Disclaimer: Gravitation and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I make no profit from this other than pleasure.
This is an AU, chapter one caveats still apply. :D
Warnings: Only to Eiri. Well...a bit of lemon juice, I suppose. With a twist.
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Chapter Eight:
Liz Taylor Eyes
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Shuuichi tried, he truly tried, to help Yuki clean up the kitchen, but the second time he found himself standing in the middle of the gleaming space, a towel in one hand, staring blankly at the fork in the other, a hand reached around him, plucked the fork from his fingers and the towel from his arm.
"Bed," that cool, low voice said, just in his ear, and with the same efficiency of motion with which he did everything, Yuki slid the fork into the drawer, and hung the towel under the sink, making the whole room spotless—just like the rest of the house. Modern, hard-edged, metallic. Cool and precise. Efficient.
Just like its owner.
Shuuichi just...watched, finding the strangest pleasure in just...watching. He'd never been in a room with anyone whose simple presence made him feel...warm, whose appearance made him ache for nothing other than to look at him.
Not even Sakuma Ryuichi. When Ryu wasn't singing, he was just...ordinary. This man, this...Yuki Eiri...was never, ever—
"Hey."
He blinked his eyes clear to discover those stunningly sharp amber eyes singeing the air between them.
"Bed, idiot."
He shook himself free of the amber spell, and looked away, nodding. He headed for hallway, staggering a bit on bare feet gone numb, and suddenly Yuki was there—just—there, long fingers cupping his elbow, steadying his footsteps.
And he fantasized, just for a moment, a future where those fingers would never, ever leave.
But it was only, he knew, a fantasy. Those fingers, cool and efficient, were only...
Only...
Only preventing him from making a mess on that beautiful polished, hardwood floor.
✴
Shuuichi slid between the smooth, cool sheets, letting Yuki pull the covers into place, curiously disappointed when the author's interest in the red crystal was not repeated. He wasn't sure why the obviously well-to-do man would want a silly rhinestone, but... damned if he wouldn't remember and give it to him.
When it fell off.
He smoothed the dark blue sheets across the silver quilt. Cool. Metallic. Yet warm. Beautiful.
Like Yuki.
He really didn't understand the feelings this man roused in him. Snarky and even downright cruel at times with his words, he'd still come to the concert, had cared enough to be suspicious. Had come and rescued him...
The overhead light dimmed and died. Yuki was at the door. Leaving. Going to his own bed.
"Still think I need... life experience, Yuki-san?" Shuuichi asked, on a bitter taste of memory, fighting the urge to beg the older man to stay, to hold him again tonight as he'd claimed he'd done last night, only tonight, Shuuichi would have stayed awake, would have impressed on his memory every twitch and sound this beautiful man made as he slept.
But he couldn't ask. Wouldn't beg. And so, he deliberately picked a fight.
Just to keep him in sight a few precious moments longer.
"My crap lyrics. Remember?"
Yuki's slim back tightened beneath his dark shirt, his broad shoulders straightened a degree. "Damn right, I do—to both questions. Though not..." He half-turned. One golden eye caught a shaft of moonlight. "Not the kind you think. I understand, now. You were hanging on, weren't you? With the lyrics, I mean."
Shuuichi pressed his lips together, swallowing a sob, and nodded.
"I thought so."
Indecision filled the room, then the tall figure turned and came back to the bed. "You said you were writing about the way you thought love could be, if only you tried hard enough."
Shuuichi shrugged, not really wanting to discuss it. Glad just to have him back in the room. Grateful for a few more moments to impress the image on his memory, a few more oh-so-subtle shifts of expression and tones of voice to enrich the memory—once Yuki was gone.
"You... have a... point." Though from the tone, it was one of the harder admissions this cold-blooded man had made in his life. "It's a legitimate enough fantasy, I suppose. And probably no small part of what's kept you relatively sane and balanced this long, but..."
