Disclaimer: DGM belongs to Hoshino Katsura et al.
A/N: Christmas fic time again with help from nitrojen. Title is Japanese (written in Kanji) for 'the way of the needle.' Enjoy!
-The Way of the Needle-
There is no snow today. It's not like Lavi was thinking about it from the moment he woke up.
Because there is no such thing as Christmas.
Even though there is, all over the world, in different forms. Lavi knows these things.
"I do," he tells Kanda shortly, scratching his head at the grey windows.
"You do, do you," Kanda says.
"Yeah I do."
They tend to stare at each other when either one of them implies something demeaning, or in favor of twitch-inducing dementia.
"Then maybe you should visit one of those places for your precious snow."
Lavi starts to think if there were anything precious in his life, this one, it would be –
It would be?
Kanda continues to study or meditate or both over a large, Olympic tome, courtesy of Lavi, and does not give acknowledgment this time. He plays with his hair when he is bored, hush.
Lavi's lip twitches and he leaves without any traces of amusement.
Well, amusement you say? Lavi's got that. He's got it good especially while working on a little project. Particularly while working on this pretty little project that's kind of getting out of hand. He thought it would be easier than this? He thought he'd make a terrific knitter in today's society, considering that most men do not knit nor ever intend to. But the women can't have all the fun with such household hobbies.
Or so he thought.
At least I've still got my pride, Lavi thinks, hesitantly pulling a loop. Oops.
Maybe he should chock it up to his not being so swift with the needle.
He doesn't understand why knitting a bloody sweater would be this hard. But really, this is impossibly hard for him to wrap his head around. Maybe from a psychiatrist's point of view, he might possess preexisting issues with his manhood from abandonment as a child, if whether he is in some way giving it up for the sake of someone, you know, he kind of likes?
Which is another guy, but whatever booms Lavi's battleship, right?
"Cannonballs," he says to himself, poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and pressing on. If the General can do it, so can a Bookman Apprentice.
Sometimes, even to a Bookman Apprentice, things are easier said than done. Even better.
He could have asked General Theodore for instructions. Furthermore, he would have probably read these instructions and went, "What do ya mean put it through the loop? There are, technically, hundreds of loops here. So which one is it."
"Would you like some help?" chimes one of the maiden – er, maid girls. She shuffles gold-entwined draperies from the front of the church in her arms and does a curtsey beneath the weight of them. He watches her feet.
"I love a lady's shoes," he says by way of a greeting, smirking and spirits lifting. "How they pin up like that."
She tilts her head. "Sir? Do you need help with that? It wouldn't be too much . . ."
"Oh, this little thing? I think I, of all people, can manage," he lies.
"Is that so?" she asks, smiling.
He smiles back and thinks about going down on Kanda. "That is so."
He doesn't realize until later that Kanda has entwined himself in and out of Lavi's motives.
Anyway, once the maid girl leaves with another curtsey and clacking of heels, Lavi may get down to business. He daydreams as he works, whistles too, and suddenly has to start over again. (Kissing Kanda under the mistletoe straight up against the doorframe. Well then.)
"Well goddamn it," he says to himself. Yuu, get the fuck out of my head.
Even though Kanda's the whole point of the project.
And then when he is done, he deadpans at his finished product and sighs, "Now that wasn't so girly, was it."
Yeah it was. Sooob.
By the time he looks up, snow is falling. He looks up to his window and sees that snow is falling like damsels in distress, ballet on ice. And he wants to feel some sort of emotion over it. So he does, and he picks the sweetest one: trust. The snow is falling and it's about time you trusted somebody.
He sits there at his window now, since he had changed locations repeatedly, breathing in the cold. His jaw hurts; he must have been grinding his teeth.
And as he thinks and doesn't think, he wonders if someone made him fall in love.
If that's even possible for a Bookman Apprentice.
He inspects the damage to discover that he might have done a good job after all. It looks intact; the yarn's not poking out in more than one place, the pattern is specifically unisex (as to tickle Kanda pink). He irons the sweater with his hand on his lap. It is warm from his hands. It feels good.
Yuu might like it.
Lavi clears his throat and goes to find Kanda.
"What's wrong? You're making that something's-up-my-ass face."
"I know that face."
"You would." And Kanda blushes to the roots and buries his face further into his pillow. "Please leave."
"If you didn't want anybody coming in, you should've locked your door."
