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Jul. 18th, 2010 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat8chaTitle: One Look
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kat8cha
Pairing: 10051 (Byakuran/Shouichi)
Summary: Set 5YL, Shouichi sees Byakuran for the first time.
A/N: Written for this request at the Multi Fandom Comment Fic Fest
Twenty year olds are stupid, that's what Shouichi thinks privately when he watches his classmates act like idiots after class. It's like the minute they are released from the classroom (yes, released like animals or possibly the kraken) studious students turned into wild-childs. Oh, not all the time, there were a handful who left Advanced Particle Physics thinking of different formuli and possible uses for them. There were those who walked out of class thinking of the membranes between each possible universe, or the theoretical possibilities of time travel and parallel worlds.
A handful, each with their own specialty, and Irie didn't seem to fit in with any of them. He had tried. Some of them Shouichi considered acquaintances, people he could call on if he was sick and needed notes, or someone he could ask to bounce ideas off of for a term paper.
But no friends, his only friend Spanner lay halfway across the world and they could only talk through Skype. They did talk, of course, but it wasn't the same as having a friend on campus who he could talk to, battle robots with; go out to dinner at that low-carb no-meat restaurant with. Shouichi's friend Tsuna is halfway across the world too, studying in Italy to become a mafia boss. And yes, his life is as ridiculous as it sounds.
It's hot as hell, spring going onto summer, and everyone is getting antsy for summer. The temperatures are soaring, in the nineties just that day, and the humidity is ridiculous. Shouichi finds himself tugging at the collar of his polo shirt and pulling the buttons loose to expose his white undershirt. He's considered going without his undershirt lately, but something tells him not to. He's the most properly dressed student in his class sometimes, except for the other Asian exchange students who dress in button up oxfords and chinos.
Shouichi at least wears jeans.
There are a handful of students, liberal arts majors, lying out on the grass dressed in short shorts and shorter tops, girls and boys alike. Shouichi allows his eyes to stray over toned legs, male and female, and finds his eyes drawn to one pale length of skin. It's a leg dangling off the edge of the fountain, and Shouichi finds his eyes drawn upwards. It's a thin leg, pale too, paler even than the shade of Shouichi's chest when he strips in the evening. The line of pale leg leads to a rolled up pants leg, plaid and soft looking fabric. Cotton? Maybe.
Pink plaid, which is odd. Shouichi doesn't see many men wearing pink in the U.S. although almost everyone wore pink back in Japan. In the U.S. he's heard that pink isn't considered manly, considered gay even. Shouichi doesn't wear pink anymore.
The plaid leads to a pair of belts, one actually keeping the pants up the other hanging loose and stylish. Then a raggedy pink shirt that hangs loose on a thin chest. Shouichi thinks it must be hot, it's long sleeved, but the fabric seems thin. A light breeze causes it to flutter, causing the edge on the right to flutter and expose more pale skin and a toned stomach.
The chest and shirt moves and Shouichi hears the sound of laughter, amused but somehow brittle and false.
Embarrassed, Shouichi forces his eyes higher, hoping he hasn't been caught. He hasn't, the object of his attention is instead smiling at one of the girls Shouichi often sees lazing around the fountain. She also has a crowd of admirers three feet thick, constantly at her side. Shouichi sighs, because for a second… but no, it was foolish to feel any sort of connection, especially since all he had been doing is checking the guy out.
But then that false smile turns Shouichi's way, cold eyes catching Shouichi's. A flush crawls up Shouichi's face, he can't look away, can't hide the fact that he was caught staring.
He can't look away at all, he can't stop staring, he can't break the connection between them, and it's a connection alright. There's no denying it, not even to pass it off as déjà vu or love at first sight. It's simply a connection, Shouichi feels like he knows this person, or he should know this person, or he will know this person.
Shouichi thinks about Tsuna, and that conversation they had when Shouichi left for America, about a person Shouichi would be destined to meet. Tsuna had hemmed and hawed and beat around the bush, but Shouichi had gathered that it had to do with the future and that the person he met would be dangerous. Something tells him that this person is that person and that doing anything more than stare might endanger everyone he has ever known.
