Bart and Billy, Xenogears

Bart held the gun in way that suggested he thought it would bite him. In fact, given the strange way he was holding it, if he did fire the thing, the hammer would indeed come down on his thumb. Billy reached over to adjust the boy's grip, removing one hand from it entirely. "Now, don't point it at the ground unless you want to hit your boat or your foot."

"You know..." Bart said, lifting the gun and pointing it some vague direction over the bow, "I don't know about this."

"I thought you liked guns."

"I like my ship's guns. Ship. Don't call it a boat." He pointed the gun upward and drew it back a little to look at it more closely; Billy made a small sound of alarm and pushed it back down. "I don't think I could hit anything very well. I'm not so good with long range stuff, you know?"

"Don't worry about hitting anything." Please don't let him hit anything, God. "Just focus on firing it. You have to get used to the noise and the way gun jerks when you pull the trigger before you can learn to aim."

Bart smirked. Billy blinked and glared. "I'm serious!"

"You're the expert," Bart said cheerfully. He straightened his arm and held it out rigidly from the shoulder; Billy reached up and gently unlocked his elbow. "You know what they say about guys who are as into guns as you, right?"

"Hm?" Billy looked up at Bart, who was now concentrating down the length of his arm. "What?"

Bart glanced at Billy for just a moment, then laughed and looked out over the water again. Was he blushing? "Nothing, nevermind."

Billy eyed the rough yet regal profile quietly for a moment and shrugged, as though he weren't blushing himself. "I think I'd be more interested in what people might say about a guy who's into whips."

Bart pulled the trigger with a satisfying bang, and the birds that had been wheeling overhead scattered noisily. The bullet skipped merrily over the water a few times in the far distance. "Ouch," he murmurred with a grin.

Knives and Vash, Trigun

There really wasn't anywhere to go, and they both knew it. The direction Knives pointed in every morning was completely arbitrary and occasionally inconsistant; they never did anything as obvious as backtrack, but the course was meandering and vague. They weren't trekking across the desert so much as touring it, waiting for something to happen. Anything.

During a particularly bad month -- they were both getting taller again, and at an amarming clip that brought on growing pains he doubted humans ever had to deal with -- Vash pointed this out rather hotly, throwing his bag down and crossing his arms. "You don't even know where you're going! I want to stop, my legs hurt."

Knives narrowed his eyes, making no move to drop his bedroll. "What, here?"

"Yeah." Vash sat down awkwardly. "Just for a few days."

"There's nothing here."

"There's nothing ANYWHERE! Maybe... maybe we should just stop. I'm tired of walking." Vash leaned back on his hands. "I'm tired."

Knives sneered. "You're whining again."

"I'm NOT whining! We're going around in circles!"

"We are not!"

"We are! How many times have we passed that outcrop over there?"

Knives scowled furiously, throwing his bag down with a less-than-satisfying thud. "We haven't! It just looks a lot like some of the others! Don't be stupid!"

"I want to stop." Vash looked up at his brother with unusual boldness.

"FINE! You can stop! Rot out here, see if I care!" Knives grabbed his bedroll again and slung in over his shoulder. "You don't do anything but complain and slow me down! I don't know why I let you come with me to begin with! You're USELESS!" He turned on his heel sharply and marched off.

Vash watched his brother as he stomped away, the sand and lack of cover softening the impact of his dramatic exit. He stretched his aching limbs a bit and sighed, resting his head on his bag.

After maybe ten minutes, he was awoken from his half-doze when Knives grabbed him roughly by the arm and hauled him to his feet. He took his bag, too, tucking it under his arm so he had a hand free with which drag Vash along after him. Vash winced with every step.

Shigure and Ayame, Fruits Basket

Most mornings when this happened, Shigure had Hatori to fight with over who was going to do it. But Hatori had the same cold that Ayame had come down with, only his parents paid enough attention to him to notice and not try to send him to school on a snowy morning. As it was, Shigure was alone, and he had to do this himself.

He took a deep breath at the door and opened it, sticking his head in. "Uh, excuse me? Hello?"

