light the blue paper and turn
Jan. 1st, 2019 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seleniasTitle: light the blue paper and turn
Prompt: 1. something has tried to kill me and has failed
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Natori/Matoba, pre-slash
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 1,003
1. Blue touch paper: commonly used when lighting fuses, also an idiom for igniting an angry/violent conversation among a group of people.
2. Trying to capture Shuuichi's particular brand of prickliness and angst is making me realize how alone he actually is as the sole heir of the Natori clan.
3. Seiji already being familiar with how to navigate bad situations because that's just his family's style, and realizing that Natori's a wreck in the face of it is also a particular brand of D: D: D:
-
-
Seiji is wearing a fox mask when Natori spots him. It’s different from his usual getup. His white kimono is overlapped with a gray robe, and it softens the shock of dark hair draped around his shoulders -- longer, Natori thinks absently, tugging at his scarf, then the last time he’d spotted him at an open door meeting like this.
“Your disguises are really obvious. Why bother at this point?” he grumbles later, warming his hands over the irori. Winter’s barely hanging on, so he has to appreciate the practical, rare heating while he can. It’s the last cold spell of the season is overheard at least three times within the moment a shiki hung his outer coat on a hook outside the genkan, black hands snake like and never gentle enough with the cheap material. Times will be busy soon. Have you any news on...?
Seiji tilts his mask just enough to reveal the smile underneath, teeth flashing sharp like the winking of a blade in it’s sheath.
“You should be wearing one too, Shuuichi-san,” he reprimands.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He never does.
Seiji was an unsually warm presence by his side. This is the power of the Matoba-clan, he thought weakly. Judge, jury, executioner. Something very peculiar had occurred -- that he couldn’t distinguish what that air might be made him nervous. What conversation was I having again?
Seiji swirled the cup in his left hand, the other on Natori’s elbow, fingers digging uncomfortably into the soft skin under his sleeves. The people nearby were watching, animal masks making it impossible to tell the humans apart from the youkai. Natori felt so self-conscious he thought he might puke. Or was that the magic?
“You should drink this,” Seiji said serenely. “I hear it’s very sweet. Enchanting even, for those susceptible to it’s influence.” His mask was abandoned, cord strung around his neck like a noose while it dangled against the top of his spine. The fox face gazed at nothing, black slits nodding off toward a corner of the room.
The man seemed tongue-tied. Natori raised his head and the exorcist jerked back an inch, eyes catching on his too warm skin, the way his blonde hair clung to the dampness on his face. “Drink it,” Natori echoed. He hardly recognized his own voice, falling out of his mouth like a whisper. Seiji’s fingers didn’t shift at all -- surely he was pressing hard enough to feel his heart jumping like a rabbit?
The man took the glass and raised it unsteadily to his lips, fingers trembling so minutely it could have been a passing shiver.
Seiji was smiling.
“That’s enough. Seiji-kun, get the Natori boy out of the room.”
Nanase-san strode through, Seiji pulled -- and the spell broke.
Natori leaned back against the balcony rails and counted his breaths slowly. He knew someone had returned when shoes began to scuff around his stretched out legs, and suddenly, unprecedented -- a cold glass was pressed to his cheek. He flinched, then reached for it, cracking his eyes to glare upward at Seiji.
He was much closer than he would have liked. “That," he began, "was a very foolish thing to do, Shuuichi-san.”
“Your family’s party,” Natori shot back.
Seiji clicked his tongue. “An unfortunate coincidence. Truthfully, it could have been anyone’s.”
The I didn’t know walloped him; he couldn’t use it as an excuse. It was expected of him to know if he went to these events, to have some inkling of how bonds exchanged hands. He’d nearly made a terrible mistake without realizing it. Such a simple social convention, too -- he should have realized that these weren’t ordinary humans with ordinary means. He couldn’t accept offerings from anyone anymore. It was rather pathetic how desperately he wanted someone on his side.
Takuma-san, he thought wantonly. He’d been present too at some point, hadn’t he?
