|Ouran- "This Must Be How Commoners Merely Survive..."
||[Dec. 15th, 2008|01:57 pm]
Title: This Must Be How Commoners Merely Survive Instead of Expanding Their Empires for Greater Glory
Pairing/Character/s: lightly KyouyaxTamaki
Word Count: 744
Warning/s: Probably OOC to the max.
Summary: When the electricity goes out, you have to learn to deal (like commoners).
Dedication: Ahaha for tokki_chan’s holiday request, with the prompt of "kotatsu." EVEN MORE OUT OF PRACTICE WITH THIS THAN BLEACH JUST SAYIN’.
A/N: I don’t even remember the details of their backstory stuff except there was kotatsu and Kyouya twitched a lot. Maybe this works as pre-series. Who knows.
That evening, when Tamaki comes over to slump and drool happily against Kyouya’s kotatsu, there happens to be a snowstorm.
“Maybe you should go home,” Kyouya suggests absently to the blond as he trades stocks on his laptop, from all the way across the room at his desk.
Tamaki continues to drool and makes another happy noise in the back of his throat that Kyouya correctly interprets as, “Yay, warm!” before nuzzling the tabletop fondly. Kyouya also correctly interprets that as Tamaki’s reluctance to leave, despite the snow starting to come down more and more heavily outside.
He supposes he’s not busy enough that Tamaki being here will be in his way; he’s only taking over a few foreign corporations. Time in New York: 10:30am yesterday.
“Kyouya,” Tamaki whines a little while later, chin still poised happily on top of the kotatsu, “Kyouya aren’t you cold?”
“We have central heating,” Kyouya replies blandly, and proceeds to (re)destroy the American auto industry single-handed.
Outside, the snowstorm rattles on.
At approximately 10:43 New York time (right before Kyouya is about to take an owning share of Chrysler GM), the internet cuts out.
Kyouya glares at the error page displayed on his web browser.
Three minutes and a particularly bad gust of wind later, the power shuts off too.
Kyouya ignores him.
“We’re going to freeze to death!!” Tamaki decides for them both, after fifteen powerless, internet-less minutes have passed and all they can hear is the screaming of the wind from outside (and Tamaki’s accompanying panicked shrieks every time the window rattles a little).
“Kyouya, Kyouya,” Tamaki insists, “I can’t feel my legs.”
“You’ve probably been sitting cross-legged on the floor for too long.”
“But I can’t move them!”
“Same reason.” Kyouya ghosts his fingers over the keyboard and wonders if he should maybe play around with Ford once the connection comes back. It’s probably too late for Chrysler now.
“Tell them,” Tamaki cries from the ground, hand outstretched towards Kyouya dramatically, “tell them I fought hard to live, Kyouya!”
He slumps hopelessly on the table.
Kyouya ignores him.
They sit in the dark as the storm rages on outside.
Two hours later, Tamaki sneezes.
It is the first time Kyouya may or may not be legitimately concerned for the idiot, because he supposes that yes, yes it has gotten a little bit cold since the power went out. And his investments were blown all to hell.
“Kyouya,” Tamaki whimpers pathetically, still huddled under the now cold kotatsu, “are we going to die?”
Kyouya sighs. “If that were the case,” he says, clicking on the reload button a few times by rote, “people would have all died out in the days before electricity.”
“Poor, barbaric commoners,” Tamaki murmurs pityingly, when he thinks about it.
He sneezes again.
Kyouya wordlessly adjusts his glasses and gets up from his chair.
He pulls the comforter off of his bed and drapes it over Tamaki, purely to stem the whining.
“Kyouya!” Tamaki glows gratefully when he does, completely misinterpreting the action as the cloth flutters down over his face. He fumbles around with it until he can see again, and then lifts a corner of the blanket up at Kyouya invitingly.
Kyouya can practically see Tamaki’s tail wagging expectantly from under the blanket when he does it like that, looking up at his best friend with big eyes and a comparatively big, stupid smile.
Kyouya sighs and resigns himself to sitting down next to Tamaki; at least until the internet comes back.
Approximately two seconds after he sits down, Tamaki’s head is on his shoulder and he is drooling happily all over again, except on Kyouya’s shoulder now, like he is Tamaki’s personal replacement kotatsu.
“Kyouya’s warm,” Tamaki burbles next to his ear, and Kyouya twitches on instinct. “Do you think this is how the barbaric commoners lived?”
“Or killed each other,” Kyouya responds dryly, eyes still glued to the battery powered laptop sitting across the room. More specifically, eyes still glued to the air port wireless receiver bars, which stubbornly continue to be devoid of any and all reception.
Tamaki just makes a few more absent burbling noises and snuggles closer.
Five minutes later, with all bars still blank and Tamaki asleep—still drooling— on his shoulder, Kyouya gives up on his takeover for the day.
He supposes that he’ll just have to leave the Americans alone for now.
There’s always tomorrow after all, and the Germans.