He could hear the baby crying. It took a minute or two for Ayame's mother to answer his call, stepping into the foyer and looking cranky. Great.

"What?" she asked, looking somewhat distrustful. Then she caught sight of the bundle of clothing under Shigure's arm and the way the boy was squirming a little, and she sighed heavily. "Oh, god dammit."

Shigure crept in with his head low. "I, uh... I think he's sick. He was coughing, and--"

"Fine, whatever, come in." Shigure could feel Ayame cringe underneath his shirt. He headed towards Ayame's room without waiting for futher chilliness, passing the room with the squalling baby with a wince. It was obvious why the baby was crying. He slid Ayame's door shut immediately and threw the clothes down on the futon. "I hate your mother. Man."

The little snake slid down his arm, smooth scales catching a little on Shigure's wool coat. "She's been worse since Yuki was born." Ayame curled up tightly in a rough figure eight beside his rumpled shirt. "When she was pregnant she was too tired to yell at anyone."

Shigure fell back on the futon, stretching his legs. "Well, she didn't yell."

"She will later."

"What a bitch! Like you can help it." They were both silent for a moment, and Shigure sighed. "Sorry."

Ayame unwound himself and drew himself alongside Shigure's torso. "You'll be late for school."

Neither of them moved. Somewhere else in the house, Shigure could hear the woman yelling at the baby to shut up.

Shigure, Ayame, and Hatori (and a lot of pot), Fruits Basket

Ayame had been talking for thousands of years. Millions. Billions. There had never been a moment thoughout the history of time and the universe that had not been giddily narrated. Every step mankind had taken in its long journey to the present day had had judgement passed upon it by Souma Ayame, laughing and fluttering and waving his hands under the lamp beside the bed. If he ever stopped speaking, the universe would end. Like... like Siva.

"I want to be a dog," Shigure said. "Right now. We need to go find some girls."

"What?" Hatori had trouble hearing him over The Eternal Narration.

"I want to be a dog," Shigure said again. "That would be great. Everything would smell so great. I could eat without having to worry about my hands."

Oh, a transformation would be so bad right now. Everything would be so big. "No. No, don't go."

"There are servents in the kitchen," Shigure said. "We should go hug them."

"No."

"We should... Aya, be quiet."

The Running Commentary That Defined The Fabric of the Universe did not stop, but it changed its colour and tone in such a way that Hatori decided that Ayame also did not want to go to the kitchen and hug girls.

"Cold blooded," Shigure said. "That's your problem, both of you. You have cold blood."

"No, we don't," Hatori said. He was going to be a med student. He was almost positive Shigure was wrong. He could look it up. "I could look it up."

He thought of how large his textbooks were. "Just trust me," he added.

Kiros and Laguna, Final Fantasy VIII

"Kiros, wake up."

Kiros cracked an eye open and twisted around to look over his shoulder. Laguna was standing in the doorway and looking very cross. "Why weren't you at the morning meeting?"

"Meeting?" Kiros sighed and rolled over onto his back. "Um. It's a holiday, I was sleeping in."

Laguna went from cross to exasperated. "Oh, not this again."

"Yeah, it's the, uh... Feast of the... the Boar. My people hunt boar today."

"I don't see you hunting boar."

"Well, Esthar doesn't have boar. So I'm gonna sleep in. Go away." He turned toward the wall again.

"I think today is actually the Feast of Bullshitting the President of Esthar."

Kiros pointed upward, then backward at Laguna. "You're insulting my people and my culture, Laguna. You know how I feel about that."

He listened as Laguna stomped off in the direction of Kiros's kitchen. "I don't see it marked off on your calendar!"

Kiros sighed into his pillow. "Any true descendant of the Centra does not have to mark their holidays on your culturist calendars!" he yelled back.

Laguna stomped back in. "Culturist?"

"Yeah, culturist."

"That's not a word, Kiros!"

"Well, it should be. You don't even know when the Feast of the Boar is! What kind of president is that ignorant of other cultures?"

"GET UP!"

