![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scubatankfilledwithfarts Sometimes being the early riser is a blessing-- not because he hadn't slept the night before and his eyelids are sandpapered to his orbs and his throat feels like glass, that's absolutely the worst part. No, its because he gets to observe his comrades without so much as a by your leave. It isn't as though he watches them sleep or any such disturbing methods of partnership; his gaze was merely drawn to their prone forms when the room began to spin and close in on him.
Let's take Goemon, for example. For all of the samurai's pretty boy looks and sharply armed [with steel and silver tongue and indifference that melts away faster than inches in a sauna] soul, awakens like any other mortal. Snorts and snuffles, abruptly dragged from slumber in a most undignified manner. Dark locks are askew, drool clings to his chin and his eyes are hardly open. It's that early ray of sunshine in Lupin's life. About the only thing that makes it easier to accept that he's read this same page of a fifty page document three times.
REM sleep alludes him unlike any lover Lupin has ever had. Instead of cockteasing him, it flickers in and out of his consciousness almost like a dream all the same. The one thing that alludes him, that escapes him, him. He's so tired he's almost annoyed, would be annoyed if he wasn't so stubbornly set on finishing this reading. Dedication doesn't come cheap, not without eyes so bloodshot there's no moisture left.
There are some things, aside from this, as chaotic and strangely unpredictably predictable as their lives are, that make the world feel right.
The first thing Jigen does when he wakes up is lift one long, spindly arm to blindly search for the hat that hangs from its perch (the bed post or situated on the bedside table like a faithful watch or faithful birth control). He unceremoniously plops it atop mussed locks, eyes shielded by the shadow of sleep and eye boogers and the brim of his hat while he searches for the open pack of smokes somewhere within reach. Some days when he's particularly bored, Lupin will brush them out of his reach just to watch the gunman paw at empty air for all of ten minutes. He'll catch on, eventually, rumbled growl in the back of his throat, fingers that latch onto the collar of Lupin's wrinkled shirt--
though his morning breath isn't any better than the thief's with its stale nicotine coated tongue, Jigen's lips are warm and the electricity that always courses between them like an unending circuit must be how Ben Franklin felt, the entirety of a lightning bolt razed over his spine]
When Goemon dutifully enters the scene, hair tucked behind red-tinted ears and a withering stare settled at the base of Lupin's spine, he plops down on the thief's other side on the couch with all the dignity of someone who walks in on these sorts of things every day of his life.
"It has been four days. Seeing you run around like this with such an expression is making even my training become subdued."
Pinpricks that have nothing to do with the sensation of Jigen's teeth in his lip have spread out along Lupin's skin, and it takes a moment to comprehend the samurai's address.
"Are you giving me an intervention? You? Your pleading letter is gonna make me cry...you're gonna be mean in it, aren't you," comes the petulant sniff.
"Go the hell to bed," Jigen chimes in, annoyance in the set of his jaw which sharpens the worry beneath those shadowy eyes. "He's right. It's irritating just watching you. Suffocation might not be worth the trouble you bring about. Since Goemon here thinks it isn't dignified. He wants to put you out of your misery too, though."
The samurai mutters something about honor in the job, but admits, "You will most likely find your end at the behind of a woman, though." And to show he has no hard feelings, Goemon's cheeks are dusted a rosy pink. The bastard.
Now it's Lupin's turn to scowl with a stubborn set of balls. Unnecessarily, his nails bite into the cheap fabric of the couch as he turns to look at Goemon. The action does not make him dizzy, thanks.
"You want to sing me a lullaby, boys? Go ahead, give it a go. Something with Sinatra, but none of the stars, okay? We've got enough of those in the room," his voice drips with spite he only feels because of his bloodpressure.
He isn't tucked in. There would be no dignity in that, remember? No, Lupin the Third, master thief extraordinaire, is manhandled like a temperamental child and, in the end, sat on by a samurai and a gunman.
"This is unmanly in the worst sense." He can barely cross his arms over his chest with feeling, wedged so tightly under Jigen's ass, but his arms come up animatedly, a clear sign of anger. Not that his captors care. "How does seppuku go again? Is it from left to right? I won't even come haunt your toilets when I'm done with this life."
Jigen chooses that moment to raise the volume on the television. It's some Spanish court show, and neither of them knows much. Though once you break the law so many times the language barrier shatters like glass.
The lull of the television makes Lupin's eyelids even heavier and, jaw cracking open with a yawn on the horizon, he says:
"I'm gonna need more than this to put me out. The story about the cooked testicles has me at the edge of your seat....Goemon, tell me what your plans are for today. That'll put a kindergardener out like a light."
Was the throw pillow gag really necessary? It's too big, to boot. Secondly, Fujiko told him this particular pillow is one she rested her delectable bottom on the other day....if only he could have been there, his weary head rested on her lap, mouth turned to sample such sweetness.....
[The squirming stops about twenty minutes later. Jigen's the one who wants to make sure their partner isn't dead, predictably, but Goemon is torn.