He waited for Yuki to finish, hoping against hope this cool, precise man would be able to put into words that which he could not. But there was no easy answer forthcoming, only a silence that was as vague as his own mixed up head. He scowled up at that perfect, unmoved face. "But, what?" When there was still no answer, not even a shift of expression, he scrunched down in the bed, suddenly bone-tired and hypocritically wanting him to leave now, wanting privacy to just... cry.
To mourn what might have been, if what was had never happened.
"Look, it doesn't matter," he said finally. "Thanks, all right? Is that what you want from me? Thanks for helping despite our—my—obvious shortcomings? I'm a crap lyricist, with a dumb-looking monkey face. Is that what you want to hear? Fine. I write tripe. Romantic tripe for love-sick fools. Fine. I can't imagine what induced you to ask such a no-talent to take up space in your guest bed, but, hey, if that's what—"
That warm cavern swallowed his words and the bed dipped beside him.
"Will you shut up?" Yuki whispered against his lips, and without ever breaking the kiss, Yuki pulled and pressed him until he was flat on the bed and Yuki was stretched over him. "It's not a guest bed. It's my bed, and damned if you don't look fucking fantastic in it, damn your bubblegum hair and Liz Taylor eyes."
When he could breathe again, Shuuichi whispered back, "Who's Liz Taylor?"
Yuki groaned. "Michael Jackson's #1 fan?"
"Oh." He knew then. Had seen the pictures. "Pretty lady?"
"Very. And you should have seen her when she was younger. Pretty. With purple eyes, you idiot. Big. Beautiful. Purple eyes."
"Oh. That's good then?"
"Very, very good."
"Should I say thank you?"
"I think you should shut up."
"Oh. In that case, there's this very nice thing you do that—"
✴✴✴
Dear Buddha in heaven, this pint-sized fellow was addictive. Fortunately, for both of them, Shindou was far too tired to do more than kiss hungrily for a time. Those curiously inexperienced lips and tongue went soft and sleepy and fell away long before Eiri's need had been sated, and that suited him just fine.
This was one night he'd prefer to fall asleep hungry. The alternative was simply too dangerous.
Still, the tiny snore that replaced the tiny squeaks of pleasure banished even that remaining desire, and he pulled the kid close, reviving the sense of completion he'd found the previous night.
Shindou murmured something utterly incomprehensible, and wormed his way closer, burrowing his face into the crook of Eiri's neck like a tired kitten into its mother's fur.
Eiri smiled, there where it was safe, where there was no one to see, and wrapped his arms a degree tighter.
He wished, sweet Buddha, how he wished, he'd been telling the brat the truth. Wished his invitation to stay here had been predicated by simple expediency. Wished the image lurking behind his eyelids, the image that had his nether parts hardening despite his better sense, wasn't of this trim little body lying naked, bound and stretched, his small cock hard and weeping, a sex kitten ready for taking.
Wished he didn't find those glittering jewels damnably sexy.
Seeing the dreamy kid in the park, he'd been curious. Seeing the siren onstage, he'd been intrigued, seeing the sex kitten...
Eiri groaned and resisted the desire to pull the exhausted, brutalized young man hard against him, to push that aching throb into any spot able to receive it. Instead, he pulled away, seeking the sweet, innocent image from the night before to calm the effect of the siren.
Oddly, the young man lying next to him was exactly that: a young man. Last night had been different. Last night Shindou had looked... oh, fourteen at best, when he slept. Perhaps the difference tonight was the nature of his sleep. Last night, his sleep had been troubled, filled with panic and fear. He'd seemed so very young, so very vulnerable.
That vulnerability had touched something deep inside Eiri, something he'd needed to protect from what had happened to Shuuichi. He'd been...holding...that something as much as he'd been holding the kid. Protecting both. Reassuring both.
Now... at least, Shindou's mind seemed... quiet. Content. Possibly even, as a small smile touched the sleeping mouth, happy. It was a look that gently insinuated itself between himself and the sex kitten, that quieted Eiri's groin, and settled soothingly into that dark canvas behind his closed eyes.
