[rare pairing drabbles] 1 Gundam Wing, 1 GetBackers, 1 PGSM
Finished the novel, mwa ha, have planned out my approaching death the next week of schoolwork, related to that. :D So in celebration, more writing!

(Drabbles 1-3 (1 FMA, 2 KKM).
Drabbles 4-6 (crossovers; 1 FMA/Bleach, 2 FMA/Vagrant Story)
Drabbles 7-10 (2 IN, 1 HnG, 1 PSME)
Drabbles 11-14 (1 Bleach, 1 HxH, 2 FMA)
Drabbles 15-16 (2 FMA)
Drabbles 17-18 (1 Star Ocean 2, 1 SaGa Frontier)
Drabbles 19-20 (2 Kyou Kara Maou)
Drabbles 21-22 (2 FMA))

Fifteen
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Pairing: Trowa/Wufei
Warnings: Author has not seen Gundam Wing, or to be more precise, Author has seen eps 1-4 and Endless Waltz, which is an interesting study in contrasts. :D No sexual content. No spoilers, for fairly obvious reasons. Fanon? HI.
Requested by: vidstudent


There's fifteen minutes left until impact.

For Trowa, this isn't such a big deal. It can't be. He's been prepared for death a very long time, has been waiting and counting out the minutes to it for years, living on someone else's borrowed time. He looks up, sees the timer ticking down, and thinks that nobody will see this coming.

Nobody will identify the bodies.

Nobody will much care, really.

This is fine. This is the way it must be. Duty is an interesting concept to Trowa, a bottom-line, strongly-drawn concept that he hides his not-self behind, hidden behind a mask or two. Or more. They call him a sad clown, but he doesn't think of himself as particularly sad. He doesn't think of himself as particularly anything, really.

Beside him, Wufei traces restless fingers over the surface of the digital timer. "Why did we bring this?" he murmurs, his voice high and sharp.

Trowa thinks: So those who are unprepared can become prepared, and looks at Wufei.

They're going to die at age fifteen. Trowa thinks that Wufei must know this, must have come to terms with this at some time in the past, but he doesn't show it if so. He looks irritable, uncertain, pacing back and forth inside the narrow bunker they've been granted that will probably not protect them. He wouldn't be a pilot if he wasn't prepared to die young, Trowa is sure, but he's not showing it.

There's fear in every step he takes.

Ten minutes.

Trowa is content with not making conversation, sitting back against a bunker wall, one knee bent up to his chest and his arms hooked easily about that. Wufei, he sees, is trying to be content with the same, his mouth tightly closed and jaw tense, narrow eyes moving this way and that. It's only a matter of time until Wufei breaks the silence, Trowa thinks, though that time might take longer than the timer had.

In a way, he understands it. Most of their self-destruction methods are insant, because that's when they'd need it. And death in battle is likely to be something they can't wait out; they'd have to be in the middle of intensity, action, fighting. Waiting to die is not something they've really been trained for, at least, not so actively.

Wufei sits abruptly, across from Trowa, and scowls at him.

Five minutes.

Wufei is frightened, Trowa thinks. And ashamed of that fear; he sees both emotions warring in his eyes. Wufei is looking down now, or rather inward; whatever he's remembering is intensifying his shame.

Trowa isn't trained for comfort or mercy, but he clears his throat, soft, as a way to try to lower the tension.

Wufei looks up. "Do you think the bunker will hold?"

No, Trowa thinks, but he shrugs. "Don't worry about it," he advises, soft.

"Do you regret anything?"

Perhaps. Regrets are not of primary importance. Trowa shrugs. "Do you?"

Wufei's voice is almost sullen. "That's the question, isn't it." He looks up at the timer and back down again, fierce. "I wonder what other people would do in this situation."

Other people, normal people, would not be in this situation. But then they might; this bunker which they'd been given instructions to after the bomb was set had been made by normal people as a way to survive the last war. Trowa shrugs.

It's about then he decides what he'll do.

The timer ticks down and Wufei remains silent from then on, his hands folded in his lap, legs crossed, eyes closed, as if attempting meditation. Trowa waits. Fifteen seconds.

Ten.

Five.

He throws himself at Wufei. If a bunker won't protect him, not much will, but flesh is soft and can block other things. If the bunker only partly collapses, for instance, it would protect Wufei from rubble.

Startled, Wufei's arms come about him and Trowa thinks, but doesn't have time to say: Idiot. If your arms are exposed, you might lose them.

The bunker rocks and electricity fails as the impact hits, loud and hard. Trowa hears sound fail, his ears aching, and when blackness descends he finds himself peaceful.

It takes maybe a quarter of a minute to realize he's not dead, not even hurt, and open his eyes.

It's too dark to see if Wufei's looking at him, but Wufei's breath is loud and angry.

"Bastard," Wufei hisses. "Planning to leave me trapped here alone?"

But Wufei's arms don't come down from around him, and, slowly, Trowa relaxes.


***

Funny Business
Fandom: Get Backers
Pairing: Emishi/Sakura
Warnings: Mild sexual content. Spoilers for.. ...er, I think it's ep 26? The first hot springs episode.
Requested by: gisho


When Emishi heard that Juubei had gone to travel the wilderness to look for a Way To Be Funny, he couldn't contain a wild whoop of joy that sent the messenger to cowering in one corner.