The man's stood up now, he's moving towards Shouichi, just a few steps, and Shouichi takes a few steps forward as well.
"Hi." Shouichi says, before he knows what he's saying or doing or… or anything. He doesn't understand this at all. "Hello, I'm Irie Shouichi."
The pale skinned, pale eyed, pale haired (it has to be bleached; there is no way that shade of white is natural unless you're albino) man holds out a hand. Instinctively Shouichi takes it. The skin of the other person is warm next to his and dry to Shouichi's faintly sweaty touch. "I'm Byakuran."
"It's," Shouichi's face is as red as his hair and hotter than the sun, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Byakuran."
Some part inside of him wants to add 'san'.
"Japanese, right?" Byakuran's grip tightens, and their hands jerk up and down in semblances of a handshake. It feels more like sex than any blowjob Shouichi has ever had. "Can I call you Shou-chan?"
'You can call me anything you want,' Shouichi thinks, but his stomach curdles oddly at the name and he frowns. It's not that odd to be called 'Shou-chan'. Several of the people, weaboos or otaku or whatever they liked to be called, from the anime or Japanese loving clubs had tried to call him that before. His mother had called him that for years, still called him that in fact. It wasn't even that a man he found attractive was calling him a childhood nickname.
It was something else. "I'd prefer it if you didn't, Byakuran-san." Shouichi hopes his tone adequately presents his displeasure, if nothing else he has a very fierce glare.
Byakuran laughs at him and it's filled with genuine amusement, even if it sounds slightly queer. Shouichi's lips turn upward in a smile, and despite the fact that his stomach is curdling painfully and something is warning him that this is not a good idea he squeezes Byakuran's hand again before attempting to wiggle his own free. Byakuran lets him go, which surprises Shouichi for some reason, and then he wraps an arm around Shouichi's thin shoulders and hugs him close. In the heat it's not comfortable, but Shouichi does not try to wiggle away. In fact, he wants to burrow closer. "Shou-chan, I have the feeling that this will be a beautiful relationship."
Author:
kat8chaPairing: 10051 (Byakuran/Shouichi)
Summary: Set 5YL, Shouichi sees Byakuran for the first time.
A/N: Written for this request at the Multi Fandom Comment Fic Fest
Twenty year olds are stupid, that's what Shouichi thinks privately when he watches his classmates act like idiots after class. It's like the minute they are released from the classroom (yes, released like animals or possibly the kraken) studious students turned into wild-childs. Oh, not all the time, there were a handful who left Advanced Particle Physics thinking of different formuli and possible uses for them. There were those who walked out of class thinking of the membranes between each possible universe, or the theoretical possibilities of time travel and parallel worlds.
A handful, each with their own specialty, and Irie didn't seem to fit in with any of them. He had tried. Some of them Shouichi considered acquaintances, people he could call on if he was sick and needed notes, or someone he could ask to bounce ideas off of for a term paper.
But no friends, his only friend Spanner lay halfway across the world and they could only talk through Skype. They did talk, of course, but it wasn't the same as having a friend on campus who he could talk to, battle robots with; go out to dinner at that low-carb no-meat restaurant with. Shouichi's friend Tsuna is halfway across the world too, studying in Italy to become a mafia boss. And yes, his life is as ridiculous as it sounds.
It's hot as hell, spring going onto summer, and everyone is getting antsy for summer. The temperatures are soaring, in the nineties just that day, and the humidity is ridiculous. Shouichi finds himself tugging at the collar of his polo shirt and pulling the buttons loose to expose his white undershirt. He's considered going without his undershirt lately, but something tells him not to. He's the most properly dressed student in his class sometimes, except for the other Asian exchange students who dress in button up oxfords and chinos.
Shouichi at least wears jeans.
There are a handful of students, liberal arts majors, lying out on the grass dressed in short shorts and shorter tops, girls and boys alike. Shouichi allows his eyes to stray over toned legs, male and female, and finds his eyes drawn to one pale length of skin. It's a leg dangling off the edge of the fountain, and Shouichi finds his eyes drawn upwards. It's a thin leg, pale too, paler even than the shade of Shouichi's chest when he strips in the evening. The line of pale leg leads to a rolled up pants leg, plaid and soft looking fabric. Cotton? Maybe.
