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I got prompted on tumblr (by someone D: I forgot their username!) to write something based off of seasons, or a season. I chose to write something based on Harvest, and was sort of inspired by ancient scandinavian/european tribes.

This is totally unfinished, but I've not touched it in days so I think at this point it probably won't /get/ finished either.

It really shouldn’t have been so odd for Fai to appear out of nowhere, the first they had seen him all day, and sit across the small fire from them to start a conversation. However, Fai had been dragged off that morning by the tribe’s well-meaning witches, and had now turned up with his skin covered head to toe in intricate patterns. Syaoran and Kurogane had the right to stare.

“It’s harvest-time,” Fai said, his grin wide, eyes bright blue and heart thrumming with excitement. The lines of metallic paint shimmered on his skin and flickered in the firelight. “They have magic-users, but they’re quite low-level compared to the other magic-users we’ve come across. It’s probably why they didn’t sense Syaoran-kun’s magic, too.”

Kurogane looked up properly from where he was sharpening Souhi. “Is that why you’ve turned into a human doodle pad?”

Fai smiled and held up a forearm, tracing the patterns with his eyes. “It’s meant to be wheat; that’s why it’s golden, I think.

“They told me a lot about their traditions. They paint the spiritual leaders so that the gods see that the harvest is appreciated. Apparently it’s unusual for a man to have so much magic, so they just assumed I was a hermaphrodite and painted me anyway,” he said, snickering.

Syaoran excused himself, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to avoid another awkward conversation.

“Oh, now I feel bad,” Fai hummed, still smiling to himself, “I thought he’d be desensitised by now,”

“They thought you were a hermaphrodite,” Kurogane repeated, “and you didn’t correct them.”

“Nope,” Fai said, popping the ‘p’. He leaned against Kurogane’s human arm, cheek on Kurogane’s shoulder, “I haven’t seen any other gay couples around,” he murmured seriously, just for Kurogane’s ears, “and, apparently, they celebrate fertility and have marriages and such things during the harvest here, too. If there were any like us; we’d have seen them.” Fai explained.

It was unfortunate, but there had been a handful of times that they had landed in places that were hostile towards homosexual people. They had once spent days in a jail cell without knowing why, only finding out as they were lead out to be hung that their crime was simply that they were in love with each other. Kurogane found their hatred sickening and had fought them almost entirely off the back of his anger. Fai, by contrast, had internalised everything, and was now a lot more reserved with his affections when they landed in new worlds.

Kurogane glanced around the gathering. Fai was practically merging into Kurogane’s side by means of osmosis and sheer force of will, and nobody was paying them any notice.

“You let them think that about you,” Kurogane said slowly, brows knit together, “so that later on, when you get drunk and handsy, they won’t get upset that we’re both men.”

Fai patted Kurogane softly on the arm, “You got there in the end,” he teased, and laughed when Kurogane shoved him.

“I don’t want to stick around too long though, Kuro-pin. At the end of the night, everyone goes down to the crop fields for a big orgy.”

Kurogane raised an eyebrow. “There’s an orgy later, and you want to leave?” he asked, suspiciously. Fai smirked at him, and whether it was the closeness of him or the fact that the word ‘orgy’ hung between them like a neon sign, Kurogane felt his gut coil in response.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Fai all but purred, trailing fingertips on the inside of Kurogane’s bicep and leaving goosebumps in their wake, “an orgy in a field full of magic and food sounds like the best idea any tribe has ever had,” he said, slowly, teasingly, "but I don’t think Syaoran-kun would see it the same way,”

Kurogane followed Fai’s line of sight. Syaoran, across the congregation, was surrounded by a gaggle of adolescent girls, each of them no doubt enthralled by his sun-browned skin and lean muscle, and each of them obviously not deterred by the fierce redness of his cheeks (or, presumably, his insistence that he already had a girlfriend, to whom he was unwaveringly loyal).
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May 2015

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