fandom: Slam Dunk pairing: Rukawa x Sakuragi genre: gen extra notes: for the RHR mailing list theme project – theme #06: Insomnia; drabble, 100 words
He was excruciatingly aware that he was usually submerged in dreamlessness. Yet sleep eluded him lately - his mind was on a mutinous rampage, invoking sinful images of the impetuous Sakuragi consistently. The ash hollows under his blue eyes were a foreign feature on his face, fatigue obvious against his light skin. The incessant tick of the analog clock on the room wall was a recurring nightmare in this curious wakefulness. And Rukawa added a resigned sigh to the subtle noise of the night, before he resumed counting mentally from six hundred and ninety-one, and continued to see purely red.
NARUTO - ORANGE RANGE: ビバ★ロック〜japanese side〜 (TV ver.) / Viva Rock Japanese Side (TV ver.) [ 1:30 ]
fandom: Slam Dunk pairing: Rukawa x Sakuragi [ and hinted Maki x Sendoh ] genre: romance warning: yaoi extra notes: for Christmas 2005; for the RHR mailing list theme project – theme #03: Christmas Eve
His arrogant blue gaze holds the usual ennui characteristic of his monotony, yet it never fails to ignite an obsessive smoldering in your inner space, complimenting your exterior passionate red. You challenge him on this very court, where his world had always revolved around, now joined by yours.
Again, you do not see that infrequent trace of demonstrative smile that flits across those cerulean eyes, as your renascent attention returns to that orange ball clutched in his strong hands. His next fluid movements towards the hoop radiate his satisfaction, as you pursue him in mutual indulgence of a citrus romance.
Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children: Kita no Daikudo
the November sun is a golden one-dimensional sphere in the faint blue sky, as it sinks reluctantly behind a common low-rise block of apartments. you feel irritated by the stifling post-summer heat as it threatens to consume your sanity. staring too long at it causes spots of violet rimmed with red and neon yellow, to haunt your vision persistantly. your room is decorated with stray strong beams of this lemon light, bouncing off familiar furniture and illuminating awkward corners, and you muse about the function of those blinds. you see your flat grey shadow cast upon a patch of whitewashed wall not yet poster-clad. you tell yourself you hate this half of the year where the dusk is exceptionally attention-grabbing, and you never wanted darkness more. the sunshine reveals the fingerprint smudges and specks of dust resting on your clear window pane and you listen to the quiet whirring of the silent chaos around you.
Sometimes his clear brown eyes flicker over me; but they do not see me. Sometimes he notices the amount of attention his fiery hair gets him and feels minutely embarrassed. His russet hair, like estival Japanese-style fireworks, gives me a rush of adrenaline my cold grey existence had never encountered; and I am left floundering on the abandoned stage, a pierrot that gyrates desperately to the warm color of red.
Sometimes I dream of being rescued, of being salvaged from the denial that cocoons me from this loneliness. Sometimes his rough riotous manner breaks to allow a nanosecond of insecurity. I see in him a glimmer of my vulnerable shadow, though the desire never fades. His colorful enthusiasm gives me strength, so lacking in my nature. I throw aside the fear enough to indulge in an inner smile.
And the game continues, the repetitive sound of the orange ball on ground, a soothing soundtrack to our vanilla romance.