storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 10:04 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 10:04 pm
Love Given Unsought (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Love Given Unsought
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 555 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: With apologies to Shakespeare. Fifth in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: Clow started reciting sonnets, the most ridiculous poems he could think of, comparing women to cats and birds and other impossible things. She threw a bottle at him. He dodged, wobbling, and it hit the wall but did not break.
They were totally smashed, both of them, the night he first said he loved her. It was amidst laughter, amidst mocking drinking games, amidst poetry and sleights of hand and touching, the sort of soft finger-brushes that promise more later, when it's time.
Clow started reciting sonnets, the most ridiculous poems he could think of, comparing women to cats and birds and other impossible things. She threw a bottle at him. He dodged, wobbling, and it hit the wall but did not break.
"Don't you know any good poems?" Yuuko asked, leaning back against the couch and stretching like a cat, reaching again for her cup.
He filled it with a flowery gesture and then began to recite.
"My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head."
Yuuko sat up straight and gave him a serious look. He just grinned.
"What sort of poem is this?" she demanded. He filled her cup again, a little slopping over the side, and she drank deeply.
"Shakespeare," he responded. "In a few centuries," he said, brow furrowing in a concentrated way that was nonetheless rather comical, "students will bemoan his genius."
"I can't imagine why," she said dryly.
He shook his head and presented each of the next lines as if they were gifts, rather than insults.
"I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks."
"As if your breath is any better."
"I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground."
"Despite your fervent belief, not everything needs wings to make it better."
He answered her scowl with another sodden smile, grabbing her hands and attempting to pull her to her feet. Caught off-guard, she pitched forward into his arms, until she found her balance and put her hand on his chest, pulling away.
"And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare," he finished softly, kissing her forehead, "As any she belied with false compare."
He kissed her cheek, and then her earlobe, hands sliding down her back. Clow was always a handsy drunk.
"Your love, huh?" she said.
His fingers traced along the bones of her spine. He breathed in her ear. "Yes."
"I didn't consent to that," she replied, in mock seriousness.
"It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission," he said, laughing a little, scraping his fingernails along the bare skin of her back.
"I'll never forgive you," she teased.
"I have more poetry?" he offered.
She shuddered. "No more, no more."
"I have more kisses," he said then, more confidently, trailing them down her neck and across her left shoulder.
"Those I may accept," she answered.
"You know I always pay my debts," he said cheerily, kissing across to her other shoulder, nipping gently at odd moments.
"Get to work, then," she said, imperiously, lifting her arm. He laughed a little against her skin.
"Of course, my love," he replied. She shut her eyes and let him. There was no way to take it back now.
(And even if she'd known, she might not have tried.)
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 555 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: With apologies to Shakespeare. Fifth in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: Clow started reciting sonnets, the most ridiculous poems he could think of, comparing women to cats and birds and other impossible things. She threw a bottle at him. He dodged, wobbling, and it hit the wall but did not break.
And suppose I never met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
-Fidelity, Regina Spektor
They were totally smashed, both of them, the night he first said he loved her. It was amidst laughter, amidst mocking drinking games, amidst poetry and sleights of hand and touching, the sort of soft finger-brushes that promise more later, when it's time.
Clow started reciting sonnets, the most ridiculous poems he could think of, comparing women to cats and birds and other impossible things. She threw a bottle at him. He dodged, wobbling, and it hit the wall but did not break.
"Don't you know any good poems?" Yuuko asked, leaning back against the couch and stretching like a cat, reaching again for her cup.
He filled it with a flowery gesture and then began to recite.
"My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head."
Yuuko sat up straight and gave him a serious look. He just grinned.
"What sort of poem is this?" she demanded. He filled her cup again, a little slopping over the side, and she drank deeply.
"Shakespeare," he responded. "In a few centuries," he said, brow furrowing in a concentrated way that was nonetheless rather comical, "students will bemoan his genius."
"I can't imagine why," she said dryly.
He shook his head and presented each of the next lines as if they were gifts, rather than insults.
"I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks."
"As if your breath is any better."
"I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground."
"Despite your fervent belief, not everything needs wings to make it better."
He answered her scowl with another sodden smile, grabbing her hands and attempting to pull her to her feet. Caught off-guard, she pitched forward into his arms, until she found her balance and put her hand on his chest, pulling away.
"And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare," he finished softly, kissing her forehead, "As any she belied with false compare."
He kissed her cheek, and then her earlobe, hands sliding down her back. Clow was always a handsy drunk.
"Your love, huh?" she said.
His fingers traced along the bones of her spine. He breathed in her ear. "Yes."
"I didn't consent to that," she replied, in mock seriousness.
"It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission," he said, laughing a little, scraping his fingernails along the bare skin of her back.
"I'll never forgive you," she teased.
"I have more poetry?" he offered.
She shuddered. "No more, no more."
"I have more kisses," he said then, more confidently, trailing them down her neck and across her left shoulder.
"Those I may accept," she answered.
"You know I always pay my debts," he said cheerily, kissing across to her other shoulder, nipping gently at odd moments.
"Get to work, then," she said, imperiously, lifting her arm. He laughed a little against her skin.
"Of course, my love," he replied. She shut her eyes and let him. There was no way to take it back now.
(And even if she'd known, she might not have tried.)