"You should write it down so you won't make this mistake again next year."

"I've known you for twenty years, Kiros, and you've never said anything about any feasts of the boar. You have managed to produce a holiday every morning you've been hung over, or on convenient Mondays and Fridays, which is funny, since I don't think your people used the same seven day week as we do!"

"Oh, go away."

"And weren't the Centra from around here? Roughly? If there are no boar here, why the hell do you have a holiday devoted to it?"

"South of here. Way south. Go away."

"I'm docking your pay!"

"Go away."

Laguna slammed the door behind him. Kiros sighed a little. Bacon did sound good.

Kaworu and Rei, Evangelion

It was strange, how the layers of her memory worked. On the surface, this was completely out of the blue, and she was startled, and she knew she should push him away. Maybe even report him to Gendou. They were in a public walkway, and there must have been many camaras fixed on them, but she knew that no one would interrupt. No one wanted to tip his hand.

Except the one who really might want to keep his hand hidden. As strange as this seemed -- his hands planted on the wall at either side of her, his cryptic smile now just a bit too wide -- on another layer, much farther down, almost at her very core, this was quite familiar.

She turned her head and examined one of his hands. His fingers were long and boney, those of an adolescent. His breath was warm on her cheek. "You're not going to say anything?" he finally asked.

"I have nothing to say." She looked up into his face again. He still smiled, and it was the most alien thing about him.

He laughed softly. "That's different."

She didn't like this. She didn't like the way he made her mind crawl, searching for things best left hidden. "Let go of me."

"I'm not touching you." He leaned in a little so his lips were bare inches from her ear. "Not anymore."

There wasn't much to say to that; it was true, after all. She didn't have to do much more than push him away. He didn't look very strong.

"Have you given up?" he asked suddenly.

She looked up sharply, nearly colliding with him. He smiled his cat smile and said, "You lay yourself down and wait patiently for him, I see it in your eyes. Nothing but waiting and the deaths of children, that's all I see in you now." He lowered his voice. "That's all I've ever seen in you. You should have listened to me from the start."

She planted both her hands against his chest and shoved. He fell back a few feet, still smiling -- grinning! -- and said, "I've kept someone waiting."

Something rose in her chest. It felt like anger, but it was far too cold. "He's gone by home by now. It's late."

"He's been waiting for me for over an hour, outside."

"Don't." Cold and hard, like pitted stone.

"He isn't yours. Nothing is yours. Everything you own is passed on to the one who owns you. That is man's law." He smiled, and this time it was the real one. "Goodnight, Ayanami. I'll see you in the morning." He turned on his heel then, almost normal in his boy's uniform and his youthful grace.

Her hands formed fists at her sides. "By the time I stand up, you won't even be here to see it. They even won't even remember your name."

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Of course. I'm a child, too, aren't I?"

Her mouth fell open and her hands loosened. He smiled at her warmly and began walking again, hands in his pockets, without a care in the world.

Ashley Riot, Vagrant Story

Ashley Riot was thinking of writing a book: "How to Go Completely Mad in Just Four Days." The only problem he anticipated was in trying to explain where the average reader could produce the zombies and the lizardmen, but it looked like he was going to have plenty of time to think.

Back to the undercity. Oh, this part was his favourite! Creepy little girl puppets that chase you with knives? He could hardly believe they had ever given him pause. He found that most people (and things, and people-things) tend to be much less tough after a couple good whacks to the head with a blunt object, and he had managed to put together a damn good blunt object for himself.

He was beginning to suspect that not sleeping and having no one to talk to aside from cultists, crazed knights, and the occasional creepy little girl puppet was not having a positive effect on his health. He knew, however, that now really wasn't the time to worry about that, as he had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as delivering said couple good whacks to the head to said cultists, crazed knights, and creepy litle girl puppets.

The light in the undercity was bad and tended to make his head hurt. He sat down and leaned back against a wall, rubbing his eyes wearily. It didn't take long for something to find him; he didn't even look up immediately at the now-familiar 'I can't find my shoes, and also, the flesh of my feet seem to be partially liquified' noise that a good half of the local population made when walking. It stopped several feet away from him, and Ashley sighed and lifted his head.

