storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-08-11 11:47 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-08-11 11:47 pm
Another Year Young (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Another Year Young
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 813 words
Prompt: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chibidl as always. ♥
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: PG for sexual references
Excerpt: She told the Mokona once that autumn was her favorite season, and he remembers this, remembers the fall of her hair across his shoulder when she leaned up and smiled at him.
She won't tell him when her birthday is, so he picks one, a random day near the end of October when the wind bites and they tend to spend their afternoons indoors, close to the fire. She told the Mokona once that autumn was her favorite season, and he remembers this, remembers the fall of her hair across his shoulder when she leaned up and smiled at him, hinting that he should make something sweet in honor of the season.
He had then, and he is making things now: kuri, satsumaimo, matsutake gohan... the savory foods of the cooling weather, which will of course be accompanied by the proper liquor, whatever she wants from his collection. He sews her a dress-- purple, not black, though black is her favorite, because he thinks purple makes her look like a queen. He helps the Mokona with small presents of their own and the three of them surprise her that day at sunset. She's been out that day granting a wish, and they meet her at her own door, grinning.
"What is this, then?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow in curiousity, but he only laughs. He places a hand on her back and guides her into the shop. The Mokona sit on her shoulders and exclaim about the preparations they have made for this, Yuuko's birthday.
Her brow furrows. "It's not my birthday," she says to Clow. He shrugs, still smiling.
"You wouldn't tell me, so I picked one for you," he answers. She pokes him hard in the forehead.
"Isn't that just like you," she growls, but her unhappiness dissolves when she sees the table laid out. Her eyes sparkle and he can only chuckle again. She's so much like a child, sometimes, with the wonder and joy of youth, and he loves that about her.
They eat and they drink (he'll have to go shopping again tomorrow, he thinks wryly, but he doesn't mind very much). The Mokona do their best to round out their already nearly-circular physique, and then present their gifts, which Yuuko fusses over like the greatest of all treasures.
"You are such wonderful little artists," she says with a smile, her fingers tracing over the stick-figure drawings of a tall, glasses-wearing man with his arm around a long-haired woman, each wearing a Mokona on their shoulders. Behind the two sulk a silvery-haired Yue (his slight frown etched carefully in a way that amuses Yuuko) and the bright, scruffy form of Cerberus.
Clow does little sleights of hand to amuse them until the Mokona begin to nod off. They put them to bed in her room and then go out to sit on the porch and gaze up at the moon. The night is warm for October, and they will take advantage of that.
The moon is gibbous, golden, full of promise. Yuuko sips at her cup and Clow reaches over to lace his fingers with her free hand.
"We've never bothered about our birthdays before," she says after a long moment. She glances sideways at him a little.
"May first," he answers easily, running his thumb across the back of her hand.
She rolls her eyes. It isn't the answer she is asking for, but rarely can she pry something out of him when he doesn't want to explain.
He gets up reluctantly and returns with a bottle to refill her glass and the present he made for her. She holds it up in the moonlight and then leans over and kisses his cheek.
"Not bad," she says.
He skims his fingers across her cheek. "Not as lovely as you, though."
She laughs behind her hand, a flirt she has retained from the days she used to carry a fan. "That's a given."
"You should try it on," he says. He has her measurements from the last time he'd sewn her a kimono, but it's always best to make sure. He is torn from contemplation of stitching when she delicately slips one strap of her dress down her shoulder, and then the other.
"I," he begins, coughing, his eyes following the unbroken line of her collarbone, the hint of her cleavage, "didn't mean--"
She looks up at him with hooded eyes, a secret smile crossing dark red lips.
"It's my birthday, isn't it?" she says, tilting her head to the side, tangling fingers in her hair. Clow swallows dryly.
"Yes," he manages.
"Then I'll try it on later," she breathes, leaning closer and pressing her lips to his, her nails tracing patterns across his neck.
There are Mokona in her bed, but the moon is bright tonight and she makes him promise to be quiet as she slips off her dress and joins him in the grass.
"Happy birthday to me," she says, giggling, and he kisses her brow.
