Author: spoonybutts PM
50 prompts. Ryuto Asamiya and Natsu Tanimoto - together unlimited as gods.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Natsu T. & Ryuto A. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,888 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 08-10-12 - Published: 07-12-12 - id: 8315013
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I ship Natsu Tanimoto and Ryuto Asamiya. CAN'T BE TAMED. I ship personality wise, guys. I think they mesh well when they aren't on two different ends of the spectrum in terms of alliance. I don't own these wonderful characters. Oh the pain.
I'm getting back into the groove of writing and I'm trying to get a hang of personalities so I apologize for any errors. Some liberties are taken with Ryuto's hobbies. Apparently I can't do proper drabbles (100 words exactly) so bear with giant walls of text. AHAHAHAHA OTL. And I tend to change my tenses a lot from prompt to prompt like a GIANT DUMMY FACE /weeep
- IN ASGARD -
To Natsu, there is nothing stranger than Ryuto. He is water. Constantly shifting to fit against another, to convince and coerce. With Berserker he is sheer power and silence. A paragon of strength and god of fear. To Siegfried Ryuto returns to old lessons from old ladies with ivory keys or struck strings. To Natsu he is flighty as a bird. One moment serious and challenging him to a duel and the next shoving a strange soda into his hands.
Natsu is not a romantic man. He does not cook for Ryuto, he does not give flowers to Ryuto, and he does not call Ryuto stupid nicknames like 'baby' or 'sugar lumps'. But he admits to Siegfried that Ryuto is like a zephyrous wind. He moves as easily as a breeze and when he fights Ryuto is a storm in his fury. But really all Natsu says is,
Siegfried fills everything in for him. It is the musician that crows these intricate weavings of words. And Natsu can only nod as Siegfried scribbles bars and treble clefts. All Siegfried says is true, after all. He has to shut him up when Siegfried decides to play the piece for Ryuto, though. Or that non-romantic and manly image might crumble in an amused Ryuto's gaze.
Natsu refused to confess his past. The sick little grunts pestered him but the other Fists knew. One glare was met with their stony gazes. He had only passed this secret to Ryuto. And Ryuto brought him to a graveyard, talking all the while. The king of Ragnarok spoke in a low voice, untouched by emotion and clear as a bell. After his rival moved away Ryuto's parents died. Ryuto lived on inheritance. And his family lived beneath the dirt with a dingy and defiled stone marker.
"I don't see why you wear this all the time," Natsu tugged at the collar of Ryuto's jacket. The white fabric scrunched beneath his fingers, the cravat fluttering against his knuckles, "Can't you wear something normal?"
"This isn't normal?"
That day Natsu met Ryuto's grandparents. If meeting meant seeing them in a photograph. Yuriko and Nobu Asamiya who loved musical and classics. Yuriko who wore silk and ermine and Nobu who wore suits and cravats. Ryuto said that they were sweet people and they loved, you gueesed it, sweets. Oh, and table manners. So when the Chinese food was delivered Natsu was taught to keep his elbows off the table and which spoon was for soup.
Ryuto is somewhat romantic. As a boy he read his grandmother's crumby romantic novels well into the night and enjoyed the dramatic operas she brought him to. As a teen he was the one making the first movements towards Natsu. It was a gradual thing. Beginning with brief entertainment through punches and pinpoint blows and fueled by interest and a challenge. When Natsu is ill and Ryuto sloppily attends to him Ryuto feels warmth. When Natsu falls asleep and clutches Ryuto's hand as fever dreams wash over him in crashing waves Ryuto feels like he's a melting mess.
Why did he keep staring? Natsu was highly uncomfortable. Ryuto was no girl and there was nothing soft and curvy about him (Natsu had never seen him without his stupid white coat either, if Ryuto was lean he couldn't tell). Those eyes were starting to unnerve Natsu. They were bright like stars and the colour of the sky. They were boring into him like drills. Natsu was an actor, he kept his face set with a scowl and felt relief that his hood covered his blazing ears. Did Ryuto want another fight? Wait - was he mocking him? Stupid smile.
With grandparents like Yuriko and Nobu he is not surprised to see Ryuto in a man's kimono one day when he visits the house. He is only mildly startled when Ryuto pours him tea and neat little dishes. It's more of a lady's job but Ryuto has no sister and no mother to be taught anymore. Natsu doesn't mind. Ryuto's focus is like his focus in the middle of a battle. His hands are steady and his movements fluid as he pours tea into jade and lifts chopsticks to his mouth with the regal grace of a king.
"So you can make candy and wagashi but you can't even make me soup."
"Shut up or I'll beat you up."
It's an empty threat. Petty arguments usually end up with Ryuto smacking Natsu and nothing more. Natsu glowered as Ryuto dumped yet another bowl of sweet-and-sour soup down the drain. And then he gave a long drawn out coughing fit and Ryuto caved in. With a bruised sense of pride he ordered Chinese food and Natsu was content. Ryuto was lucky he didn't have to clean the building clutter of take-out boxes and dirty dishes.
What Ryuto lacked in making decent daily food he made up for in his obsession for candy and dessert. History, technique, and the skill to create things from anmitsu to the famed Momofuku Milk Bar's prized crack pie. Natsu always stayed in the kitchen when Ryuto was making something. A true chef always sampled before giving food to the customers. Ryuto would always lick or bite a delicate morself and then pull Natsu in for a smiling kiss. It would always be sweet with a touch of metal and something sharp and clean like snow.
In a different time Ryuto would've simply been defeated, left to the disturbing and eclectic attentions of Akisame and Kensei. His master would've abandoned him with a grunt and his hair would've been white but his legs saved.
"T-Tanimoto? And Ryuto? What's going on here?" Kenichi would stutter one fine spring day, twin metal weights at his wrists and his ankles as his unique eyebrows rose in shock.
Miu would raise a dainty hand to her lips and laugh. A woman's intuition was, after all, never wrong. Natsu and Ryuto would be standing close - Natsu agitated and Ryuto smiling.
"It's called a date, Kenichi."
"D-Date! That means you two are - whoa!"
"Do you have a problem with that, Shirahama?"
"N-No! Of course not!"