“Maybe,” Shuuichi replied shakily, slowly. Am I about to make another? He held the glass back up abruptly, splashed the cold beverage over his hand with the force. The cold was electrifying. “Don’t want this.”
Seiji didn’t take it. “It’s water.”
“You first.”
Natori watched the put upon manner that had Seiji’s chin tilting up and forward again, lips damp from a loose seal on the glass. Seiji offered it again, more stiffly than he had the first time, other hand angling up with a sleeve to wipe his mouth. His eyes slanted sideways toward the courtyard below, and Natori heard it less clearly but heard it all the less, the stiff conversations carried on the breeze leaching the last of his confidence away like a harsh, twinkling bell. That guy must be done for.
This time, Natori took it. He fingers overlapped the ghostly imprint Seiji’s had left, the warmth lingering on by a thread.
“Many clansmen would be delighted to have a Natori in their house. Some are unsavory enough to force it. You should start getting familiar with your family’s enemies,” he murmured.
“What -- Matoba clan doesn’t use such ugly tricks?” He sipped slowly, cautiously. The first swallow burned and stripped like paint thinner -- and he winced. The second was soothing, and he leaned his head back against the rails, suddenly exhausted. The night air dried his skin and chased away the fever that had shot through him like a coil; would that the April air was warmer, he might sleep. Instead, he shivered.
All the while Seiji’s eyes continued to watch him, following the motion of his hands, the persistent scrubbing of his fingers over his eyes, but Natori noted keenly -- avoided settling on his face for longer than a handful of seconds.
“Humans are the ones we protect,” he said carefully.
Wow. Excepting the one you made an example of, maybe I’d believe it.
Natori couldn’t help it. He huffed out a soundless laugh. “Thanks then, Seiji-kun, for the very timely save.”
Seiji didn’t say anything. His hand found Natori’s elbow again, lifted the glass back toward his face. “You really should drink all of it. You’re sounding delusional.”
For once, Natori obeyed. He could blame it on the enchantment later.
Prompt: 1. something has tried to kill me and has failed
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Natori/Matoba, pre-slash
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 1,003
1. Blue touch paper: commonly used when lighting fuses, also an idiom for igniting an angry/violent conversation among a group of people.
2. Trying to capture Shuuichi's particular brand of prickliness and angst is making me realize how alone he actually is as the sole heir of the Natori clan.
3. Seiji already being familiar with how to navigate bad situations because that's just his family's style, and realizing that Natori's a wreck in the face of it is also a particular brand of D: D: D:
-
-
Seiji is wearing a fox mask when Natori spots him. It’s different from his usual getup. His white kimono is overlapped with a gray robe, and it softens the shock of dark hair draped around his shoulders -- longer, Natori thinks absently, tugging at his scarf, then the last time he’d spotted him at an open door meeting like this.
“Your disguises are really obvious. Why bother at this point?” he grumbles later, warming his hands over the irori. Winter’s barely hanging on, so he has to appreciate the practical, rare heating while he can. It’s the last cold spell of the season is overheard at least three times within the moment a shiki hung his outer coat on a hook outside the genkan, black hands snake like and never gentle enough with the cheap material. Times will be busy soon. Have you any news on...?
Seiji tilts his mask just enough to reveal the smile underneath, teeth flashing sharp like the winking of a blade in it’s sheath.
“You should be wearing one too, Shuuichi-san,” he reprimands.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He never does.
Seiji was an unsually warm presence by his side. This is the power of the Matoba-clan, he thought weakly. Judge, jury, executioner. Something very peculiar had occurred -- that he couldn’t distinguish what that air might be made him nervous. What conversation was I having again?
Seiji swirled the cup in his left hand, the other on Natori’s elbow, fingers digging uncomfortably into the soft skin under his sleeves. The people nearby were watching, animal masks making it impossible to tell the humans apart from the youkai. Natori felt so self-conscious he thought he might puke. Or was that the magic?
