うちは サスケ | sasuke uchiha (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bondsoflove) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull_logs2013-02-13 06:20 pm
bondsoflove) wrote in sirenspull_logs2013-02-13 06:20 pm
Entry tags:
I'm in love, I'm in love...
Who: Sasuke bondsoflove and Warsman mouthbreathing
When: Forward dated to February 14th, sometime in the afternoonish.
Where: The apartment in sector 8. Or what's left of it, anyway.
Summary: Sasuke has perfected innumerable skills over the years. Unfortunately for Warsman, this 'romance' thing is not one of them.
Warnings: Self-pitying, fire damage, sap.
There were only so many places to hide a gigantic, hot pink teddy bear.
When Sasuke came back from his shift to find the thing in the living room, he'd panicked and shoved it underneath the sink, hoping that the plumbing wouldn't need to be adjusted until he got a chance to get rid of it.
He should have done it immediately, as soon as he'd seen it.
Warsman was good at keeping track of both of their schedules, and more often than not when Sasuke was at the apartment, Warsman was too--which hadn't been a bad thing at all, initially. It had been a very nice routine, actually. Warsman would cook, and Sasuke would argue with him until he agreed to leave the dishes; they'd sit together on the couch and talk quietly or read in silence. Sasuke might catnap a little if the night before had been particularly long. Evening would come, and Sasuke would roll off to work while Warsman went to patrol.
More often than not, Sasuke's longer nights meant he was still asleep when Warsman returned from his day job. And it was nice, being gently woken by the door clicking open or a hand on his shoulder. The trouble was, that didn't give him any time in the apartment by himself to get rid of the bear.
And it had to be gone by today. He'd forced himself not to go back to sleep when Warsman leaving for the morning woke him, waited for half an hour in case he'd forgotten something and needed to come back to get it, and then--finally--dragged the bear out into the living room.
It should have been perfect. He surrounded the thing with wet towels, gave it plenty of space, and breathed out a lick of flame onto its ear. It burned gently, but steadily--soon he'd have a pile of ash to sweep up and dump outside, as if it had never existed.
His mistake was arrogance.
Five minutes--five minutes he had his back turned, trying to get the chocolate morsels into the pot so they could melt and be poured into molds. It was fussy, though, and it required boiling water in a large pot and setting a smaller pot on top and he'd gotten frustrated, focusing so hard on the chocolate he stopped thinking about the fire in the living room.
And that was where his plan collapsed.
The tell-tale crackling of burning fabric hit his ears, and he turned in horror to find that the curtains had caught.
Drafts, he thought as he grabbed a cool pot and turned on the tap to fill it with water. How the hell did I forget about drafts? Into the living room, before the entire apartment burnt down--as he snidely told himself you know exactly how, you heartsick dumbass.
But he didn't have time to beat himself up now. The wet towels--he grabbed one and threw it over the grotesquely deformed bear to stem the flame while he used another one to beat the curtain. The smell was horrible; the bear must have been made of something plastic. The smoke was acrid in the back of his throat, and his eyes watered and his stomach churned. Damn it.
Curtains out. Bear next. He raced into the kitchen to grab the pot from the sink, hefted it to the living room and heaved, dumping the water over the fire. It sputtered and went out, leaving a pathetically smoking, soggy and blackened half-bear behind.
"Fuck," he said aloud, taking stock of the mess. There was no way he was going to get it all cleaned up before Warsman came back. Angrily, he pressed his heel to his forehead. "Fuck!"
With clenched teeth, he moved to open the window. At very least, he could try to clear the place of noxious fumes.
...Fuck.
[[this is the bear in question!]]
bondsoflove and Warsman mouthbreathingWhen: Forward dated to February 14th, sometime in the afternoonish.
Where: The apartment in sector 8. Or what's left of it, anyway.
Summary: Sasuke has perfected innumerable skills over the years. Unfortunately for Warsman, this 'romance' thing is not one of them.
Warnings: Self-pitying, fire damage, sap.
There were only so many places to hide a gigantic, hot pink teddy bear.
When Sasuke came back from his shift to find the thing in the living room, he'd panicked and shoved it underneath the sink, hoping that the plumbing wouldn't need to be adjusted until he got a chance to get rid of it.
He should have done it immediately, as soon as he'd seen it.
Warsman was good at keeping track of both of their schedules, and more often than not when Sasuke was at the apartment, Warsman was too--which hadn't been a bad thing at all, initially. It had been a very nice routine, actually. Warsman would cook, and Sasuke would argue with him until he agreed to leave the dishes; they'd sit together on the couch and talk quietly or read in silence. Sasuke might catnap a little if the night before had been particularly long. Evening would come, and Sasuke would roll off to work while Warsman went to patrol.
More often than not, Sasuke's longer nights meant he was still asleep when Warsman returned from his day job. And it was nice, being gently woken by the door clicking open or a hand on his shoulder. The trouble was, that didn't give him any time in the apartment by himself to get rid of the bear.
And it had to be gone by today. He'd forced himself not to go back to sleep when Warsman leaving for the morning woke him, waited for half an hour in case he'd forgotten something and needed to come back to get it, and then--finally--dragged the bear out into the living room.
It should have been perfect. He surrounded the thing with wet towels, gave it plenty of space, and breathed out a lick of flame onto its ear. It burned gently, but steadily--soon he'd have a pile of ash to sweep up and dump outside, as if it had never existed.
His mistake was arrogance.
Five minutes--five minutes he had his back turned, trying to get the chocolate morsels into the pot so they could melt and be poured into molds. It was fussy, though, and it required boiling water in a large pot and setting a smaller pot on top and he'd gotten frustrated, focusing so hard on the chocolate he stopped thinking about the fire in the living room.
And that was where his plan collapsed.
The tell-tale crackling of burning fabric hit his ears, and he turned in horror to find that the curtains had caught.
Drafts, he thought as he grabbed a cool pot and turned on the tap to fill it with water. How the hell did I forget about drafts? Into the living room, before the entire apartment burnt down--as he snidely told himself you know exactly how, you heartsick dumbass.
But he didn't have time to beat himself up now. The wet towels--he grabbed one and threw it over the grotesquely deformed bear to stem the flame while he used another one to beat the curtain. The smell was horrible; the bear must have been made of something plastic. The smoke was acrid in the back of his throat, and his eyes watered and his stomach churned. Damn it.
Curtains out. Bear next. He raced into the kitchen to grab the pot from the sink, hefted it to the living room and heaved, dumping the water over the fire. It sputtered and went out, leaving a pathetically smoking, soggy and blackened half-bear behind.
"Fuck," he said aloud, taking stock of the mess. There was no way he was going to get it all cleaned up before Warsman came back. Angrily, he pressed his heel to his forehead. "Fuck!"
With clenched teeth, he moved to open the window. At very least, he could try to clear the place of noxious fumes.
...Fuck.
[[this is the bear in question!]]