Christmas:
On Christmas morning, Youji woke to the smell of peppermint tea. It wafted up lazily with the steam rising from the cup Aya set on the bedside table. He sat down on the bed as Youji propped himself up against the headboard. "For me?" he asked, running a hand through his unruly hair.
Aya nodded and took a sip of his own steaming mug. "Omi had already made it this morning." He blew softly into his cup, sending tendrils dancing across the cool morning air.
Cradling his warm cup, Youji leaned his head on the wall and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, letting his senses wake up slowly. He could smell the tea as its aroma diffused in the air, and the ubiquitous wood smoke underneath. With another breath he could find the faint clean linen scent that clung to Aya. His eyelids flickered, but didn't open, as he felt a warm hand caress his cheek.
Aya's hands were rough and calloused. His nails were too short to extend beyond the tips of his fingers, but they were well kept. The fingers were long and elegant; Aya's fingers were meant for other things more artistic than kendo. Youji kept this thought to himself, however. There was no use in lamenting the things that had already come to pass. He had learned that difficult lesson with Asuka. If Aya hadn't been using his hands for the sword, then they never would have met, and he was content to leave it at that.
To abandon a life with Aya would be to abandon all meaning and reason in his existence.
The mattress shifted and lips brushed, feather soft, on his forehead. "Let's go downstairs," Aya murmured, pressing his forehead to Youji's briefly before standing up.
Youji smiled at the promise hidden in Aya's eyes. "Sure," he said. "The kids are probably antsy to open their presents anyway, right?" He set his still steaming mug of tea on the table and swung his legs over the side of the bed, curling his toes in distaste at the cold floor. Standing, he shrugged into a sweater and slippers, pushing his hair back into a hasty ponytail.
Aya paused at the door, waiting, as he grabbed his mug and crossed the distance in a few short strides. Youji leaned close to him, lips grazing his ear. "You'll have to wait until later for your present."
Giving him an amused look, Aya turned and headed down the stairs. "Didn't you draw Ken's name?" he asked over his shoulder as they descended.
"Yeah." He sipped his tea carefully.
Omi met them at the foot of the stairs, eyes glowing. "After we open presents," he said, "Ken's going to go get fried chicken for dinner."
Youji sighed dramatically. "Ah, tradition."
Grinning, Omi teased, "You only don't want chicken so you can fit more cake in your belly."
Feigning shock, Youji clapped his hand over Omi's mouth. "Shhhh, bishnonen. Don't let everyone in on my secret plan!"
Ken was sitting on the couch, staring into the fire as they came into the living room. Omi plopped down next to him as Aya gracefully lowered himself to the floor. "Pass out the gifts!" he ordered Youji.
Setting his cup carefully on the floor, Youji whined, "What, I don't even get breakfast first? Slave driver!" He hefted the large shopping bag hiding in a corner and plopped it down in the middle of the floor.
Once everyone had their gaily wrapped package, they all tore in at once. Ken immediately tried out his new soccer ball by bouncing it off Youji's head. "That's for flattening my last one," he said, sticking out his tongue. "Thanks, man."
"Hey, I always try to please," Youji said, thumbing through the book Aya had given him.
Omi jumped up. "I already made miso soup," he announced, heading toward the kitchen. Ken followed him eagerly.
Youji leaned up against the side of the couch and closed his eyes. Aya draped himself over the cushions, resting his hand on Youji's hair. "I wasn't sure if you liked Thoreau," he said.
"I do," Youji said, turning his head to look at Aya. "Thank you."
Aya smiled, a rare gift in of itself. "Merry Christmas."
On Christmas morning, Youji woke to the smell of peppermint tea. It wafted up lazily with the steam rising from the cup Aya set on the bedside table. He sat down on the bed as Youji propped himself up against the headboard. "For me?" he asked, running a hand through his unruly hair.
Aya nodded and took a sip of his own steaming mug. "Omi had already made it this morning." He blew softly into his cup, sending tendrils dancing across the cool morning air.
Cradling his warm cup, Youji leaned his head on the wall and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, letting his senses wake up slowly. He could smell the tea as its aroma diffused in the air, and the ubiquitous wood smoke underneath. With another breath he could find the faint clean linen scent that clung to Aya. His eyelids flickered, but didn't open, as he felt a warm hand caress his cheek.
Aya's hands were rough and calloused. His nails were too short to extend beyond the tips of his fingers, but they were well kept. The fingers were long and elegant; Aya's fingers were meant for other things more artistic than kendo. Youji kept this thought to himself, however. There was no use in lamenting the things that had already come to pass. He had learned that difficult lesson with Asuka. If Aya hadn't been using his hands for the sword, then they never would have met, and he was content to leave it at that.
To abandon a life with Aya would be to abandon all meaning and reason in his existence.
The mattress shifted and lips brushed, feather soft, on his forehead. "Let's go downstairs," Aya murmured, pressing his forehead to Youji's briefly before standing up.
Youji smiled at the promise hidden in Aya's eyes. "Sure," he said. "The kids are probably antsy to open their presents anyway, right?" He set his still steaming mug of tea on the table and swung his legs over the side of the bed, curling his toes in distaste at the cold floor. Standing, he shrugged into a sweater and slippers, pushing his hair back into a hasty ponytail.
Aya paused at the door, waiting, as he grabbed his mug and crossed the distance in a few short strides. Youji leaned close to him, lips grazing his ear. "You'll have to wait until later for your present."
Giving him an amused look, Aya turned and headed down the stairs. "Didn't you draw Ken's name?" he asked over his shoulder as they descended.
"Yeah." He sipped his tea carefully.
Omi met them at the foot of the stairs, eyes glowing. "After we open presents," he said, "Ken's going to go get fried chicken for dinner."
Youji sighed dramatically. "Ah, tradition."
Grinning, Omi teased, "You only don't want chicken so you can fit more cake in your belly."
Feigning shock, Youji clapped his hand over Omi's mouth. "Shhhh, bishnonen. Don't let everyone in on my secret plan!"
Ken was sitting on the couch, staring into the fire as they came into the living room. Omi plopped down next to him as Aya gracefully lowered himself to the floor. "Pass out the gifts!" he ordered Youji.
Setting his cup carefully on the floor, Youji whined, "What, I don't even get breakfast first? Slave driver!" He hefted the large shopping bag hiding in a corner and plopped it down in the middle of the floor.
Once everyone had their gaily wrapped package, they all tore in at once. Ken immediately tried out his new soccer ball by bouncing it off Youji's head. "That's for flattening my last one," he said, sticking out his tongue. "Thanks, man."
"Hey, I always try to please," Youji said, thumbing through the book Aya had given him.
Omi jumped up. "I already made miso soup," he announced, heading toward the kitchen. Ken followed him eagerly.
Youji leaned up against the side of the couch and closed his eyes. Aya draped himself over the cushions, resting his hand on Youji's hair. "I wasn't sure if you liked Thoreau," he said.
"I do," Youji said, turning his head to look at Aya. "Thank you."
Aya smiled, a rare gift in of itself. "Merry Christmas."