Do Spanish police really not send their officers worldwide to track down thieves? Where is their swordsman?? It's all very startling, this other side.]
[the sleep-boner of one Lupin the Third? The novelty has worn off for this crew]
Let's take Goemon, for example. For all of the samurai's pretty boy looks and sharply armed [with steel and silver tongue and indifference that melts away faster than inches in a sauna] soul, awakens like any other mortal. Snorts and snuffles, abruptly dragged from slumber in a most undignified manner. Dark locks are askew, drool clings to his chin and his eyes are hardly open. It's that early ray of sunshine in Lupin's life. About the only thing that makes it easier to accept that he's read this same page of a fifty page document three times.
REM sleep alludes him unlike any lover Lupin has ever had. Instead of cockteasing him, it flickers in and out of his consciousness almost like a dream all the same. The one thing that alludes him, that escapes him, him. He's so tired he's almost annoyed, would be annoyed if he wasn't so stubbornly set on finishing this reading. Dedication doesn't come cheap, not without eyes so bloodshot there's no moisture left.
There are some things, aside from this, as chaotic and strangely unpredictably predictable as their lives are, that make the world feel right.
The first thing Jigen does when he wakes up is lift one long, spindly arm to blindly search for the hat that hangs from its perch (the bed post or situated on the bedside table like a faithful watch or faithful birth control). He unceremoniously plops it atop mussed locks, eyes shielded by the shadow of sleep and eye boogers and the brim of his hat while he searches for the open pack of smokes somewhere within reach. Some days when he's particularly bored, Lupin will brush them out of his reach just to watch the gunman paw at empty air for all of ten minutes. He'll catch on, eventually, rumbled growl in the back of his throat, fingers that latch onto the collar of Lupin's wrinkled shirt--
though his morning breath isn't any better than the thief's with its stale nicotine coated tongue, Jigen's lips are warm and the electricity that always courses between them like an unending circuit must be how Ben Franklin felt, the entirety of a lightning bolt razed over his spine]
When Goemon dutifully enters the scene, hair tucked behind red-tinted ears and a withering stare settled at the base of Lupin's spine, he plops down on the thief's other side on the couch with all the dignity of someone who walks in on these sorts of things every day of his life.
"It has been four days. Seeing you run around like this with such an expression is making even my training become subdued."
Pinpricks that have nothing to do with the sensation of Jigen's teeth in his lip have spread out along Lupin's skin, and it takes a moment to comprehend the samurai's address.
"Are you giving me an intervention? You? Your pleading letter is gonna make me cry...you're gonna be mean in it, aren't you," comes the petulant sniff.
"Go the hell to bed," Jigen chimes in, annoyance in the set of his jaw which sharpens the worry beneath those shadowy eyes. "He's right. It's irritating just watching you. Suffocation might not be worth the trouble you bring about. Since Goemon here thinks it isn't dignified. He wants to put you out of your misery too, though."
The samurai mutters something about honor in the job, but admits, "You will most likely find your end at the behind of a woman, though." And to show he has no hard feelings, Goemon's cheeks are dusted a rosy pink. The bastard.
Now it's Lupin's turn to scowl with a stubborn set of balls. Unnecessarily, his nails bite into the cheap fabric of the couch as he turns to look at Goemon. The action does not make him dizzy, thanks.
"You want to sing me a lullaby, boys? Go ahead, give it a go. Something with Sinatra, but none of the stars, okay? We've got enough of those in the room," his voice drips with spite he only feels because of his bloodpressure.
He isn't tucked in. There would be no dignity in that, remember? No, Lupin the Third, master thief extraordinaire, is manhandled like a temperamental child and, in the end, sat on by a samurai and a gunman.
"This is unmanly in the worst sense." He can barely cross his arms over his chest with feeling, wedged so tightly under Jigen's ass, but his arms come up animatedly, a clear sign of anger. Not that his captors care. "How does seppuku go again? Is it from left to right? I won't even come haunt your toilets when I'm done with this life."
Jigen chooses that moment to raise the volume on the television. It's some Spanish court show, and neither of them knows much. Though once you break the law so many times the language barrier shatters like glass.
The lull of the television makes Lupin's eyelids even heavier and, jaw cracking open with a yawn on the horizon, he says:
"I'm gonna need more than this to put me out. The story about the cooked testicles has me at the edge of your seat....Goemon, tell me what your plans are for today. That'll put a kindergardener out like a light."
Was the throw pillow gag really necessary? It's too big, to boot. Secondly, Fujiko told him this particular pillow is one she rested her delectable bottom on the other day....if only he could have been there, his weary head rested on her lap, mouth turned to sample such sweetness.....
[The squirming stops about twenty minutes later. Jigen's the one who wants to make sure their partner isn't dead, predictably, but Goemon is torn.
Do Spanish police really not send their officers worldwide to track down thieves? Where is their swordsman?? It's all very startling, this other side.]
[the sleep-boner of one Lupin the Third? The novelty has worn off for this crew]
Tags: