storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-10-16 07:44 am
storypaint) wrote2009-10-16 07:44 am
Moon (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Moon
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 824 words
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days: 16 Oct 09 // bring me lasting light
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: n/a
Excerpt: He would call her things like, "Yuuko, the goddess of my heart," or "Yuuko, my beloved," when introducing her to others. She would just smirk and say, "This is the idiot, my colleague," and let their new friends make their own conclusions.
The problem Clow had with letting Yuuko know that he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her was that now she knew. And Yuuko took every ounce of information that she learned, and she used it. Given, half the time it was only used for a quip or perhaps a prank, but with the other half she could clone gods, soak herself in sake, and sometimes drive her boyfriend insane.
Firstly, by never referring to him that way. He would call her things like, "Yuuko, the goddess of my heart," or "Yuuko, my beloved," when introducing her to others. She would just smirk and say, "This is the idiot, my colleague," and let their new friends make their own conclusions. He could always correct them, of course, but it really wasn't very polite.
(Though that epiphet, as impolite as it was, was still a present. Another magician friend of theirs had confided once that he never heard Yuuko refer to anyone else as a colleague, as an equal. "And once you've been introduced as, 'the idiot, sometimes helpful,'" he had deadpanned, "you find it difficult to consider her a colleague in return.")
And secondly, she was demanding. The courting stage of their long relationship never quite ended. He was always making her food, bringing her flowers and trinkets, yes, because he wanted to, but also because she asked. But her whims would change inexplicably overnight or sometimes within the hour, and the cake would have to become a pie instead, or the evening in instead a night out dancing.
He never complained, never protested (though occasionally pouted, because it amused her so and because it was sometimes disappointing to be interrupted mid-project). She took, and took, and rarely offered back, unless you counted the sharing of her knowledge, her pipe, her alcohol, her presence, and her bed-- all of which Clow did. He didn't want presents in return. He simply wanted Yuuko.
And even her whimsies could be entertaining. "Light," she said one evening, apropos of nothing. The moon was bright enough to see her, pale against the shop porch, but there was no artificial light lit that night. She'd convinced the streetlights to be dim, just for a while.
She was half in his arms, half flat against the boards, and she lifted a hand to trace a picture in the air, her finger glowing just a little before fading again.
"Yes, my dear?" he answered, watching her trails of light, and she made a fft sound, exhaling smoke.
"It doesn't last," she answered, her tone reflective, nearly dark. They had been sitting there, joking, teasing amiably in the moonlight, only a moment before, but he was used to the way her moods shifted, even if sometimes he could not follow the reasoning for it.
"Nothing does. Not forever," he said, stroking her cheek. Even with all the power at his disposal, he would die someday. And someday, he would lose her, a thought that prickled coldly at the base of his spine.
"I know," she said.
That seemed to be the extent of her thought, or at least, the extent that she wanted to share. After a moment, he reached out and began plucking moonlight out of the air, a parlor trick he had learned years before they met. He pressed it into a circlet that he laid onto her head. She was a demi-goddess, at least, with a crown of silver. She grinned and leaned back against him, looking at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were brighter in the reflection.
"This will last," he said, looking up at the sky, so that she couldn't see what he was thinking, "for as long as you'd like, though it might need recharging in a few decades."
"You always miss the point," she answered, but she pulled it off her head, ran her fingers across the smooth light, which felt like warm silver, and then replaced it.
"Have I?" he said, letting himself look back down at her. He'd tell her later how to do the recharging of it, when her mind was further from mortality, and maybe she wouldn't connect the dots until he was ready for her to know.
Probably not. She was very smart. But he'd try, anyway.
"Impermanence is beautiful," she answered.
He flicked the crown and turned it off. She frowned at him. He chuckled and turned it back on.
"I'm glad you think that," he said. She lifted an eyebrow but he let his gaze slip away from her challenge. After a moment, she got up and walked across the yard into full moonlight, lifting her hand to the sky for a moment before grabbing the crown and flinging it like a Frisbee into the darkness.