The gentleman had seen better days. It had also, for that matter, seen days better, since its eyes weren't holding up so well. Its jaw had fallen off and its tongue was half rotten, writhing like an unearthed maggot.

"Long day, eh?" Ashley asked conversationally.

"Mmmmmmmuuuuuuhhhhhnnhh."

"Yes, I know how that is. Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?"

The thing tilted it head at him like a puzzled dog, though most dogs didn't make that horrible cracking noise in the neck. Well, maybe a few of the ones around here did.

"Come on," Ashley said, motioning for it to come closer.

"Mmmmmmmuuuuuuhhhhhnnhh?"

"Come on," he repeated, "I don't feel like getting up."

He was gaped at for several moments, and the walking corpse shuffled over, making that terrible sound the entire way. Ashley waited until it was within arm's length, and then draw his sword and cut its legs out from underneath it. Once its head was within easy reached, he crushed it with several blows from the hilt.

"I live to serve," he said tiredly, leaning back against the wall again.

Subaru and Seishirou, Tokyo Babylon

One has to be careful when it comes to writing out ofuda. When one lives with one's overly exuberant twin sister in an apartment prone to invasions by a very enthusiastic veterinarian, one may as well define 'careful' as 'closing one's door, locking it, and shoving a dresser in front of it.' As it was, Subaru simply learned to tune out his surroundings, because he was prone to clumsiness and didn't want an open inkpot in his bedroom.

Hokuto and Seishirou had been making a cake the last time he'd looked up; that was fine with him as long as they stayed over on that side of the kitchen and didn't jostle his elbows. It was getting late, and, as usual, he had left the hardest ones for last. He frowned down at the tangle of kanji and realized that he had lost his place again.

It wasn't as easy as looking things up in a book. His ofuda would be different from his grandmother's, and even from his sister's (though she often shrugged off writing out her own and would steal a couple of his in a pinch, which he kept telling her would produce far less powerful results, and she never listened). The tip of the brush hovered over the paper as he counted the strokes he had already made.

"Subaru-kun?"

He jumped and just managed to prevent the ink from dripping on to the paper. It dripped on to the table instead, of course. "Y-yes?"

Seishirou smiled widely. Subaru hadn't known the man for very long -- only a month or so -- and he still didn't quite know how to feel when he smiled like that. "I didn't mean to startle you. You were just frowning, and I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine!" Subaru smiled back and tried to ignore the weird way the pit of his stomach felt when Seishirou leaned in too close. It was not going to help him with his calligraphy.

Seishirou peered at the little slip of paper from across the table -- upside down -- and reached out to tap a spot, somehow managing to not get ink on his fingertips. "You left out a stroke here. And here."

Subaru looked down at the incomplete ofuda for a long silent moment. Then he looked back up at Seishirou.

Seishirou shrugged, still beaming. "It would look more balanced that way, I think."

The timer on the oven made a bright ding, and Seishirou cried, "Oh, the cake!" Then he was on the other side of the room again, calling out to Hokuto to ask where the oven mitts were.

Subaru stared at the ofuda for a long time before he rewet the brush and finished it. He laid it out to dry beside a few others, and then packed the brush and ink away.

He spent the next ten minutes or so trying to get the spot of ink off the table, but it looked like it had already stained.

Subaru and Hokuto, Tokyo Babylon

"What," Hokuto gasped, "have I," she pulled off one bright pink high-heeled shoe, "told you," and then the other, "about Bunkyo?" She held them by their skinny straps in one hand, and suddenly started to keep up much better. "Huh?"

Subaru was pretty sure she had never told him anything about Bunkyo. "Be quiet!" he hissed. He ducked behind a corner and pulled her along after him.

"Can they hear us?" she asked.

Subaru hesitated. "I... I think so."

For some reason, she chose to respond to his professional opinion by raising her voice indignantly. "I TOLD you to NEVER take any jobs in this part of town, Subaru! Do you know what's over here? Do you?!'

