Disclaimer: Tsubasa don't own I CLAMP tomato it owns are great they penarddum.

CANYA DO THA WAKALAKA!

Hi again, everyone. 2 more days of school left for SENIORS! FWEEEEEEET! I can't wait! And the best part is, that brother of mine still has to go for ANOTHER 4 DAYS! KYAAAAAA! Bein' at the top of the high school food chain has it's quirks :grin:.

Now…hmn. About last chapter. I'm taking back my comments about Movement Third, Movement Fourth was perhaps THE MOST BIZZARE THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. I mean, I've wanted to do an innuendo like that for some time, but I could never figure out how. And then, my friend posted this completely and utterly GENIUS Family Circus parody where the mommy is seen whirling around with a white remote controller and the little boy says "Mommy won't let me play with my Wii." And then later on in the thread, someone posted a Katamari Damacy cartoon. Demo, I can't paste it here! Waaaah!

But anyway, then I came up with that idea in the pool and cracked up. Originally it was supposed to be more like the cartoon above, but…XDDDDDDDDDDD. And the rest, they say, is history.

Oh, and...I'm sorry. RRs won't be done here anymore. I'll do them via email...:blush:

Good! Glad to get that over with. Off we go, then!

Not Another KuroFai Oneshot Section!

By Perya "HalfLight" Kalina

Movement Fifth: The Early Riser

Mister Sun, he thought to himself lazily, was quite rude to poke his eyes with sunlight at this ungodly hour of the morning. But now that he was up, there was no getting back to sleep again.

So he sat up, minding the body next to him. He feels light, feather-soft, just as fine as can be and good morning, Sun, please shine down on me.

His train of thought, his distracted humming, the quiet flow of meditation and thought and action was interrupted as a furry white creature flounced into the room, "puu"-ing here and there, nuzzling his arm, jumping on his head. And so he reaches up, takes the soft bundle of joy, plants a soft kiss on its forehead and a pat on the cheek, smiling in a cheeky way as he leaves the animal there. He pauses and contemplates the look on its face.

You'd think I'd never hugged or nuzzled him before, he thinks, then turns and almost closes the door, checking himself and instead softly latching it instead of slamming it and risking waking his better half.

He comes to the room where the kids are, and he pushes the door open to find a softly sleeping Sakura underneath the sheets, Syaoran heroically risking cold and laying on top instead, arm around her. He walks up slowly, running a hand through the boy's hair. He had watched him fight, had seen him train. If he didn't die first, he'd become a wonderful hero.

But back to the mission, something reminded him, and he leaves the room, goes down the hall and through the living room—you'd think this place was a cloud palace, he thinks, all white and soft and fluff—and out the front door, into the pleasant smell of greenery and the amiable chill of a forest morning on his still-bare upper body.

Life is good, he thinks, still within the lighter-than-air feeling, and he circles around the little cottage they had rented out to the side of it, looking in the window, eyes soft and gentle as he leans his head on the windowpane and watches the most pleasing thing he had ever seen; his lover, lean and long, curled up to just the tip of his nose in sleep, all the intimidation and ferocity he knew him to feel out of his face and body.

Bits and pieces of last night had come back to him; long, tangled limbs, hands in hair, moving within and without while butterfly lips caressed the column of his lover's throat. Screams, sighs, moans—the dizzying downward spiral, the climb; the utter languor and peace he felt afterwards. He had talked and laughed; his lover just watched him, face serious, before pulling him to the crook of his neck and going to sleep.

He cocks his head, wonder pervading his face now as he traces the outline he sees with his pinkie. He wonders what it would be like to wake him, pull him out here into wild and untamed and make love underneath the pine boughs and the scent of flora, the overwhelming feeling of earth beneath them as they moved.

But there was no reason to disturb him with yet another petty request. Just stick to the plan—nothing more, nothing less.

So with a sigh he turned around, stooping to pick something when his face brushed against the flowers of a nearby tree, the motion sending waves of scent upon his face. He reached up, touched the tender blossoms. Like some far-off memory he heard a soothing, loving voice, too damn reassuring, too false, and the scent of this flower. Lavender, the voice had told him, and then hugged him and the scent washes over him and oh, dear, do I miss you. Oh god.

And he wasn't sure what possessed him to pluck the cluster of flowers after he'd harvested what he needed, turned back toward the house and opened the screen door, coming back into the warmth.

