Sunday, September 23, 2001 08:30 p.m.

Neh. Was working on my reflection paper for World History class, and since anything goes, I ended up writing a fictional snippet based on the battle of Thermopylae. *sigh* Sources from Pressfield's Gates of Fire again. Nothing yaoi. Just a ficlet, but I like how it ended up. Ephialtes was the Greek traitor who showed the Persians a way around Thermopylae pass; blah blah. Uhm, comments appreciated. **

   “Your Majesty. A Greek, who claims he will be of most useful service to you, requests your audience,” the general Mardonius announced with a flamboyant bow, gesturing towards the drawn tent flaps which separated His Majesty Xerxes from the rest of his army, as well as the Greek who called himself Ephialtes.    A raised eyebrow from the young King, the patrician features slowly curving into a small smile as the full impact of Mardonius’ words was finally comprehended. He waved his hand. “Very well. Show this Greek in.”
   Mardonius then signaled to the captain Orontes, who stood by the tent flaps, to let the Greek in. A short man entered, eyes covered with a strip of cloth in accordance with Persian custom preventing commoners from laying eyes upon His Majesty, King Xerxes. Skin dark and leathered from years of obvious labor, the man was led before the King, and was instructed to kneel and not to speak to the King directly, but to Orontes.
   “Ah. Your name?” inquired Xerxes.
   “Ephialtes, son of Philimones*, your Majesty,” came the Greek’s reply.
   “Mardonius here claims you would be of most useful service to me,” Xerxes’ voice trailed off, allowing the Greek to continue.
   “Yes.” A pause.
   Xerxes leaned forward in silent anticipation, waiting for the Greek to continue, white hands clutched against purple robes. Waiting to hear what he wanted to hear.
   “I know a way around the pass.”
   “Continue.”
   “There is a track up around the mountain, which would enable your Majesty’s forces to outflank the army. It would lead you exactly behind the Wall, straight into the camp of the Spartans, Thespians, and the rest.”
   “Would you lead the Ten Thousand Immortals around this…way around the pass?”
   “As soon as you wish, Majesty.”
“Tell me, Greek. Why?”
   “Why, what, your Majesty?”
   “Betray your own.”
   “They say that we fight to keep our freedom. That no other has the right to rule over our beloved Hellas. But I tell you, your Majesty, what freedom that they talk about, I know not what. I am a farmer, and I have experienced as much freedom as a Messenian helot has. Coming under your Majesty’s rule would not make a difference; the amount of freedom I enjoy from our very own leaders would be tantamount to the amount of freedom I would enjoy under your Majesty’s rule. Even more, if your Majesty would be so kind, as I overheard from your envoy’s offer to Leonidas.”
   Xerxes nodded, satisfied. “You will be richly rewarded.”
   “One more thing, Greek.”
   “Yes, your Majesty?”
   “Why should I trust you?”
   “Because you have no other choice.”

Monday, September 17, 2001 12:27 a.m.

2-part MitKo snippet: These are part of the same fic, but they're different segments. I'm stuck. Comments here. ^_^; Very rough, unedited, etc. Blanks are obviously blanks, and is not fully researched yet. So no one sue me. =Þ

He had to be sold.

Although they said that the Master was loath to part with him, he was a luxury, if nothing else. And luxuries now had to be sold in order to save the Master’s neck from debt. He and fifty other house slaves would be displayed in the nearest slave market; to be prodded, to be touched, to be examined like objects by strangers.

It was disgusting.

He remembered the first and only time he had been in one of them, where the Master had bought him from the slave trader Siberius. He had been bathed, cleaned, combed and prettied to perfection, the slave trader had surmised that his comeliness would surely fetch a high price from the many nobles that visited the market every day.

He shuddered at the memory. The cold, probing fingers that poked and prodded at him; some even had the audacity to slip their fingers beneath the short flimsy tunic he wore. He had hissed at them, almost spat on the faces of these Roman nobles, before the stinging slap of leather against his back silenced him.

*Then the Master had come, easily the most impressive countenance he had ever seen in his life. His imposing height alone was enough to warrant awed gazes from nearby people; obsidian eyes alive with hankering passion, lips curved upward in a perpetual smile, or so it seemed. White toga draped stylishly, hair impeccable though strange, the Master had stridden through the market causing much buzzing among the other slave traders and among the slaves themselves.

** - I'm not sure about this one yet, since I"m still deciding whether or not to make this a SenMitKo fic or not.


His new master was there.