It wasn't the child image, wasn't the sex kitten, but something far more intriguing...even appealing. Something filled with promise. A look that calmed, that reassured that inner pain so much a part of him for six years, a look that allowed Eiri to slide back down, and drift contentedly to sleep.
✴
Someone was crying. Softly. Little more than the occasional pillow-muffled sniff.
Eiri forced himself awake, found that charming armful right where he'd left it last, curled in the curve of Eiri's body, but it was, indeed, the source of that mournful sound.
Light filtered into the room through the half-open blind. The first hint of morning. He wondered how early, remembering vaguely something about Nakano coming to take his lead singer to the studio.
"Hey, kid," he murmured, and the slight frame stiffened, the sounds stopped. Eiri ran his hand lightly down the velvety-soft fabric covering Shindou's slender arm. Slender, but hard. There was latent power within the muscle hidden by velvet. "Are you all right?"
He thought for a moment, Shindou wasn't going to answer, then slowly, the small armful shifted about to give Eiri a determined smile.
"Of course, Yuki-san. Thank you."
Eiri ran a fingertip along a damp cheek. "But you were crying."
Shuuichi rolled his head to the side, avoiding Eiri's gaze. "Just... being stupid. It was nothing."
Nothing. Right. Eiri frowned. Shuuichi glanced up, winced and looked away again, swallowing hard, that smooth cheek darkening in the early morning light.
"Look, I just thought... last night, when you told me about the night before... I just wanted to stay awake, all right? I wanted to remember, well, the feeling forever. But I fell asleep so fast. And I woke up and it was morning, and now... it's all over and I'm just me again and—"
Eiri plugged the stream of words with his mouth.
And those intoxicating lips melted beneath his.
Those surprisingly strong arms wrapped Eiri's neck, making it impossible to pull away, even had he wanted to. He rolled up, pulling Shindou with him and the kid groaned and pressed hard, wrapping his flexible legs around Eiri's waist, pressing his undeniably needy lower portions to Eiri's belly. And suddenly the image returned in his mind. Not the sex kitten, not the vulnerable young man of last night, but an intriguing amalgam, as the promise of last night blossomed into reality.
Eiri held Shuuichi's face steady with both hands, letting his mouth wander the soft skin, lips and tongue finding and teasing the sparkling jewels.
A giggle. Surely, surely that was a giggle. It was the sound that had, somehow, been missing from this charming puzzle. A sound that should be a constant companion, rather than a surprise guest, to the beautifully complex voice. "That tickles."
Thus encouraged, Eiri pursued the central ruby relentlessly. His fingers left Shuuichi's face to slide up under the sweatshirt to tease the skinny ribs and the giggles grew uncontrollable, the octopus grip entangling his body slipped free, and Shuuichi curled into a vibrating ball, arms and knees drawn in to protect his ribs.
Not one to lose so easily, Eiri began pulling extremities out of the tangle, holding them flat with knees, elbows and whatever else happened to be in the vicinity, until the kid lay gasping and giggling underneath him.
Slowly, the giggles dissolved leaving just gasps after breath. Huge Liz Taylor eyes stared up at him, unblinking.
Finally: "What?" Eiri asked, his voice harsher than he intended, but Shindou didn't flinch, just continued staring until quietly. Calmly:
"Make love to me?"
Eiri pulled away, frowning, and Shindou sat up, never blinking, never breaking that steady gaze.
"I just... I want to know what it's like. When it's for real, you know?"
"Hell no. I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. What do you think is real? That I love you? Because I kissed you? How many of Sakano's 'friends' didn't kiss you first? And if you say even one, I sure as hell won't believe you. That mouth of yours is too fucking kissable."
"It's not the same." Quiet desperation permeated Shindou's voice. "And you do want me. I can feel it."
"Of course you can. My friend stands at attention every time I fucking look at you. You've a body that fucking begs to be taken. What makes you think I'm any different from those 'friends' of Sakano's?"