He peered around the corner. They were still coming, but they were taking their time. "I don't think they're spirits caught in this world," he said, mostly to himself. "Those to tend to have more... direction."

"--go NEAR a medical school, that's just ASKING for trouble--"

"And I don't sense any sadness or regret from them. Maybe... desire? For... this is so strange."

"--you bring ten billion fuda with you EVERYWHERE YOU GO but you never bring anything useful like a kubotan or a lighter--"

"They're definately looking for something, but.. they're walking like they can't see--"

"SUBARU." Hokuto leaned across him and glared around the corner, one hand pinning her pink and black pillbox hat to her head. "You are a wonderful onmyouji, and a genius medium, but -- and I mean this in the best possible way -- you are by FAR the STUPIDEST teenager to ever walk through a graveyard at night, and that's saying a LOT." She got a good grip on her shoes, one in each hand, the stiletto heels brandished forward murderously. "Let your big sister handle this one, okay?"

Paine and Tidus, FFX

Nothing spelled death to a really good party than the sudden appearance of unexpected signifigant others, but this hadn't been a particularly good party, and anyway Paine hated parties. She did not, to her own mild surprise, hate Tidus.

Oh, the elements of hate were there. He was like Yuna, only worse. Paine didn't hate Yuna, either, but she came dangerously close at precisely seven thirty every morning ("SPHERE HUNTERS DO NOT KEEP HOURS," she'd said once, "NOR DO THEY SIT ON EACH OTHER'S BEDS TO DO THEIR HAIR," but that had been more Rikku's fault than Yuna's). Now that Tidus had joined their number, it was pushing six. Yet somehow, it seemed much less sweetly infuriating coming from him.

His Al Bhed was better than hers. "You know, if you had to choose among the three of us" -- the three of us understood by this point in the conversation to mean me, you, and Yuna -- "which of us spoke the best Al Bhed, most people would pick the person who was actually an Al Bhed."

"She'll get better! If I have to talk to her in Al Bhed all the time." He had a great smile. Very straight teeth. The blond in his hair was half grown out, and even that was sort of cute in a mismatched sort of way. Like Yuna's eyes.

"You're very nice for a dead boy," she said later that same night, after several beers.

Everyone else on the bridge was shocked into an awkward silence, but Tidus only laughed.

Loki and Idunn, uh, the Eddas

"What do you mean, you're not coming?" It was a wonder Loki managed to spit the sentence out at all, he was grinding his teeth so hard.

"What do you mean, what do I mean? The last time I followed you somewhere, I ended up here!" Idunn stamped her tiny foot and gestured around her little cell. Here was Thrymheim, and Loki had to admit that it wasn't any place he'd like to be, either. But here he was and here she was, and he was completely willing to right both these wrongs at once.

"You. Are coming. With me." He curled his fingers into claws beneath Freya's feather-cloak. She had given it to him on the condition that he would give it back immediately, and that it be in absolute top condition upon its return. He was thinking about keeping it.

She tossed her golden hair girlishly. "And why should I?"

"Because the All-Father demands it," he growled. "The apples are missed."

"Ah," Idunn said, and smiled suddenly. Loki took a step back suspiciously. "They are angry with you."

Loki said nothing. He entertained thoughts of lovely blonde heads decorating the poles around a hall he did not have. "And what will happen," she continued brightly, "if you come back empty handed, sweet sky-walker?"

He considered not answering. He considered hitting her over her fool head and bringing her back unconscious, but he was in enough trouble as it was. And if he missed, she would undoubtedly scream and Thiassi would be upon them in moments. "I will be gravely punished," he said lowly.

"Smitten?" She looked far too eager for someone in her position. "Will they smote you?"

"Smiting was mentioned."

She claped her hands together joyously, but almost immediately her expression turned sorrowful. "And I shall be trapped here in hated Jotunheim and not see it at all."

"Yes," Loki said. "Yes, so you should come home. With me."

She sighed. "But then they won't smite you."

"They will undoubtedly find else to smite me for within the week." Something worth it this time, perhaps. "If you come along, then I promise you can watch."