His evil plan had worked!

He was off in a flash, leaping off rooftops and along overhangs, through windows and abandoned apartments, taking the fastest route he could to find MakubeX's headquarters. In he went, and down, and into the computer room where, as she so often was, Sakura was on solitary duty.

And without her brother here to keep a watchful, suspicious eye (or sixth sense, as the case may be) on him, and tell him not to get up to any funny business with her!

Emishi spat on his palm and smoothed down his hair. He was damn sure Sakura wanted him, from the coy glances she'd send his way whenever their paths crossed, but with her brother so ever-present, how could they approach each other? But now -- his mind was filled with the images of her, soft and feminine, curved, gentle in all the right ways, laid out under him. Perhaps she'd have one knuckle to her mouth, as if she could fight off the low hitching moans he was sure she'd make, a blush on her face -- of course she'd be blushing...

"Emishi-kun," Sakura murmured, looking over at where he was lingering in the doorway. "Won't you come in?"

He jumped. "Ah -- yeah. Ah. Sakura-yan, I don't know if you've heard, but it looks like your brother's gone off for a while."

Interest suddenly writ on her face, she lifted her gaze, toying with her cloth. "Is that so?" she asked. "And MakubeX had urgent business with Gen the Apothecary..."

She'd obviously caught on. "That's so. I thought .... ahhh, Sakura-yan, I've a confession to make--"

"So do I," she murmured demurely, and the cloth whipped out, capturing him, binding him tight and dragging him over.

Emishi's eyes were huge. He couldn't move a muscle, and she loomed over him, the cloth that was animated with the Kakei Technique still tied in her hair. With his mouth bound, he couldn't manage more than a muffled "Sakura-yan?!"

"My confession," Sakura purred, as the cloth stroked him to hardness and then parted, taking his pants with it, "is that I want you, baby. I want you hard and fast. And I won't abide any arguments."

He let himself flop back against the support of the cloth as an indication that, oh no, he wasn't intending to argue.

As she rode him, hooting like a cowgirl the entire time, he had the distant thought that, maybe, he'd been wrong about Juubei trying to protect her from him.


***

Futures
Fandom: Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (live-action TV show)
Pairing: Nephrite/Ami
Warnings: Spoilers for end of series, as it's a post-series fic. No sexual content. Also, notice, again, my blatant act of favouritism. <3 Yaaaa~n.
Requested by: vaultedthewall



"It's so sad," Usagi was sighing. "I'm going to miss this place."

Nephrite jerked in surprise, dropping a karaoke machine and scrambling to grab the bits when the girls looked over.

Going to miss this place? he thought, furiously. They're not coming back?

"Well," Makoto said, firmly. "It's got a lot of memories, but... we don't need it any more. It's time to move on."

Ami was silent.

There were only the three of them there that day, with Nephrite had thought was odd until he'd heard, earlier, about Minako and Rei on a date, the other girls giggling over it with enthusiasm, amusement, and polite discomfort, respectively. Just three of them, apparently to say goodbye to this place they'd frequented for so long...

"Ah, you're leaving?" Motoki leaned over the counter, so concerned that he was ignoring Nephrite's clumsy act. "I thought--"

Makoto flushed and lowered her eyes a little. "We'll probably be back now and then," she said, awkward. "But, uh -- you know, with school getting out and all, we have to start planning for the future--"

"Then come by more often," Motoki said, grasping her hands with no understanding of protocol, squeezing them. "If there's a future to be planned..."

Usagi giggled brightly, waving. "I'll leave you to it, Mako-chan," she sing-songed. "I'm gonna head out -- maybe we'll be planning two weddings soon, hmmmm?"

"W-- wait, Usagi!" Makoto said, turning away but not freeing her hands -- it didn't stop Usagi from heading out the doors, though.

Ami looked uncomfortable, obviously torn between sticking with Makoto and following Usagi. She gave a small, half-bow. "Well, then, I'll--"

"Wait," Nephrite barked.

Startled, she looked over at him.

Motoki sighed. "Youuu," he said. "If Ami-chan's ready to go, she's ready to go, so--"

Nephrite dug around in his pocket until his hand closed on a number of a thousand-yen notes, all the pay he'd been saving up for the last three weeks. "I, you--"

It was so frustrating, trying to communicate with people like this. Curse Beryl, for forcing him into this situation! If things had gone differently, he could have just told her flat out what he wanted to say, or even fought her for that right.

Ami was looking at him uncertainly, and not for the first time, he thought she must know who he really was. "...Yes?"

Helpless, he thrust the money at her. "I want to take you to dinner," he said stiffly, his voice loud. "Is this enough money to take you to a nice dinner?"

Ami stared at him, then down at her hand, and she reached to nervously adjust glasses she seemed to forget she wasn't wearing. After a moment, she smiled a tiny smile, took out two thousand-yen notes, and closed his hand on the rest, her fingers warm on the back of his.

When she looked up at him, her smile still there, small but hopeful, and he felt his heart hammer away in his chest.

"This," she said, her voice soft and happy, "should be enough for two."