Masochism, maybe, he decided, and with a turn of the wrist ignites the burners.

The kids are making tea, the sleeping lover thought, as a gentle yet insistent smell tickled the inside of his nose.

And then he realized the utter absence of warmth, and he knew when he opened his eyes that all he'd see was nothing—damn guy probably just walked back off to his room, he thought bitterly. Too good for me, I guess, and that damn ruler of his.

Rubbing his forehead, the man sat up, the bits and pieces coming back to him as his eyes fluttered, trying to close again. People didn't take him for the sleepy type, and that's what he had to hide, too, when he was fighting. The utter exhaustion of sleepless nights, of demons and screams.

A shake of the head and a muttered expletive later, he found himself at least on the road to wakefulness, and wake he did, eyes staying open as he leaned on his knees and sighed, brow furrowed in an all-too-familiar frown.

Why can't I figure you out, he thought, and that wasn't a question thank you very much, and he sighed yet again. But something attracted his hearing and his eyes flitted towards the door. Footsteps. Probably one of the kids.

But instead the doorknob turned and he was utterly speechless as his better half walked in, all shirtless and rippling muscle and—carrying a tray? The other noticed his stare and grinned, albeit sheepishly.

"Thought you might want some breakfast," he explained, plopping the tray down on his lap.

"Grins don't look good on you."

"Deemooooo…."

"You know I'm not a morning person," he responded, but his mouth twitched upward in a smile as he took a bite of the food in front of him, a slight shudder passing down his spine slowly. "You make this?"

"Despite the fact I had to practically fumigate my hands when I was done? Yep. Can't see how you can stand that stuff."

"I manage," he said, and was about to reach down to take the steaming mug when his eyes caught and held the flowers. "Where did you get those?" he asked, his voice hardening instantly, the intensity of emotion welling up from within. He noted with a certain degree of sadism that the man at the edge of the bed shifted, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"I…I found it outside and—"

"Thought I might like it? Right?" He shook his head, wrinking his nose in disgust as he pushed the tray away. "Dead wrong. Get out."

"Belo—"

"NO!" A sharp smack rang out, the sleeper had struck and the cook could only raise a trembling hand to his cheek. "No! I don't want your flowers, your food, or your love! Get out!"

"No." The voice is quiet, trembling, and he stopped a moment and looked on in amazement as rivulets of tears streamed down his cheeks, onto the comforter. "I can't.

"You think you're the only one with hardship? No, jerk, you know what I'm talking about, I'm not stupid. Shut up. I had to watch my life go into ashes. I was forced to abandon all I held dear. I'm worthless now—" here his hands tightened, "—but I thought that would be okay if I could just bring a smile to your face. Don't be a bitch. You're not the only one who cries at the scent of lavender."

"……."

And then the other one straddled his waist, trying gently to kiss away the tears, playing the comforter now, and somehow the former's rejections and cries and attempts to push away became far more desperate, far more caressing, far too needy to ignore anymore. So they gave themselves away to sensation, floating somewhere between listlessness and the smell of lavender, and the house was silent save for the gentle, muffled cries of tender lovemaking.

Afterwards, they took the sheets to be cleaned by the river, and when they got home drew a nice hot bath in the otherwise empty house. And as he washed his back, Fai could not help but smile languidly at the tanned back, the ripply muscles and the tiniest sprig of lavender tucked behind his ear, the rest aimlessly floating in the tub.

"You know, Kuro-pon, the strawberries and blueberries were a nice touch, but your pancakes need work. And that hot chocolate—my god, what were you thinking? All in all, sentimental does not work for you, my lovely puppy, not at all."

He can see him smile from the back. "You owe me a favor, damn mage. I never pegged you as type to sleep in or throw a tantrum."

It's almost like they're problems are gone, with the languid steam and Fai's hands and Kurogane's tongue and the bittersweet scent of lavender, taking them up and beyond themselves into their own hearts.

Gaaah, why do I HATE the way this chapter came out? You might as well just shoot me in the forehead for this. Blearchg. By the way, that's German for please review, constructive criticism is candy.

By the way, I have two more ideas for TRC fanfiction—both KuroFai, but with perhaps a smidgen of SxS. I'll most likely be posting their summaries on my homepage when I get them typed up. So go check 'em out and lemme know, mmkay?

JAAAAA!