Idunn pressed a finger to her lips and affected great thought, of which Loki greatly doubted she was actually capable. "Agreed," she finally said. "But from now on, son of Laufrey, you shall receive the least of my beautiful apples, and my husband Bragi shall heap scorn upon you that will echo throughout all the ages of poets and story-tellers."

"Fine," Loki said, "whatever pleases you."

He was definately keeping the cloak.

Mustadio and Ramza, Final Fantasy Tactics

"I think I'd stand a better chance of hurting people if I just poked them with it," Ramza said, gesturing vaguely with a cobbled together gun.

Mustadio shook his head. "You can aim with a crossbow, boss. I've seen you hit things with arrows. Don't lie."

"Poke." The gun's barrel prodded Mustadio's arm rudely.

"Give me that!" Mustadio snatched his gun away and cradled it protectively. "I've changed my mind, you don't get a gun. You obviously have no respect for them." He frowned as Ramza nodded and rubbed his eyes. "You aren't even listening to me!"

"I'm listening." Ramza smiled. "Respect. I greatly respect all the dirty little things you dig up. I just respect the pointy ones more."

"The pointy ones?" Mustadio scratched his cheek with a gloved hand, brushing dirt onto his unshaven jaw. "Boss, you sound more stupid than usual. You okay?"

"I'm fine," Ramza said. "I'm completely, utterly fine. And a little concussed, I think."

Mustadio rolled his eyes and pulled out his satchel full of little glass bottles.

"Do you think," Ramza continued, "do you think I could use a gun and wear a helm? That would be lovely."

"If you're using a gun you shouldn't need a helm! Drink this. What sort of military school did they send you to?"

"Someone threw a rock at me. I think it was a mediator. He was wearing a mediator's hat." Ramza drank his potion obediantly and made a face, like a small child. He always did that. "Oh. Oh, that's better."

"Idiot."

"So, yes. Pointy things. I like them."

"You said."

Yuri and Alice, Shadow Hearts

Yuri lifted his face from Alice's hair and stared out the window. Merry little signs that gleamed in the sunlight announced the same village name that was on his ticket. He had almost forgotten that he was going somewhere.

Alice's head lolled onto his shoulder. Her hair was wet where it brushed his cheek. The conductor was making his way towards them briskly, to wake up the English girl and tell her undoubtedly illiterate Chinese companion that they were here.

He wasn't Chinese. They told him over and over, until they were joking about it giddily, making fun of him out of earshot. I don't know if your Chinese friend will appreciate the full grandeur of our menu, we don't prepare babies-- And at this Alice punched him in the arm, because when he affected a British accent it sounded like he was making fun of her. Which he was, a little.

He buried his face against the crook of his arm for a moment, then signalled to the man that yes, he could read, thank you. The man smiled and nodded and started prodding other sleeping passengers.

Yuri swallowed. Moving slowly and carefully, as though she really were asleep and he was trying not to wake her, he laid her head against his shoulder and lifted her easily into his arms. He carried his dead bride through the tangle of passengers with his head low, willing that no one look into his face.

He never thought that it would be so easy, after all.

Tseng and Sephiroth, Final Fantasy VII

"She said it was for luck," the young general said, carefully unfolding a length of white cloth. "She said to wear it like a scarf."

"Did you?" Tseng asked.

An odd expression lit Sephiroth's face for a moment. "No," he admitted.

"Why not?" He watched that expression closely, looking for signs of slyness, knowing glances, amusement. But the man was disconcertingly clear-eyed as he mulled over the question.

"It's not good to wear things like that into battle," he said slowly. Tseng noticed how pale Sephiroth's hands were, even clutching a piece of white silk. "And it... just didn't sit well with me. I saw them everywhere, but I never saw people wearing them. They were on.... statues and things."

Statues of temple spirits and demons, to keep them trapped in stone. The fact that Sephiroth owned such a thing was surprising. Tseng didn't know whether to laugh or to back away. "I thought you could tell me what it was," Sephiroth said. No smirk, no wink.