A gleaming visage of white and gold, body draped lazily, almost seductively over the elaborately gilded couch. A bored expression stamped on the aristocratic face. Blue eyes. Short ebony hair that gleamed blue when light struck it. Sensual lips drawn together in a perpetual pout.

He swallowed visibly, heat suffusing his cheeks as he was led closer to his new master by the foreman Miyagi. Unsure of what to expect, unsure of what to do. A dull thudding of his chest commenced, quiet terror seizing his body.

Would he be gentle? Would he cruel? Would he be like his first master ________, who would take sick joy in beating him repeatedly with anything convenient? Or would he be like the Master, who treated him like a lover, kind praise and countless kisses filling every tryst and moment shared? He had been so lucky with the Master, but the fragile security he had found teetered dangerously as he faced his new master.

He was afraid.

So afraid.

Monday, September 10, 2001 06:43 p.m.

ArmandXDaniel snippet: *laughs* Poking through one's old diskettes is fun. Especially when one stumbles upon old fics, even better when it's another aborted lemon fic. *grin* This is for those who want to be frustrated, it's a lemon written in Daniel's (from AR's VC) pov, posted just for the heck of it, because I'm laughing too hard to explain why. =P I got halfway through but started blushing too hard, so this will probably most likely stay unfinished. =D Btw, no one laugh, because this was written ages ago.
***
Ecstasy in his arms.

I cry out.

Shameless. Passion-filled voice pierces the otherwise tranquil silence of the dark rented motel room. Wild cries of abandon. Moans of sinful pleasure. A hoarse, strangled scream. I realize after awhile, these brazen cries, that they are mine.

The satin-covered bed squeaks against my weight, our weight. The smell of sex permeates the air. Various articles of clothing litter the carpeted floor. I writhe restlessly against the velvety hands that ran through the flat of my stomach, my arms, my legs. Ah, yes, yes. More of that. I want it. Tremor after tremor of carnal bliss courses through me as these pale roaming hands touch and caress every inch of flesh I possess.
Tender lips seek and claim my own, mouth parting against the pressure of his hands. His tongue collides with mine, exploring the unfamiliar area. Roughly, I kiss him back, capturing his roaming tongue, sucking on it. Ah, the exquisite warmth. Tasting the exotic sweetness that lay hidden in the confines of his mouth. I shiver from the sheer pleasure of this, the sensual exploration of his mouth, the burning sensation from the naughtily reciprocating tongue that traced lines across my lips.

My lover’s lips slip to my cheeks, down the column of my throat, lapping the hollow above my collarbone. More butterfly-light kisses that make me shudder from the ecstasy of it all; instinctively I fling my head back, allowing his skilled lips better access. I groan with pleasure from all this; the heated kisses, the roaming hands, deft fingers tracing delicate little patterns up and down the naked expanse of my chest.

I stare hazily into heated brown eyes cloudy with passion. My hands entwined with silky auburn curls. Lithe form pressed intimately against my own, heat emanating from his body that passes to mine, legs entangled with each other’s, our bodies moving in tandem rhythm and motion. Armand, my Armand. I melt into his embrace, molding myself against him as he continues to rain little kisses down upon me, his mouth hot and scalding as it licks through my skin.

This intimacy intoxicates me; my hands slide downwards to dig themselves into his back, feeling the smooth pale flesh against my palms, tracing the delicate arch. I am lost, in his arms, in the pleasure and passion that fills me right now as I writhe against him, breathing heavily as though all the air in my lungs have gone. I moan, nearly in a dream-like state, as his tongue flicks lower over my nipple, over and over again.

I cry out yet again, from the sheer pleasure of it, the wicked sensation.

He nips at my skin as his mouth travels to the other nipple, licking over it with feverish hurriedness, as though afraid, that…what? I may disappear any moment? I continue to moan, my mind a confused befuddled mess. Oh damn him, damn him, damn him, does he know how much havoc he wreaks in me every time he touches me like that? Of course he does, Armand damn hell knows everything. Instinctively my body arches to meet his touch, the soft lips that brushes repeatedly still on my nipple. Sweet torture, this play of tongue. He stops licking and takes the nipple into his mouth, sucking gently on it. I feel helpless, unable to do anything but watch and writhe and shudder in anticipation and pleasure from my lover’s careful, erotic ministrations.

Long auburn curls tease the surface of my skin, grazing it lightly, seductively. I grit my teeth to keep from screaming again; my hands dig into his shoulderblades, hard enough to leave faint pink imprints on the otherwise pale flesh. His caressing continues, head moving lower still. Skilled hands gently push my legs apart, spreading them wide enough to accommodate him, settling himself between them.

