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Crimson Obsession
homo sum; humani nihil mihi alienum est
FIC: KUMQUATS, Todd/Kurt, PG 
9th-Sep-2003 03:04 am
[Phoenix] X-Files Edgeworth.
Todd!
You're TODD TOLENSKY. Yo, take a bath Toad!


Which X-Men: Evolution Brotherhood Member Are You?
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wanda
You're the Scarlet Witch!


Which member of the 'X-Men Evolution' Brotherhood are you?
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My inner child is ten years old today

My inner child is ten years old!


The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether
I'm off on my bicycle (or pony) exploring, lost
in a good book, or giggling with my best
friend, I live in a world apart, one full of
adventure and wonder and other stuff adults
don't understand.


How Old is Your Inner Child?
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Heh. I write. It sux0rs XD. But Bridgie likes it, and that's what counts. [smooches her] Written in 33 minutes for the contrelamontre challenge of the week, to write something involving food.

Disclaimer: Closest-thing-to-bishounen-America's-got Kurt and the lovely and amazing Toad-Boy belong to Marvel, the I think WB, and probably bunches of other wonderful peoples. So do anyone else mentioned herein. I don't own them, I'm just a klepto who intends no harm and will return them when I'm done. Please dun hurt me.

SLASH DISCLAIMER: This...is...SLASH. Ever seen Boy Meets Boy? That's what this is, only in this case it's Elf meets Toad. If the thought of boys loving boys (and kissing boys and touching boys etc. etc.) makes you make little sicky noises, you probably want to go somewhere else.



"Milk, cheese, carrots, leftover noodles...man, don't you guys have any REAL food around here?" Todd's nose wrinkles, conveying clearly his opinion on the stocking of the fridge he's rummaging through.

"That IS real food. Real, healthy...boring food." Pushing off of the kitchen counter, Kurt presses in beside him, surveying the fridge's contents with an appraising eye. Soon he grins, reaching in and grabbing two small, round-ish fruits, then straightening back up and handing one to Todd.

Todd, for his part, stares at the fruit, giving it a look most people reserved for really strange, scary looking bugs. (Come to think of it, a strange, scary bug would probably be higher on his menu than FRUIT, any day.)

"Man, what IS this?"

"Kumquat," Kurt replies, moving around him to resume his position against the counter.

"Gesundheit, yo."

"It's a fruit, mein freund. You DO know what fruit is, ja? Something you eat, most people think they taste good."

"Yeah, well, most people like American Idol, but I'm not about to get that Clay kid's name tattooed on my ass." He sniffs at the fruit's pink skin, nose wrinkling again. "So how'm I supposed to eat this, yo? I gotta peel it or what?"

"Nah, the skin's edible." Kurt demonstrates, taking a large bite of his, and grinning a little at the sweet-citrus flavor. It takes him a few moments to notice the amused grin Todd's giving him.

"Vas?"

"You got a little..." Todd smirks, points to his chin. Kurt's fingers rise to his own automatically, and find a sticky trail of juice matting his fur. With a sheepish grin he looks around for a napkin.

"I got it, yo." Grabbing one off the table behind him, Todd suddenly strides forward. Kurt glances up just in time to see him coming, to note the mischievous, almost dangerous grin playing at the corners of his lips, before he's accosted. His skin registers a warmth mingling with the cool nectar in his fur. He gasps. Todd is cleaning it off...with his tongue. His warm, wet, slightly rough, prehensile tongue, that's rustling his fur gently and traveling slowly to his lower lip, where it pauses to caress his sensitive skin.

It's over almost as suddenly as it began, leaving Kurt wondering whether it even happened. With a quick hop Todd's at the kitchen door, calling back over his shoulder, "The movie ain't gonna watch itself, man." He takes a long bite of the fruit in his hand, the squishy noise echoing off the clean tile walls, and strides off in the direction of the den. All Kurt can do is stare, jaw hanging open and fingers idly touching his chin.

Kumquats always were his favorite fruit.

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