Tseng reached out for it, and Sephiroth handed it over willingly. "It's a scarf," he said simply. "She probably made it herself. Shrine maiden, you said?"

Sephiroth nodded. In this light, his pupils were wider than usual; he kept the lighting in his own apartment low. "They didn't seem happy with us for passing through. She surprised me. I didn't know enough Wutaian to ask her about it."

The cloth was long, and it hissed through Tseng's hand as he examined its full length. "You must have looked cold." A single word was stitched into one corner: bind. "This is just the name of whoever wove it. It's a thing priestesses do."

"I see." Sephiroth smiled. Just the corners of his mouth turned up. "That actually makes me feel a lot better about it, thank you."

Tseng smiled back. "Turn around."

Sephiroth blinked, and after a tense moment, complied silently. Tseng stepped closer, just behind him, and pressed a length of the cloth over Sephiroth's eyes. The younger man inhaled sharply, but said nothing as Tseng wrapped the 'scarf' around his head several time before tying it securely. The loose ends fell in with his hair, vanishing into it.

"Can you see?" he asked.

"No," Sephiroth whispered.

"Good," Tseng said.

Cloud and Aeris, Final Fantasy VII

"Wait!" Aeris called. "Wait wait wait!"

Cloud stopped and turned with great dignity. ...no, that was a lie. A necessary lie. He stopped and turned wearing a dress and a goddamned wig. He did not know how he was managing to walk in heels better than the ACTUAL GIRL, and he frankly didn't want to discuss it.

She caught up, tugging her own dress straight over her hips and belly. She looked fantastic, which frankly only made it all worse. "Sorry," she said, "you can't breathe in these things."

"Yup," he said grimly.

"It is kind of fun, though." She spun in place; the skirt of her dress twirled around her surprisingly well, considering the dedication with which the upper part clung to her. He hadn't noticed that she had much in way of breasts, what with the jacket she was wearing before, but he sure noticed now. They were small, but her dress held them up for appraisal lovingly. "Useless, but fun."

"Can we please just get this over with," he gritted. "Please."

She suddenly stopped and looked at him very seriously. He was not comfortable with pretty girls in tight dresses looking at him very seriously under the best of circumstances, and he was, in addition, not comfortable with said discomfort, so this just seemed like the most horrible psychologically insightful nightmare possible. "Huh," she said.

"What?" Cloud said. "What now?"

"Something's not right."

"I don't care."

"Of course you care!"

"No, really, Aeris, you're a wonderful girl, but I really want you to stop making me look like a woman now. This is an unhealthy way to get to know someone. I mean, around here, maybe--"

She snapped her fingers abruptly. "I know what it is."

"What? No, you're not listening."

"It's your eyelashes." She opened the little purse that came with the dress. He hadn't even seen her put anything in it.

He stared in sudden horror. "What? No."

"They're blond!" She fished out a tiny bottle and brandished it at him, and he backed away as though it were mace. "I mean, don't get me wrong, they're cute! But a girl would darken them. Especially in that dress."

"My. No. My eyelashes are not cute. What about this dress? What's wrong with it?" She unscrewed the bottle, and the cap came off with some sort of dipstick. "ASIDE FROM THE FACT THAT IT IS A DRESS."

"Come here."

"No. Look, the girls at that... that place put stuff on my face, I don't think I need more."

"The Inn? Oh, no wonder, their eye make-up takes hours." She held up the tiny brush, which looked like it had been dipped in ink. "It was nice of them to do the rest, though. They're a good bunch. Well, most of them. Come here, I can't reach!"

The stand-off lasted about ten seconds; Cloud had to concede that he had been outdrawn.

"Look up," she said, and held his face steady with her free hand.

Marluxia, Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories

He ran between the rows barefoot, the dew making his hair stick to his face and neck, and occasionally froze to listen for anything above the pounding of his heart. He could hear something like a breeze rustling the vines all around him, but there was no wind, and no movement his eyes could pick up in the pre-dawn light.