"I broke the lock the last time I locked you out."
"I love your passion," Lavi sings, getting down on his knees beside the bed. You could always block the door with your trunk. And all the furniture. "Brighten up, Yuu, it's a good day. Just look outside."
Kanda groans and faces the wall. "I hate snow," he says to it, muffled.
Lavi blinks. "You're ill."
"Aww, didjoo drink too much tea again?"
Kanda doesn't answer. Crickets could chirp and die, if this were summer.
But it's snowing.
"Hey, Yuu, I've got somethin' for ya," he whispers, laying his hand out against Kanda's covers, over his back, down his back. The covers are cold, and Lavi's fingers feel filleted. Anything's worth a try.
Kanda visibly shivers, then stops himself almost immediately. He adjusts himself under the covers. "What?"
"I may have done something girly."
"Oh no, you didn't put on Lenalee's dress again, did you?" Kanda says, groaning.
"Nah, it was too tight before. I'm still growin', baby. No, I madejoo a little somethin'-somethin'. It's a hard day's work, if I do say so myself."
"It's only midday, Lavi."
"Correction! It is after two, but who's counting?"
"And this girl wanted to help me really bad, but I refused her offer since I'm such a loyal lover."
Kanda lifts his head slightly and turns it to stare pigeon holes into Lavi's forehead. "Pardon."
"Ya gotta admit it's true," Lavi says self-importantly. They both are true. Okay, okay, triple that for the first one. He laughs and draws out the sweater from behind his back. He neatly unfolds it and drapes it over Kanda's shoulders. The latter stares for a longer time, his deep eyes unflinching until the world melts. Then he shakes his head, regrets it, groans, and starts to sit up.
"You got me a fucking scarf?"
"Uh, no, I made you a fucking sweater."
Kanda sighs and fits it to his front, peering down for a few moments. "Lavi?" he says. "Lavi, you're telling me you made this in under six hours?"
"Since the last time I saw you, yeah."
By the way, I've been seeing you since before I even knew you. And that is the truth.
Kanda scratches the tip of his nose. He thinks. He mulls. He makes mulled mead in his head.
"You don't like it?" Lavi asks, too needy-sounding in his own opinion. He swears he doesn't mean it. "Ya—ya know, I thought, this is for Yuu. This is my love in Earth form! Yes! He'll love it! He'll trash it. But he'll love it!"
Kanda flattens his lips together and closes his eyes.
Lavi goes on. "I'm not gonna tell you what else I thought 'cause then that would be self-defeating. So d'ya like it or not?"
Kanda continues to think. Lavi can tell he's thinking because this is Kanda's way of self-control, the whole lip thing and strained eye thing. Lavi's had years of experience with this; he's entitled to know.
"C'mon, Yuu, don't make me beg."
"Maybe you should."
Lavi blinks, swallowing. "What?" He knows he heard right.
"I said – "
"I know what you said. Just, why'djoo say it?"
"You'd think that would be obvious."
Lavi puts his hand out for the sweater. Kanda doesn't give it back.
"It's red. Is that supposed to remind me of you?" Kanda asks smoothly.
"Yes," Lavi says.
"I like blue."
"You need a change in color once in a while. Red is your color."
"Is it now." And though Lavi may be good with amusement, Kanda is not amused.
For some reason it's turned into a battle of wills between them, like it's their own protoculture, unclaimed by any other being in this world, unblemished except for the times they've come into their own. They've come.
Kind of like he came, he conquered, though together. It's a thought, anyway.
It's already been made apparent that Lavi's not so swift with the needle.
He's more than swift with his mouth. Oh yes. He thinks of this as he dives forward and tastes the green tea on Kanda's tongue. He's swift and taking over.
"Don't make me beg you," Lavi repeats, licking along Kanda's lip and tickling Kanda's tongue with his.
Kanda chokes and pulls back. "My head."
"My head, too. I have one fucking huge headache and it's all because of that damned sweater." Lavi clamps his hands around Kanda's shoulders and rubs them down, straddling him and pushing his cock against him. He rubs him down hard and straddles even harder and he puts all of himself into the feel of it. "Goddamn it. Goddamn you. Just."
-- love it. And then he will give me as many blowjobs as there are loops in this here sweater, double damn it, so help me God. I –
"I," Lavi swallows, sinking lower into the covers, legs splitting.
