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dgray_man2008-07-09 11:08 pm
scrie.livejournal.com) wrote in dgray_man2008-07-09 11:08 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Title: Bookmarks
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex and blood.
Warnings: Err, mentions of sex and blood.
Pairing: Lavi/Kanda
Summary: Kanda remembers carrying him over miles and miles, mostly in his own head.
Written for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madame_parker
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex and blood.
Warnings: Err, mentions of sex and blood.
Pairing: Lavi/Kanda
Summary: Kanda remembers carrying him over miles and miles, mostly in his own head.
'So there's this Level 2, right? Comes at me with all its... Hey, you listening. Boss?'
Kanda remembers carrying Lavi over miles and miles of tundra in Northern Siberia. He isn't heavy in as much as awkwardly built, with long limbs and protruding bones, like his body has grown a lot over a short time and had to borrow from whichever part was available. Kanda himself is a little shorter, but even and strong, years of hard training having moulded his body into the right shape.
And Lavi, he notes, has the sort of weight that tends to drag.
* * *
Kanda remembers sitting down with his soba one evening, determined to eat quickly and retreat to his room to sleep off a two weeks' mission. He remembers, still with some annoyance, that Lavi sits next to him with a plate of something that might have been soba too, were it not for the dubious mess covering it.
'What is that thing?' he asks, unable to contain his curiosity.
'It's pasta. Jerry makes the best sauce and he can put anything you want in it, but he complains like a devil if he thinks it spoils the recipe. This one's called capelli d'angelo. It means 'angel's hair', you know?'
Kanda murmurs a half indignant 'Hn.' and returns to his meal.
'And d'you ever hear the story of how pasta was brought all the way from China by Marco Polo? 'S interesting when you think about it, the Italians call it their traditional food, but the Chinese have been eating it for thousands of years before that. 'Course, they didn't call it pasta. Hey, you know what? I bet it's just like soba. Wanna try?'
At this point, Kanda moves to the other end of the table and finishes his meal.
He eats the same way he fights, quickly, elegantly, sparing himself any unnecessary movements. Lavi eats the same way he fights too, with scattered enthusiasm and, most of all, loudly.
* * *
He's not picky about whom he sleeps with. The truth is he'd rather not sleep with anyone at all, in case it might cause unnecessary complications one day. But part of his body is still just that, a body, not subject to training and will, and it demands it, so he finds himself obeying.
And Kanda would say it's ridiculous, unthinkable, but one night his bed borrows the scent of yellowing paper and old books, and ink-stained fingers trace patterns on his skin, lingering over scars, travelling downwards.
He'd smirk, or outright laugh and say something malicious, because the whole thing is so improbable it must be funny. But then Lavi smiles knowingly and spreads his legs and oh and oh and oh.
* * *
One time, Kanda remembers seeing something very odd.
He's just out of the shower and towelling his hair when he catches a glimpse of Lavi sitting in front of a wash basin in the locker room, dabbing a wet cloth over his other eye. The angle is strange, but Kanda can still see it in the mirror reflection: his eye is all black and glazed, and seems to swallow up light and colour along with Lavi's expression. He cleans the lower lid gently, staring into the mirror with his face entirely blank.
For a while afterwards, Kanda wonders if it hurts, or if the eye is bothering Lavi. He never says anything though, because it's none of his business, and because Lavi never asks about the lotus either.
* * *
Another time they bring him home on a stretcher and things are really bad. They must be, since his body isn't healing as quickly as it should, and the stretcher's white sheet is a different shade now and leaves stains on the floor.
When he wakes up, days or weeks later, it's to Lenalee's tears and Komui's relief and even Allen's smile. Everyone looks happy, so happy, except for Lavi, who sits behind the flowers Lenalee's brought in every morning and looks absolutely fucking pissed.
Later at night, when everyone's gone, he slips into the bed and puts an arm around Kanda, careful of stitches and bandages.
'Don't do that.' He says.