"You are." That kissable mouth grew soft and trembly. "You are different." Shindou scrubbed angrily at his eyes. A tiny sapphire chip came free to cling to a scraggly strand of pink hair. "You think I can't tell? I'm not stupid, I don't care what they all say. I know what I got myself into. I know it was dangerous and potentially disastrous to my music, but they didn't win. They didn't win! They didn't destroy me or my music. Couldn't. Because they couldn't destroy the dream. I... all I want is to feel the dream. Just once."
Eiri frowned and rescued the sapphire as Shindou continued in a rush, his small hands gripping the front of Eiri's wrinkled shirt.
"It doesn't matter that you don't love me, just make love to me. Please. I love you. Maybe not forever, but right now, what I feel is love, I know it is, and if only you'd pretend, just for an hour or two—"
This time when Eiri stopped the flood of words, it was on a tide of anger. He ravaged that mouth, determined to show Shindou he was no different from those other greedy men, that Shindou's fantasies were not his own...
But the magic of that mouth won yet again.
God... why, oh why couldn't this damnable fellow have a proper case of morning mouth?
Eiri groaned, pushed Shindou back into the pillows and began a serious exploration of the body beneath the sweatshirt.
As Shindou writhed in squeaking ecstacy, Eiri eased the jacket's zipper slowly down, exposing the smooth skin of his chest a centimeter at a time, teasing the multitude of sparkling gemstone chips, and when he got to the nipples... oh, the nipples. A ring of ruby chips around the aureola provided a fence within which his tongue was delighted to play.
Shindou convulsed and screamed.
Eiri pulled back.
"Wow. Does that happen often?"
Saucer eyes stared at him from a slowly shaking head. "H–hell, no."
He forced his attention from those amazing eyes and examined the wrinkled skin about the hardened nipple. The ruby chips now made a continuous circle, the contracted skin pinching between the sparkly bits.
"Hmm...does it hurt?" he asked, scientifically curious.
"I... don't know if it h–hurts or—" Shindou blushed a deep, bright red, and his startled gaze fell at last to hide behind a ragged fall of rich magenta hair.
Gods, how could this kid have been screwed regularly for months by several dozen horny rich men and women and still be embarrassed by something as innocent as physical pleasure? If the self-consciousness was real. It was always possible Shindou could blush at will. Possibly part of what made the word spread so rapidly regarding this particular 'investment.'
Real or not, that gentle modesty was a serious turn-on.
"Want me to leave it alone?" he asked calmly, rescuing yet another sparkling escapee and setting it on the side table beside the sapphire.
A flicker of purple flashed at him through the pink strands, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. A tiny whisper asked, "Would you be totally disgusted with me if I said... no?"
"You're kidding me, right?"
The purple eyes appeared in full, and the dark red tinge faded from the gemstoned face. "I... don't think so."
"How could I be disgusted..." Eiri paused to lick delicately at the puckered skin, felt Shuuichi's erection twitch wildly beneath the sweatpants, and chuckled. "When it's so fucking sexy?"
Shuuichi whimpered and pressed his knuckles to his mouth, a futile attempt to control the noise as Eiri pursued those puckered mounds, finding the tiny, sharp gems curiously exciting when mixed with the supremely perfect texture of human skin.
Things were just beginning to get seriously interesting, when:
"Y–Yuk—ah-ah-ah!"
He gave another lap, then: "You were gasping?"
"C–c–c—"
"Cock? I'm getting there. Don't rush the—"
"Condom!"
Oh. That.
"Hell, I'm not worried—"
"Well, I–yai-yai—" A very serious gasp after breath. Yuki grinned at the contracting naval, and pushed the sweatpants a centimeter lower.
"Yes?"
"Iyam."
"'Iyam.' Are we inventing a new language?"
"I'm worried."
"I told you. I don't use them. Haven't got—"
"B–backpack. I have—"
Backpack. He focused back onto the hotel room. Remembered, vaguely, a Choco-cat backpack beside the doorway. Somehow, he doubted it belonged to American-bastard-san.