Dogs, he told himself, desperate to calm himself and unlock his muscles, boys from the village. But there were no footfalls, no barking, no laughter on the hillside; only him in his nightclothes and a sound like breathing from the earth. It was late summer and the rows reached over his head, so he could only see straight ahead and back the way he had come. The rustling noise picked up behind him again, from the north side of the slope, and he bolted.

An inky shadow shot out in front of him, from one row of vines to another, and he twisted in midstep to avoid crossing its path and ended up colliding with a trellis himself. He cut his hand on a support wire trying to free himself and cursed bitterly to the damp silence around him.

Something slimy hit his cheek and he smacked it away before he realized it was only the grapes. They were mushy and left streaks of juice on his face and hands when they should of been firm and ready for harvest. He couldn't worry about it now, though; something made an unnatural chittering sound from only a few yards away, and he was back on his feet and running again. A weapon, he needed a weapon. He had kept his late brother's sword and bayonets, but he had little idea how to use them and they were back in the house. He was running in the wrong direction for that. There was a storage shed at the base of the hill with some spare equipment in it; something in there would have to do.

As he made his panicked way down the field, the sky brightened by degrees, and he gradually realized with horror the condition his vineyard was in. He occasionally caught sight of black dog-sized creatures like insects without carapices, but he didn't stop to get a better look. By the time he broke free from his ordered rows of grapevines, the canes were drooping sadly, the soil was crumbling under his feet, and the grass on the neighbouring hills was turning brown and grey.

He threw open the shed's door and cast around desperately before grabbing a rusted sickle off its hook. Without another thought on the matter, he plunged back into the fields to defend what was his, but it was already far too late.

Akira and Hikaru, Hikaru no Go

It took Touya Akira a long time to come. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy what they were doing (as Hikaru had at first feared), or that Hikaru was bad at what he was trying to do (as Hikaru was beginning to suspect, in any case); that was just the way Akira was. He and Hikaru had strengths and weaknesses that neither had ever had a context for; now they did, and they had to adjust accordingly. Hikaru stroked Akira's cock until his hand cramped, until he was almost in pain with his own arousal. By the time Akira reached up to touch him in return, all it took was a clever twist of his long fingers, and Hikaru came explosively across Akira's thigh.

He collapsed onto him, panting and sweating. He mumbled something indistinctly and buried his face against Akira's neck.

"Nice," Akira whispered.

Hikaru's mumble was considerably less indistinct this time.

"Oh, don't be stupid." Akira kissed a spot behind Hikaru's ear, and Hikaru shuddered. "I mean it."

Hikaru turned his head so it was cradled against Akira's shoulder. "It's not...." He flexed his right hand and winced a little. "You're just weird."

Akira's brow furrowed.

"...well, not weird, just... you know." Hikaru laid his hand on Akira's hip, smiling sleepily at the simple comfort of it. It had been a while since touching Akira like this had released violent swarms of butterflies in his stomach. Just a few stubborn stragglers left. Akira's hand settled on his back, and Hikaru closed his eyes. "Not weird. Sorry."

"Thank you."

"I don't know why I'm apologizing, you're the one who was making fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you." Akira stroked Hikaru's back lazily. "I like it."

Hikaru skated his fingers inward over Akira's belly, making it shiver. "... Yeah?"

"Mm hm."

Akira's thick hair was tangled where his head had been pressed back into the pillow. Hikaru thought, maybe I could make you come faster if I used my mouth. Even though his fingers were creeping downward possessively, he found he was still too shy to suggest it. "Well. Good thing, I guess." He muffled a yawn against Akira's shoulder.

"Except..." Akira lifted his head; Hikaru snorted softly in objection. "Tissues."

"...Oh. Oh, sorry." Hikaru pushed himself up and fumbled around until he found the small, half-depleted package of tissues on the floor. Akira took it from him before he could pull one free and wiped his own thigh clean. Hikaru found himself watching, half transfixed with exhaustion and the ember-like remains of his lust.

"You make a terrible mess," Akira smiled. Hikaru's eyes snapped back up, and he blushed like an idiot.