ficrec

[idou]

Доумеки и Ватануки читают яойную мангу. Мне понравилось привлечение миазмы и духов в оценке стиля рисовки =)
Фик полностью.
Его можно читать отдельно или сперва прочесть предыдущий фик из серии.

Relieved to have finally finished with the day’s chores and curious as to what had captured Doumeki’s attention like that, he plopped down in the scant free room next to the other boy and tried to read over his shoulder.

What he saw made him wrinkle his nose in disgust.

“Are those two men kissing?”

“Yes.” Another one of those looks that made something primal in Watanuki scream for blood. “Can’t you tell?”

“To tell you the truth, no. The flowers and all the shiny... things... kind of distracted me.”

Doumeki grunted in what could have been agreement or a “shut up and let me read.” Watanuki was getting better at understanding Doumeki Speech (a local dialect of the more universally known Moron language), but he hadn’t been able to get all the nuances yet.

Watanuki rested his chin on Doumeki’s shoulder and tried to follow the plot. This seemed to involve no females whatsoever, a romantic hexagon, a violent assault on the smaller of the guys from which the taller one rescued him, what seemed like a kiss every three pages, very shiny tears, hypocritical pillow talk, and lots and lots of bodily fluids. Watanuki had seen shapeless blobs of miasma that had oozed less, and that was kind of their job.

Doumeki turned a page, and Watanuki squinted. Tilted his head to the left. To the right. Gave up.

“That can’t be anatomically possible... or at least attainable without the aid of ropes, pulleys and temporal suspension of the laws of gravity.”

Another grunt, which Watanuki didn’t bother trying to translate this time around. It was encouraging the efforts Doumeki seemed to be putting into communication since they started being just-friends-damnit!, but sometimes Watanuki got tired of trying to decipher what he actually meant. Learning a foreign language was always hard.

Finally getting fed up by Doumeki’s choice of reading material, Watanuki reached over and tugged the offensive material out of his hands, throwing it quite unceremoniously over in the general direction of the trash can. He didn’t have the guts to actually throw away one of Yuuko’s manga (the thought of what the woman would ask for compensation alone made him shudder), but it still felt good to do that. Empowering, even.