"Sorry. Think we left it."
He also somehow doubted the devastated look was for the loss of a few condoms.
"Had something important in it, did you?"
"All my notes... the lyrics I'm..." A small shaky sigh. "Doesn't matter. Better than..."
"We'll get it back, Shuuichi. I'll call Tohma."
"A–arigatou." Trembling lips parted in an attempt at a smile, and those stunning eyes glanced up at him. "I never really thanked you properly, did I? For saving me, I mean."
"I thought that was what we were working on when I was rather rudely interrupted."
"I... I didn't mean to be rude."
"I honestly don't think you have to worry." He let his fingers wander Shuuichi's rather fantastic skin, rescuing loose gems. "Those bastards weren't the type to take risks. Probably did you commando because the word's gotten around that you're careful." Fortunately, the glue didn't seem to have done any permanent damage to the smooth skin beneath. "So shall we proceed with that show of appreciation?"
No answer. Somewhat surprised, he left his contemplation of the hairs beginning to appear above the waistband, and glanced up to find himself the subject of a silent, ambiguous appraisal.
"What?"
"Is that how Yuki Eiri has been... careful? Rationalizing probabilities?"
"Rationalizing... geeze, brat, where'd you learn such big words?"
"When his life might depend on it, even the worst student will do his homework. —Besides, what makes you think it's just you I'm worried about? When was the last time you were tested, I don't-wear-condoms-san?"
"Fuck you." Eiri pushed himself away, his mood utterly destroyed. "What the fuck do you want from me, Shindou?"
The quivering lip threatened. "I don't know."
"The hell you don't."
White teeth caught and tamed the quiver. Finally, on an unsteady gasp for breath: "P–peace of mind? Security? A moment of unconditional love?" A tiny shrug. "Hope that the past isn't all there is for me? A promise that the future might be something better?"
"I can't give you any of those things."
"I... know. And that's why I can't let you risk your life and mine."
Shindou slipped from the bed, carefully arranging the covers behind him, and headed for the door, zipping his sweatshirt with visibly quivering fingers.
"Where the hell do you think you're going at this time of night?"
"The couch." The small figure in pale blue paused at the door, turned and bent a degree more than politeness dictated. "Good night, Yuki-san. I'm sorry to have waked you up."
The door clicked shut, and he was alone.
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Kami-sama, why couldn't he stop crying? Sure, he'd been a bit of a cry-baby all his life, but everyone he knew knew not to take him seriously. Hell, he knew not to take himself seriously... until lately. Lately, the tears had been different.
Lately, they'd hurt.
Did he really want Yuki-san to make love to him? Did he want to fuck someone that badly? Someone he barely knew? Someone who had blown into his life like some hero in a bad romance, had saved him like some stupid damsel in distress...
Did he want this man so badly he was ready to die for it? Or was he just that desperate to be loved? Just once.
Oh, he knew Hiro loved him, and he loved Hiro, but their love was special. Fucking had no part in it and never would. He wanted to know what it was like to be fucking-style loved.
He wanted someone to feel for him what he was very much afraid he was beginning to feel for Yuki-san.
But did he want it badly enough to risk dying for it?
He'd promised himself from that first time that he would not die one of the stupid-stat people, people who couldn't control their cocks, who thought they were above the laws of biology.
He'd been called stupid all his life, but he wasn't going to be a stupid dead person.
Instead, he'd die old, smart... and without the one person that somehow, at this moment in time, was the only person he could imagine ever touching him again. Whose touch had already made him feel...whole...for the first time in his life. So, he lay on a couch, alone, cold, his throat sore, his head throbbing, and his eyes still leaking live-stupid tears—
Warmth drifted down around him.
