Ficlet Series (ES21)

The sun was beating down on them with oppressive heat, baking the sand into tiny coals beneath their feet. There was, as always, a cool breeze coming off the ocean, though it did little to mitigate the summer weather, and was already warm and stale by the time it got to their spot on the beach.

Banba sat in the sand, formidable concentration allowing him to ignore the crisp, hot sand beneath his legs and the harsh sun bearing down on him. He had a more important task at hand, and he bent over a small bowl, every so often plucking a grape of its vine in an attempt to peel it. But the small fruit was like a tiny pea in his monstrous hands, and would only roll away or squish itself as he tried to get a hold of its skin with his large fingers.

Oops. Banba wiped grape remnants onto his swim trunks, realizing he had just destroyed his twentieth grape in a row. He briefly wondered why he was doing this instead of surfing or playing football with the others a few yards away, but then he'd remember that Harao, lounging beneath an umbrella beside him while gossiping cattily with Kasamatsu, didn't like to eat grapes with their skin still on.

So, with utmost patience, Banba would always go back to his task. Besides, it was rare to spend free time with Harao without those idiotic concubines following him around, and today he was dressed in nothing but his sheerest loincloth... a brown fabric the color of the Nile sands, extravagant gold chains holding the front and the back together. If Banba really looked, he could see the outline of Harao between those slim, elegant legs, and it reminded him that if he was good he might get to 'play' with Harao amidst the silken cushions of his bed later on, when dusk set in and the moon came out to chase away the sun.

"Banba."

Harao's lofty voice brought him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see a bottle of suntan oil between Harao's fingers.

"Banba, thou skin doth burn if thou stayeth in the sun too long. Let one rubeth oil on thou's scalp."

"No, Harao, that's okay. I'll do it."

"Tis no trouble." Harao's voice held a type of condescending pride, and Banba knew better than to be anything but grateful for this magnanimous gesture. Harao's hands were clumsy and hard on his bald head, and some oil got in his eyes, because Harao was never any good at menial tasks. That was, Banba supposed, partly his fault, as he always did everything for the other boy (or, if he wasn't there, one of those infernal girls would). Soon enough the torture was over, and Banba gave an internal sigh of relief. Harao leaned forward, pressing one gentle yet firm kiss onto the top of Banba's head, before leaning back onto his beach chair to resume his gossiping. And, with the memory of warm lips against his skin, Banba went back to peeling grapes.

.end.