| Star Ocean: The Second Story: Warmth
An plotless experiment in mood. Also, be forewarned, some cutesy shounen-ai
themes are involved.
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| It was only three hours before dawn when he
arrived home, striding out of the woods on long legs that ached with fatigue
and chill. Dias was exhausted. The so-called 'three-day-long job' had taken
him almost a week and a half to complete, and the Cross money men were
as stingy as always about his payment. And of course, just as he was leaving
Cross, the weather decided to turn unseasonably cold and rainy; to top
it all off, the bunny that he'd caught to ride home had balked at entering
the woods, so he was faced with either a two-mile walk or another night
sleeping rough. The desire to just get home had won in the end.
Wet and cold, Dias had slung his pack over his shoulder and set off through
the woods.
The smallish weatherbeaten house in the clearing had never been pretty even when new, but the sight of the place made Dias' heart lift, just a little. The porch roof was in danger of falling down (again), what little paint remained on the walls was peeling and flaking, and the back steps were cracked and listing to one side, but the thin curl of smoke rising from the chimney and the soft burbling of the creek behind the house more than made up for those little faults. He was home. Dias moved carefully up the front steps, avoiding the second step out of sheer habit, even though he'd replaced that rotted plank a month ago. He wove carefully around all the places where the front porch was liable to creak and pushed the door open, stepping into the warmth with a soft sigh of pleasure. The front door opened up into the largish main room, which was living room and kitchen all in one. As always, the interior of the house was immaculately clean, even if the furnishings were battered and mismatched. The fire in the stove was banked for the night, lighting the room with a dim orange glow. Dropping his pack by the front door, Dias moved over to hold his hands out to the fire, the stingy warmth slowly seeping through his wet clothes. Finally, no longer shivering quite as hard, Dias shucked off his sodden cloak, and hung it on the small rack of pegs by the front door. A moment later, his swordbelt joined his cloak, the long leather scabbard almost touching the floor. Another swordbelt, with a pair of smaller swords sheathed in it, hung on the last peg, and Dias reached up to touch them briefly, his fingers brushing against the soft black leather of one scabbard. Smiling faintly to himself, he turned away and headed over to the small kitchen that ranged along one side of the room. Dias slipped off his gloves and tossed them on the small battered wooden table, crouching in front of the tiny icebox (its cooling compartment filled twice a day with fresh ice and many complaints in dragontongue). A quick search of the icebox's lower compartment turned up half a cold roast chicken, a hunk of soft white cheese, and two bottles of apple cider; the heavy wooden box on one counter yielded a loaf of coarse wheat bread to go with it. Minutes later, only a pile of chicken bones and two empty bottles remained on the counter. Still chilled but definitely much happier, Dias put the bottles by the sink and tossed the bones on the fire, where they crackled and spat for a moment, the flames briefly rising up to consume them. Dias considered the fire for a moment, then pulled one of the kitchen chairs (the one without the broken leg) over in front of the stove and sat down, holding his hands out towards the flames again and closing his eyes. Abruptly, he frowned. His boots were sodden and muddy and cold, too unpleasant to ignore any longer. Dias attacked the water-swollen laces with fingers made clumsy by the chill. The rawhide was almost impossible to untie, the knots swollen around themselves, and the wet suede clung unpleasantly to his feet; but finally, after five minutes of exhausted struggling, Dias got both boots off and set them down by the stove to dry. Ten minutes later, one of the bones in the fire made a loud crackling sound, and Dias' eyes snapped open from his weary half-doze. Bed. Heaving himself to his aching feet, Dias padded silently across the living room and through the small wooden door on the opposite wall. The small fireplace in here was also banked for the night, a metal screen hiding most of the soft orange light. Dias stood silently in the doorway for a moment, his eyes getting used to the dimness; slowly the room emerged from the shadows to welcome him. Moving over to the small battered chair by the fireplace, Dias unbuttoned his shirt and slipped out of it, tossing the shirt over the back of the chair. The shirt was shortly followed by his pants, still slightly damp. Already Dias was chilled again and he crouched in front of the fireplace, holding out his hands to the inadequate flames and shivering. A faint sound from the bed behind him caused Dias to look over his shoulder, pushing his damp bangs back from his eyes. The faint orange glow revealed the form of one of the dragons, swaying sleepily up from the pillows, and Dias swiftly laid his finger over his lips. The dragon eyed Dias for a moment, then yawned hugely; a faint orange glow shone deep in the beast's throat, identifying him as Gyoro. The red dragon made another faint grumping noise and curled back up on one of the pillows, vanishing from sight behind the indistinct mound of blankets on the far side of the bed. Those thick, soft blankets had never looked quite so good to Dias as they did now. Lifting them up, he burrowed under the covers, sliding over towards the center of the bed. His side of the bed was cold and unpleasant, but a warmth so profound that it stung against his chilled skin radiated from the other side. Dias' hand slid along under the blankets until they encountered skin, warm, dry, and soft; a soft tenor voice mumbled something indistinct at the touch. After a moment, large green eyes blinked halfway open, and Ashton sleepily whispered, "... hi..." "Hey." Without another word, Dias slid over, wrapping his arms around Ashton and snuggling close, reveling in the warmth of the smaller man's body and the nest of blankets he was wrapped in. Ashton gasped, a soft hissing noise, jerking in Dias' arms just a little. "God, you're cold... here..." Ashton slid his arms around Dias' back and pressed his body close. Dias' icy skin caused Ashton to hiss again and flinch away for a moment, but only for a moment; then Ashton sighed in resignation and wrapped himself about Dias, his legs twining about the larger man's. Dias' eyes slid shut and a soft groan whispered from his lips as he nestled into that radiant warmth. Already his muscles were beginning to relax, just a little, as the heat from Ashton's body seeped into them; the memory of that bone-deep chill was receding fast, chased away by the comfort of Ashton's skin against his own. Dias' palms slid idly up and down along the furnace of Ashton's bare back, from the waistband of his loose pants up to his shoulderblades and back down. A few minutes later Dias finally stopped shivering, his skin now almost as warm as Ashton's own. Hiding his face against Dias' shoulder, Ashton murmured, "... they give you trouble again?" "Yeah... don't they always?" Dias buried his face in Ashton's hair, breathing in the warmth and Ashton's scent. "... tell you about it in the morning... or the afternoon..." A huge jaw-cracking yawn silenced Dias, and he settled down on his back, pulling Ashton over to lie close against his chest. Yawning in sympathy, Ashton curled up against Dias' side, his arm settling into its accustomed place across Dias' stomach. Ashton pillowed his head against Dias' shoulder and closed his eyes. "... glad you're home..." "Me too..." Dias pressed a sleepy kiss to Ashton's forehead, his arm tightening about the smaller man's shoulders for just a moment before he finally surrendered to his exhaustion. Within moments, both men were fast asleep in the warm hollow of the blankets; the dragons shifted about and grumbled dragon-y things in their sleep, and then all was quiet save the crackling of the fire. |
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===== COMMENTS: I had an awful lot of fun with this, really, even though nothing actually happens in it. It was mostly just writing practice, playing with mood; reading it always makes me feel cold, so I judged it at least a partial success. Hey! |