Pink plaid, which is odd. Shouichi doesn't see many men wearing pink in the U.S. although almost everyone wore pink back in Japan. In the U.S. he's heard that pink isn't considered manly, considered gay even. Shouichi doesn't wear pink anymore.
The plaid leads to a pair of belts, one actually keeping the pants up the other hanging loose and stylish. Then a raggedy pink shirt that hangs loose on a thin chest. Shouichi thinks it must be hot, it's long sleeved, but the fabric seems thin. A light breeze causes it to flutter, causing the edge on the right to flutter and expose more pale skin and a toned stomach.
The chest and shirt moves and Shouichi hears the sound of laughter, amused but somehow brittle and false.
Embarrassed, Shouichi forces his eyes higher, hoping he hasn't been caught. He hasn't, the object of his attention is instead smiling at one of the girls Shouichi often sees lazing around the fountain. She also has a crowd of admirers three feet thick, constantly at her side. Shouichi sighs, because for a second… but no, it was foolish to feel any sort of connection, especially since all he had been doing is checking the guy out.
But then that false smile turns Shouichi's way, cold eyes catching Shouichi's. A flush crawls up Shouichi's face, he can't look away, can't hide the fact that he was caught staring.
He can't look away at all, he can't stop staring, he can't break the connection between them, and it's a connection alright. There's no denying it, not even to pass it off as déjà vu or love at first sight. It's simply a connection, Shouichi feels like he knows this person, or he should know this person, or he will know this person.
Shouichi thinks about Tsuna, and that conversation they had when Shouichi left for America, about a person Shouichi would be destined to meet. Tsuna had hemmed and hawed and beat around the bush, but Shouichi had gathered that it had to do with the future and that the person he met would be dangerous. Something tells him that this person is that person and that doing anything more than stare might endanger everyone he has ever known.
The man's stood up now, he's moving towards Shouichi, just a few steps, and Shouichi takes a few steps forward as well.
"Hi." Shouichi says, before he knows what he's saying or doing or… or anything. He doesn't understand this at all. "Hello, I'm Irie Shouichi."
The pale skinned, pale eyed, pale haired (it has to be bleached; there is no way that shade of white is natural unless you're albino) man holds out a hand. Instinctively Shouichi takes it. The skin of the other person is warm next to his and dry to Shouichi's faintly sweaty touch. "I'm Byakuran."
"It's," Shouichi's face is as red as his hair and hotter than the sun, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Byakuran."
Some part inside of him wants to add 'san'.
"Japanese, right?" Byakuran's grip tightens, and their hands jerk up and down in semblances of a handshake. It feels more like sex than any blowjob Shouichi has ever had. "Can I call you Shou-chan?"
'You can call me anything you want,' Shouichi thinks, but his stomach curdles oddly at the name and he frowns. It's not that odd to be called 'Shou-chan'. Several of the people, weaboos or otaku or whatever they liked to be called, from the anime or Japanese loving clubs had tried to call him that before. His mother had called him that for years, still called him that in fact. It wasn't even that a man he found attractive was calling him a childhood nickname.
It was something else. "I'd prefer it if you didn't, Byakuran-san." Shouichi hopes his tone adequately presents his displeasure, if nothing else he has a very fierce glare.
Byakuran laughs at him and it's filled with genuine amusement, even if it sounds slightly queer. Shouichi's lips turn upward in a smile, and despite the fact that his stomach is curdling painfully and something is warning him that this is not a good idea he squeezes Byakuran's hand again before attempting to wiggle his own free. Byakuran lets him go, which surprises Shouichi for some reason, and then he wraps an arm around Shouichi's thin shoulders and hugs him close. In the heat it's not comfortable, but Shouichi does not try to wiggle away. In fact, he wants to burrow closer. "Shou-chan, I have the feeling that this will be a beautiful relationship."