Kanda breaks the pause as he throws deliberation to the wind, for what it seems, to shove his tongue back into Lavi's mouth. Kanda is invading him. Red might be Kanda's color. Red all over. Paint. Love is popularized by the color red.
Why is this, Lavi? Why is it always like this, yet sometimes painted black and sometimes painted white?
Kanda licks Lavi's canine, bites his lips, first the bottom and then the top, and back again. His tongue is back again, green tea and toothpaste and hot breath and napping. Lavi sucks in his breath without meaning to and reels, feeling Kanda going through him, getting into him, getting to him.
Kanda's barely done anything to encourage such a riot in Lavi's throat and stomach and groin and thighs, pushing forward for everything that holds a meaning for him. Come on. It could have been there all along. Like snow.
We're here. Inside his congested head, where it is always congested and filled with the things he'd rather do without for a lifetime. But then, it wouldn't be life, and it wouldn't be this.
Kanda is sniffing the crook of Lavi's neck; Lavi can feel him smirking, and all he can wonder is do I smell like them?
Books. His gods.
The taste of Kanda remains on his tongue, lips slightly parted, not only to breathe. When – he – it's – the best thing, to be sniffed by a nose that loves you. (It's such an ice-encrusted jungle.)
Might love you. Might lust you. Strike, strike, strike, blow away.
Lavi bottles up the fluttering, going quiet in the throat after noticing the sounds he's been making. And then he makes another noise in the back of his throat. Moves his hand. Moves it so it is between them and sliding down Kanda's undershirt.
"No," Kanda says, and he switches them so that Kanda's hand is the one sliding, slithering down and bumping against Lavi's cock. "You don't have to beg," he says. This, he says. That, he says. Push, he does. Spit, he doesn't. (It's still an ice-encrusted jungle.) Kanda kisses him deeply, bruising one of Lavi's lips before moving on to something else.
It's Let's Molest Lavi Day, everyone! Now go play in the snow!
"Wait." Coming out too softly.
"Fuck. Do you want this," Kanda huffs, his hands turning into claws and pulling at Lavi's belt. He tugs hard, jerking Lavi scarily closer. "You want this," Kanda says. He doesn't have to convince anybody.
Yesyesyesyes. Yes I do. "I always want it."
Lavi looks down blearily at Kanda's hands and sees that ink stain on the crotch of his pants. Oops. A hand snakes its way up north and catches Lavi's hair in its grip. It pulls. It pulls his hair back until Lavi's throat is taut and he has to rest on his hands behind him. They are in a mess of sheets and Kanda's foot moves somewhere beneath it all.
His cock is tight and cramped and –
There it goes and he is free and may every bit of him be loved forever.
"Touch me, Kanda," Lavi whines, and the hand gets tighter in his hair. Kanda.
Kanda loses it and Lavi can tell when he loses it because it could be compared to the aftermath of a storm, premature here, rallying over him and throwing him back with full force; hating him, cursing him, taking him for a ride just for it to be over with a, what? His head hits the bed and he almost loses a tooth in chattering. Kanda is on him, leaning down to –
"Why? Why do you keep saying that?" Kanda is flustered, barbaric and uncontrollable now.
Lavi doesn't know.
Lavi knows, but he doesn't want to say.
Kanda makes a piff sound and commences ravaging (damn straight!) Lavi's lap, zipper sticking and disrupting his foray into, most naturally for a boy, a well-repeated sexual encounter.
"Fucking thing." Defunct zipper included.
"Fuck you. How –?" But the zipper unsticks itself.
Lavi's fingers itch to touch, like they always do, the sensation sending a rash to his chest. He has the biggest hard-on in Greater London and all because of a sweater he made in under six hours, quite decently as a matter of fact. He swallows and watches Kanda move his lips, as if watching alone is a direct invitation for Kanda's lips to suck, suck, suck him dry during this winter season.
Kanda clambers backward on his knees, shoving Lavi's legs out of the way, along with the (shredded?) pants, and stops at Lavi's exposed cock. Anything. Do it, now. You gorgeous, gorgeous boy, Yuu.
And I'm a fucking idiot.
"You're an idiot," Kanda says, shaking his head and blowing against him. He digs his fingers into Lavi's hipbones. It's just enough.
"I know. And I l-word you. Happy Christmas."
Kanda chokes on Lavi's cock and gazes at him in bewilderment, hair hanging all over the place.
Lavi guesses he liked the sweater.