* * *
When Lavi finally leaves the Order, Kanda is on a mission somewhere in the Caucasus. He hears the news via one of the golems and stops to consider things for a minute. It's just for a minute though, because he's busy and on a schedule and remembers from experience that Lavi's weight tends to drag.
Kanda remembers carrying Lavi over miles and miles of tundra in Northern Siberia. He isn't heavy in as much as awkwardly built, with long limbs and protruding bones, like his body has grown a lot over a short time and had to borrow from whichever part was available. Kanda himself is a little shorter, but even and strong, years of hard training having moulded his body into the right shape.
And Lavi, he notes, has the sort of weight that tends to drag.
* * *
Kanda remembers sitting down with his soba one evening, determined to eat quickly and retreat to his room to sleep off a two weeks' mission. He remembers, still with some annoyance, that Lavi sits next to him with a plate of something that might have been soba too, were it not for the dubious mess covering it.
'What is that thing?' he asks, unable to contain his curiosity.
'It's pasta. Jerry makes the best sauce and he can put anything you want in it, but he complains like a devil if he thinks it spoils the recipe. This one's called capelli d'angelo. It means 'angel's hair', you know?'
Kanda murmurs a half indignant 'Hn.' and returns to his meal.
'And d'you ever hear the story of how pasta was brought all the way from China by Marco Polo? 'S interesting when you think about it, the Italians call it their traditional food, but the Chinese have been eating it for thousands of years before that. 'Course, they didn't call it pasta. Hey, you know what? I bet it's just like soba. Wanna try?'
At this point, Kanda moves to the other end of the table and finishes his meal.
He eats the same way he fights, quickly, elegantly, sparing himself any unnecessary movements. Lavi eats the same way he fights too, with scattered enthusiasm and, most of all, loudly.
* * *
He's not picky about whom he sleeps with. The truth is he'd rather not sleep with anyone at all, in case it might cause unnecessary complications one day. But part of his body is still just that, a body, not subject to training and will, and it demands it, so he finds himself obeying.
And Kanda would say it's ridiculous, unthinkable, but one night his bed borrows the scent of yellowing paper and old books, and ink-stained fingers trace patterns on his skin, lingering over scars, travelling downwards.
He'd smirk, or outright laugh and say something malicious, because the whole thing is so improbable it must be funny. But then Lavi smiles knowingly and spreads his legs and oh and oh and oh.
* * *
One time, Kanda remembers seeing something very odd.
He's just out of the shower and towelling his hair when he catches a glimpse of Lavi sitting in front of a wash basin in the locker room, dabbing a wet cloth over his other eye. The angle is strange, but Kanda can still see it in the mirror reflection: his eye is all black and glazed, and seems to swallow up light and colour along with Lavi's expression. He cleans the lower lid gently, staring into the mirror with his face entirely blank.
For a while afterwards, Kanda wonders if it hurts, or if the eye is bothering Lavi. He never says anything though, because it's none of his business, and because Lavi never asks about the lotus either.
* * *
Another time they bring him home on a stretcher and things are really bad. They must be, since his body isn't healing as quickly as it should, and the stretcher's white sheet is a different shade now and leaves stains on the floor.
When he wakes up, days or weeks later, it's to Lenalee's tears and Komui's relief and even Allen's smile. Everyone looks happy, so happy, except for Lavi, who sits behind the flowers Lenalee's brought in every morning and looks absolutely fucking pissed.
Later at night, when everyone's gone, he slips into the bed and puts an arm around Kanda, careful of stitches and bandages.
'Don't do that.' He says.
* * *
When Lavi finally leaves the Order, Kanda is on a mission somewhere in the Caucasus. He hears the news via one of the golems and stops to consider things for a minute. It's just for a minute though, because he's busy and on a schedule and remembers from experience that Lavi's weight tends to drag.
Written for
madame_parker
no subject
no subject
no subject
(Yes for Lavi/Kanda! And Siberia XDDDD)
no subject