He gasped and curled instinctively into the folds of the soft blanket. A strong, gentle hand cupped under his head, lifted it to allow a pillow to be slipped underneath, then released him into the welcoming coolth. That hand moved to his shoulder, and a deep voice murmured:
"It's still very early. Get some more sleep. I'll call Touma in an hour or so. Tell him you're still too sick to come in. I'll go with you. We'll both get tested. Together." The hand moved to his hair, fingercombing it back from his temple in a gentle, slow massage. "I've played the optimistic ostrich for too long."
Relief, joy, hope, embarrassment flooded through him, stopping any words cold. Instead, he reached to that invisible hand, felt fingers intertwine after just a moment's hesitation, and he drew that cool, dry hand to his lips, kissed each knuckle, and finally found a single word, though it arrived on no more than whisper:
"Arigatou..."
✴✴✴
Thank you, he said.
Idiot.
Him, not Shindou.
But then, what was he supposed to do? No one, no one had ever ...voluntarily... left his bed. Certainly no one had ever had the gall to leave him in that condition. Especially someone who was obviously as interested in completing what they'd started as Shindou had been.
But was that any reason to let the damned needle-wielding leeches at him? By the time dawn rolled around, his throbbing groin would be back to normal. He could send this kid off to NG and go find...hell, any one of a dozen women who'd jump at the chance to scratch this particular itch.
But it wouldn't work. Shindou was the current muse and Shindou was the only real answer to the problem.
Dammit.
Eiri eased his hand from the small fingers as their hold went lax, staring down at that tear-streaked face, the impossibly sweet ghost smile curling that oh-so-kissable mouth.
So much strength hidden in sweetness. He'd . . . never met anyone remotely like this. It... intrigued him, that was what. As an author. As a possibility for some future character.
His muse.
That was his story...and he was sticking to it.
TBC
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Next up: Leeches. Shu and Yuki get tested.
Reviews: Yipes. This got pretty long. Sorry.
Bakayasha: I can't say I set up that moment deliberately, but I admit, I've always loved in the anime where Shu literally melts into a pile of goo when Eiri tempts him with The Date. :D
Grunhilda: Wow...what a lot of good comments!
I dunno, you write one heck of a jaded Shu. Really, really enjoyed "Paler Kind of Life" (everybody on Gurabite: go read:D) As for the use of "damp" I will, at the very least, admit it's eclectic and does, certainly, push the definition, but as a noun, it is, in this instance, "moisture on a surface." As you say, agree to disagree. :D
However and just a more generic observation: I try be wary of the concept "can only be used." Stretching the limits of common usage is a time honored tradition of fiction and one way to achieve a desired affect. It also allows language to mutate with the culture. Slightly unconventional usage can also create a momentary twitch in the hindbrain of the reader that heightens the effect of the moment without destroying the mood. It can make the entire image stand out, or cause a surprised double-take, which the reader then shares with the character.
OTOH, it's good to challenge, because if a writer does choose to challenge the limits, it s/b with conscious thought, not casual ignorance. (Yes, I did know at the time I wrote it that it was an unusual choice, but I checked the dictionary to be certain, once you asked.) Mostly, where it comes to grammar (esp that dictated by the (mostly useless) Chicago book of style) it's important to learn the rules in order to know when you're breaking them and why. If you haven't got a good reason, best to stick with the rules.
Re: boy kissing: it's funny...the first novel I ever wrote (many years ago) had a very complex male/male relationship and one of the things I avoided was kissing...for two reasons. Wasn't sure how a mainstream (well, SF/F) publisher would take it, but also...I was well into it before I realized the boys hadn't ever kissed. I didn't really know why at the time, but years later, when I rewrote it for a new edition, I discovered a very significant reason which one of the characters had hidden from me all these years.
