Title: Please Turn Over
Disclaimer: DGM belongs to Hoshino Katsura et al.
A/N: High School AU; the tiny one where Lavi teaches Kanda how to speed read?!
Speed reading, or if you'd prefer, reading faster than the human eye, should be a piece of rather snazzy artistry. That is to say, Kanda really hates Lavi and thinks his tastes are not that great to the human eye. Go figure. He thinks the same for everyone.
"No," Kanda says. But that boy always says this, so according to Lavi's calculations, he is Just Saying Things Now like he's always been! He is probably right, ya know. Probably. (He hopes.)
"Are you just saying things nooow," Lavi begins to sing too loudly, to the disapproval of many studious faces in this very studious library. His bad. A couple in the corner is no longer coupling. Too bad, no live porno today.
Kanda turns his back, which is a hard thing to do when your back is already permanently turned. It still hurts. A little. The motion.
No not really! Not with a backside like that, derpderp.
"I hate this book," he spits out after a few minutes of . . . wondering who will be the first to deface public property?
"Why you readin' it?" Lavi mumbles.
Kanda flips it over to the cover, back and forth, until he grows bored of that. It is uncannily similar to his scarce bits of wit. However, we must say that Lavi is caught up by the distinct sounds of the pages ruffling that library air. Lavi gives a half smile. Kanda stares. "What, asshat."
"You're better off doing it my way." And with this, Lavi is implying (very hard, very cheekily) everything he is not saying. Then he sits up straighter than a (his) boner! "Let me show you. . ."
"Allow me. Turn the page, Yuu, it won't bitecha."
"Put your balls in my hands."
"Uh - what. Fuck off."
Lavi chuckles. "Gotcha. Give it here, I'll show you how it's done."
Kanda sighs and scoffs and tries to escape via some ancient aqueduct that might have been funneled by the Romans once in a somethingsomething day. Actually, he doesn't do a very good job of it, swaggering away like that. Actually, he's never swaggered like that before. What's got his bum?
Heh heh heh.
"Hold on there, chief!"
"You're holding on," Kanda drivels with bemoanment.
"Hush you or I will report you to the Queen Herself!"
"God save the Queen," Lavi whimpers at the assistant, patting his heart as well as Kanda's bum, which he has got, you bet.
"I don't believe in the Queen," Kanda hisses. "Or her dissidents!"
Wow, that's entertaining.
They fall back into their respective seating while Lavi vows to never leave Kanda's lap, speed reading aside.
"Look you, I have notes to revise and a supper to eat. You're interfering with prime foundations."
How about primal?
Lavi thinks about this; he really does make motion to mull it over; the primalness, that is. He thumbs his nose and Kanda looks away, embarrassed about the male in his male lap. It's not that it's difficult to accept. Wouldn't you know! Lavi accepts it all! You wouldn't think this of him, now would you? Admit it, the technicolor halo above his head doesn't stick out too much like his you know whata hahahahaha -
He's gotten carried away (again), judging by the genuine look of too genuine disgust on Kanda's pretty face.
Plus, Lavi's ever expansive grin might be too much. So . . . So what? He puts his hand on Kanda's knee as he moves to get up, squeezing slightly, letting go slightly, and then fully letting go, possibly forever. It has a nice poetic ring to it. It's a fucking organ showing itself.
He squeezes his ass cheeks together in his respective seat, working them out in effort to biologically erase what can get him, or to him. Sometimes he does this when he starts to get annoyed. He doesn't realize it until he's on the warpath toward steel buns. He hates days like this. Ah, he always overdoes it. He'll remind himself of that next time. He's not the huge effin' dick you see. You see? He's dry and has work to do.
He waves Kanda away, it's that simple. Byebye, enjoy your dindin. Nothing happens, as if . . . He even tries with the whole book of Celts thing, a security blanket, a bloody hole in paper. Lavi said bye!
Then he starts to get that distinct feeling very cleverly similar to losing unsaved material on tech-savvy machines. (They are not so savvy, are they?)
Oh, but you don't know Lavi. Nobody does.
Kanda does not take to being waved away so easily, nor does he hit him like he should. "Oy."
"Yo," Lavi smiles softly, not looking at him.
This serious moment in their fucked-up-misdirected-nonrelationship lingers. Soon it will die away without a wake, and Lavi will be left with a book about the Celts and their problems with walls. Great, comforting, and boring. If only he had D cups to set a more appropriate mood.
He continues down this path of selfishness.
Kanda lingers. Lavi can't do it anymore. He can't he can't he, somehow, can.
naked . . .
"When you see something, what is it?" Lavi ponders, expecting no response.
"Whatisit?" Expecting no response . . .
Kanda bites the inside of his cheek. Let's go of his cheek.
"Ouch," Lavi mouths, staring at the words on the page.
Kanda chews the inside of his cheek quite viciously. Let's go. How Lavi knows this nobody will ever know. Everybody likes some mystery.
"You don't tell me when to go," Kanda snips finally, flexing his arm against the table.
What the fuck. Bittersweet symphony. Wait bittersweet symphony, it might be important - "Y'ello? Yeah sorry sorry Miss Bookman." The librarian's look fades from snarly to a tad perturbed by his terminology. She'll get used to it.
Kanda scoffs to himself.
"Lavi, who're you talking to?" Allen says.
"Nobody. Wutup, squirt toy?"
"Oh. Not a toy, you're a big sex toy girls use!"
"Kanda wouldn't take my call even though I hadn't meant to call him. He takes me too seriously, it's larfable. Do you think Pepto Bismol is called Bismol because it is abyzzzmal?"
"Yes and no. What else ya got for meh? I gotta go be a sex toy."
"You're joking . . . I don't know how I've succumbed to this tummyache, but it hurts. I need your expert advice."
He really doesn't know?
"Suck on a button."
"Ew gross. That might actually work."
Oh ho ho, poor squirt toy.
"It won't, but kudos to your willpower. Good night and good luck, squirt."
Lavi snaps his mobile shut and leans on his arm. He tries to appear yummy yet vulnerable. "Please turn over . . . "
"Pardon?" Kanda balks, as if scared shitless for once in his poor disastrous pretty life.
Thing is, Lavi knew Kanda didn't pick up the call. He knew it because Kanda had put it on silent some time ago; because Kanda would rather spend time with Lavi than chitchat on the phone about aches and pains of no man-made origin; 'cause they both aren't faking any of this. Well, and Allen is kinda el retardo.
Doesn't change the fact Lavi and Kanda are such fat fakers.
He points to the book now in Kanda's lap. That face darkens inward from the edges like a swinging screen and those knees crack open, part, letting the book fall in between . . . to the floor!
And the floor seems more relevant to the situation than Kanda's fingers itching each other, skittishly.
"Yuu, why is Pepto Bismol called Pepto Bismol?"
"That's easy, idiot. It's got nothing to do with me. Show me how to do this or you're buying me food. You're buying me food, anyway, just so you know. I want expensive sushi rolls on soba . . . "
Cute, Lavi thinks, smiling at his own skittish fingers.
Still, he has to admit. You don't tell me when to go.