My eyes widen as I realize where his mouth heads. Wicked hands stroke the more inner area of my thighs, his mouth following suit. Tongue traveling inch after inch on the sensitive skin, light and slick and rough and velvety his tongue, tickling sensations entwined with pain and pleasure and desire conflagrates in me, my hands tightly digging and bruising his shoulders, teeth grit hard enough to hurt. I feel like I would explode now, any moment, as more and more pleasure unfurls from the flagrant and undivided attention he gives in his stroking and exploring of my most sensitive and vulnerable region.

Saturday, September 8, 2001 06:40 p.m.

Heh. I finished the MitKo fic (see snippet below) and posted it up here.Comments here as usual. =D For LJ users, at least, and here for mail.

I'm so proud of myself. I haven't finished a fic in two years, discounting character posts for the yaoi-rpg. =D

Sunday, September 2, 2001 09:52 a.m.

MitKo snippet; I haven't worked in a full fic for ages. This is un-beta-d, unedited, so it could suck big time ^_^; I'm not used to writing Kogure yet so.... o_O I have no idea how to end this bloody thing. And yes, I am finally re-learning how to write in third-person, after so many years of being in the "I" mood. Comments would be greatly greatly greatly greatly appreciated here. -_-
*****

“You came back,” a statement whispered softly, almost inaudible to the ear. Almost like an absent-minded remark, his eyes focused at the jumbled contents of his open locker. Intentionally avoiding the gaze of whom his words were meant for.

He knew that Mitsui was there, standing in front of his own locker. Instinctively knowing a once familiar presence, yet unfamiliar at the same time. They were alone, the team having gone home nearly half an hour earlier.

Silence. Not a sound.

“Yes,” came his quiet reply, then the squeaking sound of his locker being opened.

He exhaled the breath he had been holding. Why he had been holding it in the first place had escaped him. A sideways glance. Watching the oh-so-familiar stance that for two years his eyes have not seen.

He had felt some joy seeing him return; his return he had waited painstakingly for two years, even as all hope had fled and dissipated. He waited, even though it was in vain, to hear the familiar boasting voice or to see the familiar arrogant swagger. Two years, he had waited and felt all his hope torn to shreds until he had finally given up waiting all together and accepted: Mitsui Hisashi would not be coming back. Not now, not ever. He had spent the remainder of his years trying to forget. Quelling the remains of the secret hope that dwelt in him, that somehow he would step back into the polished courts like he used to, to pick up the ball once more and play.

He thought he had but gotten over the entire ordeal. He thought he had managed, succeeded in ceasing to hope for his return.

Now this.

The events of the day before had invaded and remained in his thoughts the entire night; the horrifying sight of seeing his wish fulfilled in the most twisted manner. Yes, Mitsui Hisashi had indeed returned, but as a man filled with hate and vengeance. Yes, he had indeed seen him again, but a far cry from the way he had always imagined.

Recounting the past to the others had not been easy. He had told the sordid history of Mitsui’s rise and fall. But he had taken out a substantial amount from the entire story as well. Things that no one knew, things he had kept to himself ever since. Thus the retelling had become difficult, for it was hard enough to leave out the things he didn’t want to reveal for they were intertwined with everything. So it seemed to him. To choose the right words to tell everything with as much accuracy as possible, without slipping once to expose all he wanted to be kept in the dark.

Questions had plagued his mind the entire night before. Old wounds reopened after two years of healing and forgetting. Would he return for real?

It seemed too fragile a dream to reach for. Too fragile a hope to believe in again.

He remembered the silent anticipation he felt the entire afternoon. The hammering of his chest as the telltale scrape of the door being opened echoed through the gym. His heart had leapt at the sight of the familiar face, though it had changed considerably, even drastically, over the years. His eyes had aged; the youthful optimism that swam within the blue depths now overshadowed by cynicism. Even his hair had changed, and his body leaner than before. But the determined look that set fire to his eyes still remained, the only remnant of the Mitsui Hisashi he once knew. Once loved.

A shiver ran through him.

He wrapped a towel around himself, a futile attempt to ward off the shivers.

You came back to the team. You came back to me. Was what he really wanted to say. His eyes closed, images of their stolen kisses and evening trysts pervading his thoughts, bringing to the surface once more forgotten pain, the tortuous grief of being abandoned. Turned away.