"Happy birthday to you," he replies, his voice soft, and they celebrate it.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 813 words
Prompt: For
chibidl as always. ♥Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: PG for sexual references
Excerpt: She told the Mokona once that autumn was her favorite season, and he remembers this, remembers the fall of her hair across his shoulder when she leaned up and smiled at him.
You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair. -Douglas MacArthur
She won't tell him when her birthday is, so he picks one, a random day near the end of October when the wind bites and they tend to spend their afternoons indoors, close to the fire. She told the Mokona once that autumn was her favorite season, and he remembers this, remembers the fall of her hair across his shoulder when she leaned up and smiled at him, hinting that he should make something sweet in honor of the season.
He had then, and he is making things now: kuri, satsumaimo, matsutake gohan... the savory foods of the cooling weather, which will of course be accompanied by the proper liquor, whatever she wants from his collection. He sews her a dress-- purple, not black, though black is her favorite, because he thinks purple makes her look like a queen. He helps the Mokona with small presents of their own and the three of them surprise her that day at sunset. She's been out that day granting a wish, and they meet her at her own door, grinning.
"What is this, then?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow in curiousity, but he only laughs. He places a hand on her back and guides her into the shop. The Mokona sit on her shoulders and exclaim about the preparations they have made for this, Yuuko's birthday.
Her brow furrows. "It's not my birthday," she says to Clow. He shrugs, still smiling.
"You wouldn't tell me, so I picked one for you," he answers. She pokes him hard in the forehead.
"Isn't that just like you," she growls, but her unhappiness dissolves when she sees the table laid out. Her eyes sparkle and he can only chuckle again. She's so much like a child, sometimes, with the wonder and joy of youth, and he loves that about her.
They eat and they drink (he'll have to go shopping again tomorrow, he thinks wryly, but he doesn't mind very much). The Mokona do their best to round out their already nearly-circular physique, and then present their gifts, which Yuuko fusses over like the greatest of all treasures.
"You are such wonderful little artists," she says with a smile, her fingers tracing over the stick-figure drawings of a tall, glasses-wearing man with his arm around a long-haired woman, each wearing a Mokona on their shoulders. Behind the two sulk a silvery-haired Yue (his slight frown etched carefully in a way that amuses Yuuko) and the bright, scruffy form of Cerberus.
Clow does little sleights of hand to amuse them until the Mokona begin to nod off. They put them to bed in her room and then go out to sit on the porch and gaze up at the moon. The night is warm for October, and they will take advantage of that.
The moon is gibbous, golden, full of promise. Yuuko sips at her cup and Clow reaches over to lace his fingers with her free hand.
"We've never bothered about our birthdays before," she says after a long moment. She glances sideways at him a little.
"May first," he answers easily, running his thumb across the back of her hand.
She rolls her eyes. It isn't the answer she is asking for, but rarely can she pry something out of him when he doesn't want to explain.
He gets up reluctantly and returns with a bottle to refill her glass and the present he made for her. She holds it up in the moonlight and then leans over and kisses his cheek.
"Not bad," she says.
He skims his fingers across her cheek. "Not as lovely as you, though."
She laughs behind her hand, a flirt she has retained from the days she used to carry a fan. "That's a given."
"You should try it on," he says. He has her measurements from the last time he'd sewn her a kimono, but it's always best to make sure. He is torn from contemplation of stitching when she delicately slips one strap of her dress down her shoulder, and then the other.
"I," he begins, coughing, his eyes following the unbroken line of her collarbone, the hint of her cleavage, "didn't mean--"
She looks up at him with hooded eyes, a secret smile crossing dark red lips.
"It's my birthday, isn't it?" she says, tilting her head to the side, tangling fingers in her hair. Clow swallows dryly.
"Yes," he manages.
"Then I'll try it on later," she breathes, leaning closer and pressing her lips to his, her nails tracing patterns across his neck.
There are Mokona in her bed, but the moon is bright tonight and she makes him promise to be quiet as she slips off her dress and joins him in the grass.
"Happy birthday to me," she says, giggling, and he kisses her brow.
"Happy birthday to you," he replies, his voice soft, and they celebrate it.