Don't Tempt Me, Genie
This is Yaoi (manXman). Don't like don't read. But don't knock it till you've tried it ;D
This is rated M for a reason: Sexual content
Part 1: Another Man's Trash…
Chattering slowly died in the halls. Most of the students were heading home or arriving at their club activities.
But Fuji was the exception. He propped himself against the wall watching as students passed by. Several of the students glanced towards Fuji, quizzical looks on their faces.
Is it really that weird to stand in a hallway?
He looked down at himself to make sure he looked appropriate. The school uniform was a little ruffled from being worn all day so Fuji tried to smooth it. As his hands ran over his body, he was dissatisfied with his muscle definition. Or lack of. Fuji had never been good at sports due to his lack of coordination and height. He then ran his hands through his black hair; it was smooth to the touch and long enough to touch his ears.
All right, all set.
Fuji looked up and spotted Orihara across the hall. Waving his arm, Fuji called to him then rushing forward.
"Orihara, how are you?" Fuji said, excited to see his friend.
"I'm good. How are you?" Orihara smiled down at Fuji.
"Good." Fuji said with a nod. "Are you busy right now? Can you help me with my physics homework?"
Fuji had been waiting for his chance and now he grabbed it with full force.
Yes! Alone time with Orihara!
"I can't, Fuji. I'm on my way to basketball practice."
"Oh." Fuji said, frowning in disappointment.
"What about his weekend? Will that work?" Orihara suggested.
Fuji laughed awkwardly. "No that's fine, it's not that important."
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
Fuji waved goodbye before dashing away.
Fuji wasn't stupid; he understood his own feelings.
He liked Orihara. He liked him a lot.
Fuji didn't to mind his feelings were toward a guy. Orihara was kind, smart, and very talented at basketball. His tall, fit figure, masculine looks, and gentle mannerisms made him very popular with their female classmates (some male ones too). But Fuji wasn't about to confess his feelings to Orihara. Fuji was content admiring him as his classmate and friend.
Fuji arrived at his empty home. The front door creaked open sending shivers over his skin.
Fuji's great uncle, whom he'd never meet, had died just a month ago and Fuji's family had received a very generous inheritance. That morning, his parents had left on a month long vacation leaving Fuji to take care of the house.
All alone… for a month…
Along with money, they'd received a large number of boxes. Fuji's parents had stashed it in the basement to save for a yard sale. Apparently, it was a bunch of old junk. Dust collectors, according to Fuji's mom. He didn't know what the man had done for a living but he had apparently traveled a lot and as a result, found himself in the passions on lots of items from around the world.
Now that his parents were gone, Fuji felt free to explore the mystery items.
Fuji opened the door to the basement. Cold air escaped the room and rushed over his body. For a second he hesitated, and then, reaching to the side, he ran his hand against the wall till he found the light switch. The bulb flicked then a dim light filled the dusty, cold room. The stairs creaked till he stepped onto the concrete floor.
Looking around, boxes of all shapes and types filled the room. Among the scattered mess, there were old chests, suitcases, and a few cylindrical containers. There were even a few oversized cardboard boxes. Fuji looked on the collection with aw. How had they managed to fit everything in such a small basement?
Plagued by curiosity, Fuji reached for the nearest chest.
He spent a while fishing through all the boxes. There were many strange, small statues, books in languages Fuji didn't recognize, maps, and other such things. He'd only made it through half the selection when one box caught his eye. It was a medium sized cardboard box with water stains on its edges. There was nothing special about it, but Fuji was oddly intrigued. Lifting the cardboard flaps, he looked inside.
Inside was a jumble of old postcards. Looking at the back of some, Fuji discovered that they were all blank. None on the images were very interesting to look at either.
He was about to turn away but hesitated. Slowly he fished through the stiff papers. Midway into the mess, his had grasped something hard and smooth. It was warm.
Fuji pulled out the object. The glass bottle he held had a long and narrow neck that ended in a bulb at the bottom. The glass was a soft, transparent blue with delicate silver and gold etchings.
What fascinated Fuji the most was how warm the bottle was. It was in the cold basement for several weeks.
The rest of his search was cut short by his stomach. Putting everything back in its place, he headed upstairs to get something to eat. The only thing he took with him was the bottle.
After his dinner and bath, Fuji sat down at the desk in his room. He pulled out his physics notebook and flipped it open.
He didn't have any energy to concentrate and spent most of the time doodling in the margents of the page.
Fuji would have really liked it if Orihara were with him. Fuji was actually good at physics, but that had been a good excuse to spend time with Orihara.
Shutting his eyes he set his forehead on the desk. The impact of his head made something rattle. Looking up, he saw the glass bottle.
Now that the bottle was in better light, it looked like the glass was shifting color slightly.
Moving his head closer, he noticed that something was inside the bottle. He lifted it up and put it close to his face. The content was a mist of some type: a fog that swirled within the glass.
A small cork acted as the bottle's stopper. Timidly, Fuji pulled at it, but the cork was stuck fast. He pulled harder and his efforts were rewarded with a small squeak, pop and hiss.
Fuji immediately regretted his actions. The loud hissing sound continued as steam filled the room. Fuji jumped from his chair and backed away from the bottle, leaving it lying on its side upon the desk. The back of Fuji's foot collided with his bed and he fell backward onto it.
Looking across the room, he saw the silhouette of a figure inside the thick steam.
Fuji's breath froze and his heart pounded. Cold sweat formed on his skin in the hot room.
Slowly the steam faded and the figure became clear.
It was a person: a boy about Fuji's age. He had red hair and slightly tanned skin. His lack of shirt exposed his toned stomach and arm muscles. His pants fit loosely and he wore no shoes. Three small golden hoops hung from each ear.
What something surprised Fuji more that the sudden emergence and strange looks: he was floating.
The stranger sat crisscrossed, hovering over Fuji's desk. The bottle lay lifeless beneath him.