“I didn’t come back just to play, Kiminobu,” came Mitsui’s voice again, as though his thoughts were clearly written all over his face; he was startled at the sound of his reply, not having expected one at all. It seemed he had spoken his questions aloud.

He had failed to notice in his contemplation that Mitsui now stood in front of him, his own eyes full of their own musing, a faraway look that he recognized.

“I came back for you.”

He finally looked up, meeting Mitsui’s gaze; searching to see if this wasn’t yet another cruel trick fickle fate once again played upon his emotions. Searching his face for sincerity, to make him believe. Make him believe again.

“I thought you would never come back. I waited for you, Hisashi. Day after day, night after night, even after you turned me away from your hospital door. Even after you turned the world away, I waited. Waited with open arms, you knew I would take you back. Two years have passed, and the wounds have barely healed. Now tell me…”

His former lover’s lips pressed against his in a kiss, sealing away the rest of his words. Warm. Tender. His lips being the same as he remembered them the first time it brushed against his own. He succumbed to it, as he always did. To the smoldering blue eyes that held captive his own, to the powerful arms that wrapped around his waist, to the warm press of lips against his own as his way of apology. More powerful than words could ever be; full of remorse, pain, a question, an offer of renewal.

Mitsui had never been eloquent with words.

The kiss ended, a reluctant effort on his behalf. Then a questioning look in his eyes, a reply desperately sought to end the plague of uncertainty that bound his mind.

“You’ve changed.” A lot, in all ways possible.

“Saa, but I’m still the same man,” Mitsui whispered back.

Friday, August 31, 2001 08:47 a.m.

RuHana Snippet

He hasn't called for five days.

Five days. Which seemed strange to him as it is, for Sakuragi always called at least once a day, sometimes twice or more, no matter how hard his day had been. No matter how busy he was. Sakuragi always found the time. Now five days have passed without the receiver being lifted once, nary a meek beep from the black cordless phone that now rested conspicuously on his lap.

Five days. He wondered why.

Outside a storm was brewing. The sky was gray, a thick blanket of dark ominous clouds covering the vast expanse. He could hear the distinct low rumble of thunder coming from a distance south; wind swept the few scattered leaves, left distended by the kindly matrons next door, up into spiraling columns.

He wondered still and waited, to hear the warmness of Sakuragi's voice again. The phone was still cradled on his lap, whereas he, was still sitting idly on the afghan-covered chair by the window that Sakuragi always loved. Waiting, impatiently for the phone to ring and finally put his fears to rest.

A tinge of guilt naughtily crept its way into him, scenes of their last meeting flashed before his eyes; their last meeting had been the same day of Sakuragi's last phone call.

Friday, August 31, 2001 08:44 a.m.

SenRu snippet

Rukawa. Kaede.

The memory of his hand against mine brings a thrill of something coursing through me.

Pleasure?

I long to know, what goes on behind this man. Finally we have met on the court. Him, a legend in basketball circles. Kaede Rukawa, Shohoku’s new small forward. A freshman yet better than most, at the least a contradiction, at most a miracle. An enigma that ceaselessly fascinates me to no end. Thus I gaze at him with outmost intensity throughout this meeting of ours during the precious few hours we were given together. I regret, we had to have met in this manner; to have met in a game of chance, a game of skill, a game where we must regretfully be on opposite ends.

I have never played as well, or with the same feverish fervor as I did today.

How many times have I wanted to meet this man? To hear Hikoichi endlessly rave about his skill, his talent displayed during his years in junior high? How many times have I dreamed of this moment when we would at last, come face to face? To be able to test the mettle and skill that everyone so highly speak of, to finally put at rest the unknown?

Imagine my joy when coach announced it would be him he puts me up against. Imagine the thrill that snaked down my spine in anticipation. Imagine. To meet a man so like myself yet so completely different.

Longing?

I stare at my hands, which are open, the palm facing up. Rough, callused, toughened from the years of practice. I remember. The thrill that snaked down my spine as these hands touched his, a few moments, but still. Moments. I had seen the reluctance in him as he held out his hand, touching mine. I knew then, the thrill that passed through me had very much passed through him; all the words had flown out of my lips then as I stood there, my hands clasped around his own. I felt it.

I wonder what it meant.

Friday, August 31, 2001 08:42 a.m.

Will be re-posting the last two snippets here, so as to signify the division between my old rant blog and my fic blog neh ^^

And I didn't expect to see you here, Achan love, so soon. I just finished the layout last night.

Thursday, August 30, 2001 08:32 p.m.

Well, I got bored this weekend, so I updated the layout.