The only reason I bring that up is because kissing is one of those things that, for me, the characters absolutely determine the when and where. I don't push it. If it happens, then I might have to figure out why for the purposes of the story, but I think, as much as sex, kissing s/b a Big Deal and part of the story...because it is a very intimate interaction, in some ways, moreso than sex (hence as in your own story, many hookers' "no kissing" rule.) Also, as with the sex, I don't go into a lot of detail...unless that detail is necessary for clarity. I'm not writing a sex manual. :D
Glad you like the pacing. I'm not one for elaborate description, whether in environment or angst-ridden thought processes, for all I tend to write very psychologically-driven stories. It's one reason I don't post as I go but have the basic story completed before I even begin posting. I find lots of "bits of necessary business" as I go along that if I just go and insert a little setup in an earlier chapter, I don't have to do a lot of pace-slowing back-explanation at the time. There's a cool resonance that occurs in the human memory that can replace a whole lot of words!
I think that's what you're probably seeing, Tsubaki. Sometimes...sometimes, if I'm finding just the right word difficult to find, I let it be hard for the character to find as well. Sometimes, I think, editing can become too efficient, and the smooth, perfect language just a little...too perfect. Many writers who are touted as "great stylists" to me become downright boring for just this reason. To me, the greatest stylist ever is CJ Cherryh, whose "style" is utterly transparent and secondary to the character's voice. Actually, her style is the character's voice:D Even if sometimes that "character" is a leaf on a pond. Anyway, I tend to keep descriptive prose within dialogue and action to a minimum. I feel a need to keep the dialogue or the action moving, but once the moment is over, the character can always pause at the door and think "Damn. What I should have said is..."
Sheesh...does that make any sense whatsoever???
:D As for setting the environment, YaoiBlackLeather, frankly, that's a weakness of mine. I'm so interested in the characters, I tend to short-change their framework. I'll try to do better, because it's a bad tendency to indulge.
Angelique: I agree re: the login system. I'd love to know who is responsible for making it necessary. I never really saw anything that abusive, but then, there's a lot I don't read. At least GB's login lets your computer remembers your password...unlike the new FFnet system (grrrr)
Re: the title: Casting Couch as in the "traditional" way for a bit player to get a major part by sleeping (on the casting director's office couch) with the casting director/producer/or someone else in power.
DIA101: Brownie points: Don't worry, Shu didn't know either. And...I never did explain in the story, so I'd better now. It's an Americanism. Brownie points are "a hypothetical currency, which can be accrued by doing good deeds or earning favor in the eyes of another, often one's superior." (Thank you Wikipedia!) Also, thanks to Wikipedia: most likely origin: "...the term derives from the name of a 19th century American railroad superintendent, George R. Brown who, in 1886, devised what was then an innovative system of merits and demerits for railroad employees on the Fall Brook Railway in New York state. Accounts of his system were published in railroad journals, and adopted by many leading U.S. railroads. American railroad employees soon began referring colloquially to "brownie points", and at some point, the term entered the general vocabulary." It has since been linked with "brown-nosing" and, indeed, the Girl Scouts point system, but I'm pretty sure the above is its actual origin.
Hmmm...the fact I'm having to explain makes that a less than satisfactory punch line. Taking a mental note...
KyoHana: Thanks. I liked that line, too. Love it when characters come up with those. This chap has one of my all-time favorite lines. From Shu. Can anybody guess which one?
Scorch: Ask has already shown up in the sequel plans.
Bakayasha: Re: keeping characters in character. I'm glad to know others feel I manage this. Of course, I do, or I wouldn't write this as Gravitation fanfic:D One thing that helps is that I've created a lot of my own characters and that I write a tight viewpoint at all times. That helps me "slip into" a variety of character's skins...even if it's a character someone else has created. If I respond to them as I have the Gravi characters, then it's like slipping on a familiar tee-shirt. Then, I just put them in a situation and let them go. Mostly, I just try to stay out of their way. :D
Sometimes, as with this story, I'll neglect a significant character. Moon71 saw that and said she'd love to know what Hiro was thinking and why didn't he notice. So...I just asked him. Most of the Hiro bits prior to Shu's waking are the result of that comment. He was sitting in the back of my mind, ready to talk; I just hadn't asked. Other characters aren't as cooperative. That's when you pull out the sweat lamps:D
I know I've forgotten somebody. I'm sooooorry.