Because there needs to be more Buford/Baljeet. I'm not much of a fan of my own writing, but hopefully someone will like this. At any rate, at least there's one more Buford/Baljeet fic out there.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything/anyone mentioned in this work of fiction
Prompt: 86. 'Seeing Red'
86. Seeing Red
He was furious, livid, shaking with anger as he allowed the shattered remains of his new calculator to slip between his fingers.
The attack on his property had been completely unwarranted, but Buford couldn't help himself.
He loved to see Baljeet mad.
He wasn't sure why, to be honest. Perhaps because it was a side of the small Indian boy he rarely got to see, his usual retaliation was a meek whimper or feigned indifference. He had to work hard to get the boy angry, to get him to actually stick up for himself, but it was well worth the effort.
Anger looked good on the boy. It was a shame he resorted to it so little.
If he did, they'd probably be on even footing with one another. Baljeet, while not quite as intelligent as Phineas and Ferb, was still far smarter than most their age could ever hope to be. And what Buford lacked in brains, he made up with brawn. The two could be a powerful combination when they wanted to be, a balance of intellect and physical strength. But after any contest Baljeet would regain his meek, soft spoken manner, and let Buford walk all over him.
It was infuriating.
So he picked on him, pushed him around, stole his money, insulted him, anything he could think of the get a rise out of the boy. He missed the thrill he got from their confrontations, the bellowed insults, the punches, the sight of the smaller child with his fists clenched and teeth gritted and dark eyes narrowed dangerously.
The glare he'd finally succeeded in dragging out of him. After months and months of trying, he'd finally managed to make Baljeet retaliate. Broken chunks of plastic and metal littered the carpet between them, the remains of the calculator his grandmother had bought him for his birthday.
He smirked. Only Baljeet could get so upset over a calculator. Not that it mattered much-he'd buy him a new one soon enough, anonymously of course, he wasn't heartless after all-but that didn't seem to prevent the shorter working himself up in fury.
A trainer clad foot tapped the ground as its owner seethed, shaking in rage.
"Why did you do that?!"
Buford shrugged, leering down at the boy. He shivered as they locked eyes, a wave of warmth running down his spine.
"'Cause I felt like it."
He could see the anger build, almost tangible in the air about him, and felt the temperature rise several degrees, searing his skin through the barrier of his clothes.
"Aargh! You are utterly intolerable! You selfish, inconsiderate cretin!"
He pushed the boy aside as he came at him, small fists raised in defiance. He was back a second later, surprisingly strong for one so small, beating at his gut and knocking the wind out of him. A glancing blow to the shoulder sent him spiralling away, and Buford grasped him by the collar of his shirt, one beefy hand ensnaring the blue fabric.
Baljeet jerked in his grip as his back was slammed against his wardrobe door, cracking the pine and sending a plethora of neatly stacked objects tumbling from their shelves within the closet. The cacophonous din soon faded and the only noise breaking the silence was the heavy breathing of the two boys.
Buford's arm was trembling, quaking forcefully, and he could do nothing to stop it. He knew it was not due to the boy's slight weight, but could not bring himself to concentrate on the unsteady limb, eyes glued to those of his foreign opponent. The heat settled about them in a heavy haze, thick and suffocating, and his mind became blank of everything but dark curls, umber skin and bright, intense eyes.
He wasn't sure why he did it, wasn't even aware of the motion, but one moment he was gazing into the angry face of his comrade and the next he was flush to him, the eyes now round and surprised as his own were, lips pressed flush to one another.
The kiss lasted no more than a tense second before he had hastily pulled back, panting slightly as his heart raced. Why had he done that? He didn't like guys! Least of all this scrawny nerd. Why had he ki…kiiiiii…
His train of thought was broken as Baljeet took the initiative, fisting the larger boy's hair and mashing their lips together once more. Common sense flew out the window as he took in the reality of the situation, hesitating only momentarily before pressing himself against the boy, responding hungrily to Baljeet's advances. Warmth radiated through his body as the two moved together, small fists clutching his hair and shirt, encouraging him closer as the two battled for control. The intensity overwhelmed him and his brain felt as though it had long since turned to mush in his skull. All that mattered was this moment, just himself and Baljeet and this passionate battle for control, one of the few battles the smaller boy had ever been so adamant about winning.
Their parting was as forceful as their coming together, and each panted, lungs sore and lips swollen as they stared at the other, eyes stern but each secretly observing the other for even the slightest sign of regret, of disgust.
Eventually, a smile formed on the small Indian boys face, and his eyes narrowed.
"I hate you, idiot."
His tone was amused and taunting and everything else Buford had learnt not to expect from his comrade. Undaunted by the words he had clearly not meant, he rolled his eyes, feigning impatience.
Lips met once more, forcefully moving against the others, bruising lips and clashing teeth. Perhaps he wasn't so sure of the reason for his attraction to the boy, why he needed to get him angry, why he affected him in such intense and strange ways, his need to kiss him, nor why the boy made up such a large part of his life. But right now, he couldn't find it in him to care all that much. The answers would come in time. Just so long as he had this, that Baljeet didn't regret it and would allow future confrontations of this nature, he promised to be content.
It was worth enduring a thousand meek squeals and hesitant protests for just one more, brief moment such as this.
His free hand came up to embed itself in thick, wiry curls.
'Just don't leave me.'
I suck at endings.
Hope someone liked it anyways.
One more prompt down!
Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.