InsaneJournal

Yay Fic! <3
Title: Little Things
Author: ~ Monique ~
Rating: PG 13 [Some innuendo, drinking, but no actual sex…sorry. :p]
Fandom: Tsubasa: RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE
Pairing/Ship(s): None really; only Kurogane/Shaoran kind of *>.<*
Spoilers: A small one about Fai, but that’s about it. I think. *hopes*
Summary: Prompt: Syaoran, Kurogane, little things, and shot glasses; From: Erica
Disclaimer: I do not own Tsubasa: RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE. CLAMP does. And the bitches like it that way, so please don’t sue me – I’m feeding obsession, not making money. *sigh*
Author's Notes: Erica. I <3 you. ;p PS She wrote more here. Enjoy it.


“Little Things”


Kurogane’s shot glass was loud against the wooden table, but Shaoran didn’t mind. Though it made Fai - Yuui - narrow his eyes and Sakura flinch, it wasn’t hurting anyone and it actually kind of seemed to make Kurogane feel better – or maybe that was the expensive sake Tomoyo had left out for him. He hadn’t decided yet.

Twenty minutes and five slammed shot glasses later Fai expelled an almost-angry-breath and left the otherwise silent, tension thick room. He was pale and tired and still limping slightly, so Sakura, being Sakura, watched him worriedly before all but running after him, leaving one sad glance for Kurogane and one for Shaoran before she went. She seemed to take all the tension with her, though, so, again, Shaoran didn’t mind.

He didn’t anything at the moment.

Another glass-against-wood silence interrupter. Shaoran would have smirked if he didn’t feel so damn nothing.

“What are you doing?” his voice was hoarse with exhaustion, anger, and the burn of liquor, but Shaoran didn’t even bother really looking at him. Kurogane didn’t want to talk, he knew; he wanted to fight. Fight off the rage, the hurt, the helplessness; fight off everything he could feel. Shaoran almost envied him, but, then, he was too cold to envy just then. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder and continued to fancy shadows across the wall signified something bigger than long tree branches slicing through reflected, filtered sunlight.

He sensed something heading towards his face and managed to get his hand there fast enough to catch the thick shot glass before it broke his nose. Snapping his eyes towards Kurogane as he took another drink he raised an eyebrow at him, staring pointedly. Kurogane sneered, pouring himself another glass. “You need one more than I do at this point.”

He shook his head, moving with unnecessary slowness, but made it to the chair across Kurogane’s drinking table without comment. Sitting, he placed the solid glass on the table with deliberate force, the sound echoing exactly as the last nine or so had. Kurogane poured him a full shot, nearly flowing over the rim, and held his own glass in the air. “To…” the word hung between them, heavy in the silence for no foreseeable reason. Shaoran nodded, and the two men threw back their heads and drank.




In the morning, Shaoran ran a hand over his terribly mused hair, hissed as his entire body ached, and sighed at the warmth flowing through him. His head pounded, and his ass hurt, but the residual warmth and soreness that had not faded with the night comforted him. He felt; he’d been forced into feeling; it was perfect.

Beside him an overturned shot glass, a shirt, and what appeared to be medicine. The room was orderly, polar opposite of the disarray he recalled leaving it in the night previous. The curtains were drawn.

He smiled.

The little things do count, he decided; especially after an all-night smutfest.


- - - - - - - - -

- Fini -

- - - - - - - - -