"Dance with me," she said, opening her arms to him, and no more was said of permanence that night.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 824 words
Prompt:
31_days: 16 Oct 09 // bring me lasting lightPairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: n/a
Excerpt: He would call her things like, "Yuuko, the goddess of my heart," or "Yuuko, my beloved," when introducing her to others. She would just smirk and say, "This is the idiot, my colleague," and let their new friends make their own conclusions.
The problem Clow had with letting Yuuko know that he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her was that now she knew. And Yuuko took every ounce of information that she learned, and she used it. Given, half the time it was only used for a quip or perhaps a prank, but with the other half she could clone gods, soak herself in sake, and sometimes drive her boyfriend insane.
Firstly, by never referring to him that way. He would call her things like, "Yuuko, the goddess of my heart," or "Yuuko, my beloved," when introducing her to others. She would just smirk and say, "This is the idiot, my colleague," and let their new friends make their own conclusions. He could always correct them, of course, but it really wasn't very polite.
(Though that epiphet, as impolite as it was, was still a present. Another magician friend of theirs had confided once that he never heard Yuuko refer to anyone else as a colleague, as an equal. "And once you've been introduced as, 'the idiot, sometimes helpful,'" he had deadpanned, "you find it difficult to consider her a colleague in return.")
And secondly, she was demanding. The courting stage of their long relationship never quite ended. He was always making her food, bringing her flowers and trinkets, yes, because he wanted to, but also because she asked. But her whims would change inexplicably overnight or sometimes within the hour, and the cake would have to become a pie instead, or the evening in instead a night out dancing.
He never complained, never protested (though occasionally pouted, because it amused her so and because it was sometimes disappointing to be interrupted mid-project). She took, and took, and rarely offered back, unless you counted the sharing of her knowledge, her pipe, her alcohol, her presence, and her bed-- all of which Clow did. He didn't want presents in return. He simply wanted Yuuko.
And even her whimsies could be entertaining. "Light," she said one evening, apropos of nothing. The moon was bright enough to see her, pale against the shop porch, but there was no artificial light lit that night. She'd convinced the streetlights to be dim, just for a while.
She was half in his arms, half flat against the boards, and she lifted a hand to trace a picture in the air, her finger glowing just a little before fading again.
"Yes, my dear?" he answered, watching her trails of light, and she made a fft sound, exhaling smoke.
"It doesn't last," she answered, her tone reflective, nearly dark. They had been sitting there, joking, teasing amiably in the moonlight, only a moment before, but he was used to the way her moods shifted, even if sometimes he could not follow the reasoning for it.
"Nothing does. Not forever," he said, stroking her cheek. Even with all the power at his disposal, he would die someday. And someday, he would lose her, a thought that prickled coldly at the base of his spine.
"I know," she said.
That seemed to be the extent of her thought, or at least, the extent that she wanted to share. After a moment, he reached out and began plucking moonlight out of the air, a parlor trick he had learned years before they met. He pressed it into a circlet that he laid onto her head. She was a demi-goddess, at least, with a crown of silver. She grinned and leaned back against him, looking at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were brighter in the reflection.
"This will last," he said, looking up at the sky, so that she couldn't see what he was thinking, "for as long as you'd like, though it might need recharging in a few decades."
"You always miss the point," she answered, but she pulled it off her head, ran her fingers across the smooth light, which felt like warm silver, and then replaced it.
"Have I?" he said, letting himself look back down at her. He'd tell her later how to do the recharging of it, when her mind was further from mortality, and maybe she wouldn't connect the dots until he was ready for her to know.
Probably not. She was very smart. But he'd try, anyway.
"Impermanence is beautiful," she answered.
He flicked the crown and turned it off. She frowned at him. He chuckled and turned it back on.
"I'm glad you think that," he said. She lifted an eyebrow but he let his gaze slip away from her challenge. After a moment, she got up and walked across the yard into full moonlight, lifting her hand to the sky for a moment before grabbing the crown and flinging it like a Frisbee into the darkness.
"Dance with me," she said, opening her arms to him, and no more was said of permanence that night.