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onepiece_300Title: Memoir
Rating: K
Media: Fanfiction
Pairing/Characters: Mihawk/Vista
Word Count: 300
Prompt: Pajamas
Comments: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ukiiukii & catiprojectc, who're the only ones who might possibly understand this. To crack-ships! ♥ (Am I lateee? -rubbernecks-)
Summary: The battlefield is Not A Place For Contemplation. Generally because it is unsafe and a decidedly bad idea unless you don't mind holes or gigantic papercuts on your person. But when you're the World's Greatest Swordsman, you're an exception.
Memoir
The metallic ringing of swords was both familiar and oddly soothing; as was the feel of tearing flesh, bleeding a wine only his sword drank. He belonged here, where chaos needed the governing of an eager sword reined by a steady mind and firm hand.
A true swordsman carries the heart of his sword, the will of a gentleman and the strength and grace of a monster.
An echo from his past. Memories. Something which only surfaced on the loneliest of nights.
I, um, I’m Juracule, nice to mee—
Hello, he remembered (it had sounded warm), I’m V—
He had been a boy once.
“A pleasure, Hawkeye Mihawk.”
The voice was different, a low, smooth tenor. So was his name.
He had a different name back then, when they had both been boys wielding big dreams and bigger blades, on a small island tucked away in one of the blues. Known for their women, romance and sensuous music.
The voice was as he remembered it. Warm. (Fond.)
It reminded him of innocent company, laughing at pajama choices and familiar embraces. It reminded him of youthful blunders, secrets and, dangerously, of urgent kisses, hot bodies and a sense of belonging.
“So you’ve heard of me?”
It reminded him that the man before him was no longer the boy he had grown up with.
But the passion, the warmth, was a familiarity he could not resist.
So he pushed against his blade more forcefully, letting it translate into something they had shared that one warm night on the beach with awkward limbs, strewn pajamas, stifled moans and heated lips.
A reminder. A tug on the leash he knew they both still wore.
“I’d be a fool had I not.”
The returning smile, deeper than that brainless perpetual grin, was an answering tug.
---
A/N: I detest the word count limitation for making me cut out passionato spanishy lovey bits )< But it did help in creating all that unsaid, unspoken UST that this fandom seems so full of. Well. Happy new year, everyone! May 2010 be a good one for all of you! And have a (still) Merry Christmas~! Because there are still four more days of it, damnit. >D
Rating: K
Media: Fanfiction
Pairing/Characters: Mihawk/Vista
Word Count: 300
Prompt: Pajamas
Comments: For
ukiiukii & catiprojectc, who're the only ones who might possibly understand this. To crack-ships! ♥ (Am I lateee? -rubbernecks-)Summary: The battlefield is Not A Place For Contemplation. Generally because it is unsafe and a decidedly bad idea unless you don't mind holes or gigantic papercuts on your person. But when you're the World's Greatest Swordsman, you're an exception.
Memoir
The metallic ringing of swords was both familiar and oddly soothing; as was the feel of tearing flesh, bleeding a wine only his sword drank. He belonged here, where chaos needed the governing of an eager sword reined by a steady mind and firm hand.
A true swordsman carries the heart of his sword, the will of a gentleman and the strength and grace of a monster.
An echo from his past. Memories. Something which only surfaced on the loneliest of nights.
I, um, I’m Juracule, nice to mee—
Hello, he remembered (it had sounded warm), I’m V—
He had been a boy once.
“A pleasure, Hawkeye Mihawk.”
The voice was different, a low, smooth tenor. So was his name.
He had a different name back then, when they had both been boys wielding big dreams and bigger blades, on a small island tucked away in one of the blues. Known for their women, romance and sensuous music.
The voice was as he remembered it. Warm. (Fond.)
It reminded him of innocent company, laughing at pajama choices and familiar embraces. It reminded him of youthful blunders, secrets and, dangerously, of urgent kisses, hot bodies and a sense of belonging.
“So you’ve heard of me?”
It reminded him that the man before him was no longer the boy he had grown up with.
But the passion, the warmth, was a familiarity he could not resist.
So he pushed against his blade more forcefully, letting it translate into something they had shared that one warm night on the beach with awkward limbs, strewn pajamas, stifled moans and heated lips.
A reminder. A tug on the leash he knew they both still wore.
“I’d be a fool had I not.”
The returning smile, deeper than that brainless perpetual grin, was an answering tug.
---
A/N: I detest the word count limitation for making me cut out passionato spanishy lovey bits )< But it did help in creating all that unsaid, unspoken UST that this fandom seems so full of. Well. Happy new year, everyone! May 2010 be a good one for all of you! And have a (still) Merry Christmas~! Because there are still four more days of it, damnit. >D
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-06 05:22 pm (UTC)Well. -ponders- I suppose, if you don't mind dying with hot Spanish love and flaming gay morons being all ambiguous and SLY AND KASJHDLAJHD about their FREEEELINNGSSSS FER EACH OTH3R, that's a pretty good way to go. XD Count me in! <3
OH GOSH. I KNOW, RIGHT. LSKJDH I'm totally writing an extended fic of this if I've the time. :DDDDDDDDDDDD I LOVE THE IDEA. AND I'M GLAD IT SITS WELL WITH YOU TOO \O/
OOH VISTA'S DEFINITELY THERE FER HIM, MI'AMOR (or something).
-CHEWS ROSE UP PASSIONATELY-
♥
no subject
Date: 2010-01-21 02:18 am (UTC)OH GOD PLEASE MAKE IT LONGER. I REALLY WANNA SEE SOME REMINISCING ON THEIR YOUTH AS SEXY SPANSIH TEENAGERS ON A SEXY SPANISH ISLAND AND. AND. *____*
/tries his best to make a puppy face
You're damned right it's a good way to go. Eheheheehe <-perv
/is shot