“You should drink this,” Seiji said serenely. “I hear it’s very sweet. Enchanting even, for those susceptible to it’s influence.” His mask was abandoned, cord strung around his neck like a noose while it dangled against the top of his spine. The fox face gazed at nothing, black slits nodding off toward a corner of the room.
The man seemed tongue-tied. Natori raised his head and the exorcist jerked back an inch, eyes catching on his too warm skin, the way his blonde hair clung to the dampness on his face. “Drink it,” Natori echoed. He hardly recognized his own voice, falling out of his mouth like a whisper. Seiji’s fingers didn’t shift at all -- surely he was pressing hard enough to feel his heart jumping like a rabbit?
The man took the glass and raised it unsteadily to his lips, fingers trembling so minutely it could have been a passing shiver.
Seiji was smiling.
“That’s enough. Seiji-kun, get the Natori boy out of the room.”
Nanase-san strode through, Seiji pulled -- and the spell broke.
Natori leaned back against the balcony rails and counted his breaths slowly. He knew someone had returned when shoes began to scuff around his stretched out legs, and suddenly, unprecedented -- a cold glass was pressed to his cheek. He flinched, then reached for it, cracking his eyes to glare upward at Seiji.
He was much closer than he would have liked. “That," he began, "was a very foolish thing to do, Shuuichi-san.”
“Your family’s party,” Natori shot back.
Seiji clicked his tongue. “An unfortunate coincidence. Truthfully, it could have been anyone’s.”
The I didn’t know walloped him; he couldn’t use it as an excuse. It was expected of him to know if he went to these events, to have some inkling of how bonds exchanged hands. He’d nearly made a terrible mistake without realizing it. Such a simple social convention, too -- he should have realized that these weren’t ordinary humans with ordinary means. He couldn’t accept offerings from anyone anymore. It was rather pathetic how desperately he wanted someone on his side.
Takuma-san, he thought wantonly. He’d been present too at some point, hadn’t he?
“Maybe,” Shuuichi replied shakily, slowly. Am I about to make another? He held the glass back up abruptly, splashed the cold beverage over his hand with the force. The cold was electrifying. “Don’t want this.”
Seiji didn’t take it. “It’s water.”
“You first.”
Natori watched the put upon manner that had Seiji’s chin tilting up and forward again, lips damp from a loose seal on the glass. Seiji offered it again, more stiffly than he had the first time, other hand angling up with a sleeve to wipe his mouth. His eyes slanted sideways toward the courtyard below, and Natori heard it less clearly but heard it all the less, the stiff conversations carried on the breeze leaching the last of his confidence away like a harsh, twinkling bell. That guy must be done for.
This time, Natori took it. He fingers overlapped the ghostly imprint Seiji’s had left, the warmth lingering on by a thread.
“Many clansmen would be delighted to have a Natori in their house. Some are unsavory enough to force it. You should start getting familiar with your family’s enemies,” he murmured.
“What -- Matoba clan doesn’t use such ugly tricks?” He sipped slowly, cautiously. The first swallow burned and stripped like paint thinner -- and he winced. The second was soothing, and he leaned his head back against the rails, suddenly exhausted. The night air dried his skin and chased away the fever that had shot through him like a coil; would that the April air was warmer, he might sleep. Instead, he shivered.
All the while Seiji’s eyes continued to watch him, following the motion of his hands, the persistent scrubbing of his fingers over his eyes, but Natori noted keenly -- avoided settling on his face for longer than a handful of seconds.
“Humans are the ones we protect,” he said carefully.
Wow. Excepting the one you made an example of, maybe I’d believe it.
Natori couldn’t help it. He huffed out a soundless laugh. “Thanks then, Seiji-kun, for the very timely save.”
Seiji didn’t say anything. His hand found Natori’s elbow again, lifted the glass back toward his face. “You really should drink all of it. You’re sounding delusional.”
For once, Natori obeyed. He could blame it on the enchantment later.
