly gentle way, guiding it slowly along the contours of the shirt.
I had him dress up. First, we found an old bin of Misato's clothes - she wouldn't mind, and was to drunk to notice even the large trunk as we lugged it out the door to *HIS* apartment.
I let him change while I waited outside his room.
No one comes close to how cute he was in the army uniform. It clung to him (No wonder Misato had stored it; she must have been flat as a door - caving inward, almost, to be able to wear it) It smugly revealed everything hidden before on Kaworu's figure - chiseling out his body in camo-folds for everyone to see. The boots were high-topped and leather. Wrinkling his nose, he stripped down, bearing all his flesh, and slid into a suit. Where on EARTH had Misato worn that? The collar was a little low, but much higher than her costomary ones. Painfully obvious, it was a 'manly outfit' - though Kaworu pulled off almost maternal in it. Almost.
For me, I chose the next outfit, on a dare. Following his example and exposing my body in the most casual way I could manage, I slid into the attire that Kaworu had selected. He had warned me to close my eyes. Cool, the touch of the satiny fabric against my skin was almost alien. I knew only that it was put on like a nightgown.
I found out something I never wanted to know.
Misato is completely and without a doubt as flat as Kaji. And I mean without those rediculous melons clutched to his chest.
The outfit was almost painful, contorting my chest into two, Misato-sized... well, you know. Caging in my waist, I looked like the latest model in lingere.
We looked damn good together. He said we could take turns - I would be the bride, because I carried a 'figure' well, but he would let me lead whenever we danced.
Because of course we would marry. And of course we would dance.
We did dance, too, that night.
His grace was inhuman, and he looked perfect in the humble moonlight that had been sparingly filtered through the window of the apartment. I should have known, then, as he defied gravity with erethreal (SP) grace, that he was not mine.
I should have known he was an angel.
My heart knew ahead of time - every movement away from me earned him a pleading glance - [Please, Kaworu, stay....] and that in turn earned me a few teasing remarks when I wouldn't take off the dress for fear of letting him leave my sight.
You don't let go of angels.
