Title: Petty Thievery
A/N: comment_fic: she steals his clothes because it amuses her. / 20. explode 64damn_prompts
The first was a bit of schadenfreude on her part. Clow could be such a dandy at times, taking even longer than her to get dressed. When he made the personal affront on her by using her shampoo and facial products, then it was war.
She stole away one of his socks first. It didn't give her much use, but it could be easily blamed on something else. There was always tales of dryers eating socks. Then she moved up to belts and shirts, making a special place in the back of her storage labeled "insufferable ass". She always did have a flair with labeling things. Of course, they didn't always make sense and when she was particularly drunk, it could be nigh impossible to find things, but they always made her laugh and that was worth any price.
Later she grew more daring, and moved up to housecoats, gloves and robes. All the while Clow said nothing and never demanded back his ransomed garments. She even left them in obvious places, and yet he just smiled and kept to himself. Him not saying anything was almost infuriating. Of course he might have been too drunk to miss a sock but the time she stole his pants? She wanted him to be irritated by her needling, never mind that she was acting like a gradeschooler with a crush. His smug, almost affectionate non-issue of her petty thievery made the game exasperating. He was supposed to mind. They were supposed to fight, and then make up through wine and sex like they always did.
When she did confront him, a housecoat of his in hand, he did nothing of the sort. He sat down, languorously and lit a pipe. After a draw, he finally addressed the issue of his pilfered housecoat.
"Oh, I understand," he said silkily, "You wish to keep part of me to keep you company when you're lonely. You smell it when I am away and cry your tears of sorrow into it at our parting. How could I begrudge you that? It must be so very difficult to be without me."
That. That was the final straw. A twitch formed at the side of her brow. She wanted to reach out and touch him. Not in a way even remotely sensual, more like a slap or the satisfying feeling of nails against flesh. They'd come to blows before, (hers) over the last bottle of wine (she won). It wasn't unheard of, though Clow never hit back due to his gentlemanly ways, though he'd been known to throw around a hex or two. She was impervious to most of his magic, but he found ways to get around her barriers.
"Actually, I intend to burn the clothes for sport. Maybe to make a bonfire in the back. I could make marshmallows."
Clow shook his head, amused. "Now, now Yuuko. We both know that even you aren't that cruel."
"Try me," she said. She dangled the housecoat as if to prove her point.
"You wouldn't burn my things, then what would you have to hold at night when I am gone?" He said, smiling entirely too wide.
"You are incorrigible."
He just smiled all the wider.
"Yes. I love you too."
The housecoat erupted into flames.