by Maldoror


Chapter fourteen


"When I meet my ancestors and they ask me if I've seen it all, I can now say I have."

The cute, soft and slight accent doesn't suit sarcasm.

I straighten up like a shot. Near me, I can hear Heero's fingers pause on his ever-present mother-loving keyboard.

"What is it?" I hear Quatre's voice echo from down the hall.

"The sky is about to fall. Oz is about to surrender peacefully and turn all their mobile suits into planters. We might even see dragons walk the earth again."

"Er-what?" Quatre's voice sounds closer and slightly worried. I try my best imitation of the patented Yuy Scowl o' Death on Wufei, leaning in the doorway. The fact he doesn't fall straight over backwards -and the slightest sniff from Heero, sitting on the bed- indicates I still haven't gotten it down right.

"I will believe all of the previous, before I believe that Duo Maxwell is cleaning up his room." Wufei smirks. I make a face at him. The patented Maxwell Tongue o' Scorn.

Quatre stares wide-eyed over Wufei's shoulder, glances at the slightly less messy room (I'm talking about my half here), at the clothes I'm holding in my hands, then turns a distraught glance on Heero.

"Heero, did you threaten or hurt him?"

Well that really cuts to the quick.

"Hn." Heero replies. Of course. What else.

"Would you guys mind giving a body a little-" I was about to say privacy but that would be a no-no. They might ask me why I want that. "-space?" I finish lamely.

I get rid of the pests and continue to clean up the room, making sure the door is locked this time.

What? Ulterior motive? What's with everybody today?!

Okay, who'm I kidding.

I continue ducking and picking things up. At least now Heero has stopped typing on his keyboard and is aware of my activities. That is, he's always aware of anyone's activities in his danger zone -if a mouse coughed under the floorboards it'd be getting a bullet-shaped throat lozenge before it could get its mouth closed - but now he's maybe wondering *why* I'm cleaning up the room. Heero Yuy *is* an atheist. He's watching me.

I'm in my sweatpants and my hair, it's falling around me like a veil, almost dry, hiding and revealing in turn. I take my time bending over each item on the floor, under the bed -extra wiggle there-, slowly leaning over the chair to pick up the clothes hanging on the back.

When the typing resumes I almost scream.

Without false modesty, I know what I look like. I may be very young but L2 doesn't leave you innocent in the ways of the flesh for long. I know very well that a lot of people would pay good money to simply watch me clean up a room!

I've never been that interested in that kind of money -thank god!- or the creeps themselves. The one person I am interested in is treating me like three-day-old pizza.

Hot stuff! I found one of his books! And his books go on a shelf near the head of his bed.

I casually walk over, swinging my hips and long legs, fluffing my hair out. I don't get near enough to him to 'initiate' anything -his word- but I make sure to take a good long stretch as I put the book back. He's stopped typing.

He's stopped typing because I'm at the limit of his kill zone and he's waiting for me to go away so he can continue working without distraction.

Well at least I'm a distraction.

God that's pitiful, Maxwell.

I turn and slowly lean back against the bed. Still no reaction. I scoot away a foot, pretending to settle down a bit more comfortably. The typing resumes. Arg!

I lean forward again, staying outside the zone.

"Whatcha working on, buddy?" I already know, I caught a glimpse of the files as he went to get himself a sandwich. It's nothing crucial, it's just one of those perpetual little tasks he invents to stop himself from doing something rash and foolish like blinking or thinking or noticing me.

He gives me the long boring details. I pretend to be fascinated while I lean back, letting my hair slide off my chest in a caress that hardens my nipples.

He turns back to his keyboard. I sink back into the bed with a sigh.

"What is it?" He asks, wondering why I've made a noise and further disturbed his concentration.

"Nothing, babe." I stare at the ceiling.

The typing has stopped. He's looking at me!

"Are you looking to initiate sex?"

'Initiate'? Gah!

Well sure, *you* think I was being obvious, but we're talking about Heero here-

"You usually don't call me that stupid nickname unless you are." He answers my wide-eyed stare.

Damn, I slipped up. I sigh and lean back, letting every muscle come into play as I stretch. He's watching me, but some of the purpose of the exercise is already lost.

"I don't know, Yuy... why, would you be remotely interested?"

He frowns. He glances down at his computer, weighing us -I swear, I'm gonna, one day I am gonna dice and slice that piece of hardware!- then saves his files and puts it aside.

He doesn't say anything though. Just stares at me, waiting.

I wait too.

He waits some more.

I think I might fall asleep soon if I don't do anything. I notice he's frowning -more than usual- so that's something.

We reach the breaking point and I suddenly know what's going to happen. But it's like watching a car-crash, I'm frozen by indecision and morbid curiosity.

Sure enough. He shrugs and turns back to his laptop.

Two weeks ago, with a hole in my shoulder and a bigger one in my heart, I thought I had reached him. Well yes, I *had* reached him. I participated -pretty much involuntarily- in the breaking of his conditioning, and I stopped him -don't ask me how, it wasn't pretty- going back to Dr J for 'retraining' (better known in the rest of the universe as acute torture). Heero has since accepted that maybe he's got a bit more control over himself than he previously thought and that it's not a bad thing. I think it will make him a better weapon.

I was hoping it might make him a better lover too. Hah!

Don't get me wrong, Heero can send me to the colonies and back better than anyone. And most of the times that's enough. But occasionally, Duo Maxwell likes to feel... appreciated. Wanted. And that's the problem. I'm always the one to 'initiate' (blah!) things. And I do that by calling in all my knowledge of explosives and disarming Mr Short Fuse Yuy. Once he's relaxed, then we're good to go. But even then... well, let's just say that even though we split the uke/seme thing down the middle (hey, I know two Japanese words! Well three really, I also know how to tell someone to fuck off.) I'm always in the pilot's chair. I say when we do it, I get him in the mood, I give him the clues as to what I want, I call the shots.

The others would die if I told them this (they'd die if I just told them we're an item but that's another story). Mr Perfect Soldier is a submissive lover! Well no, not submissive.

Uninterested? Timid? (Hahhaha, I crack myself up.) Passive? Not really any of those.

Not in control. Not the perfect soldier at all, really. I like this, I like making love to Heero, the boy who wears that code name and has nothing but me and my love to call his own in the entire world.

But a guy can dream about a little bit more give and take, right?

I sigh again.

"Is your shoulder bothering you?"

I realize I was massaging it, the bullet hole a fresh scar in the story of my life, written out on my skin. It's the punctuation of a particularly heart-throbbing chapter, mind you, I wouldn't trade it for the world, even when it's hurting like a bitch, like right now.

"It's a bit stiff." I mutter. I know he's asking because he wants his partner -his war partner- to be in top shape.

"I can massage it if you want."

He's not finished the '-age' syllable of 'massage' that I've flipped over on my stomach, my heart thumping with hope. Heero puts aside the laptop -take that you hellspawn machine!- and leans over me.

I last about thirty seconds.

"Okay, okay, enough massage!"

Fingers that could twist steel like silly putty mercifully release my shoulder and I groan.

"You should exercise that shoulder, the muscle will stiffen otherwise." He's sat down again and picked up the laptop, which is smirking.

"You're probably right." I give up, get off the bed, grab a t-shirt, start on my braid. "Feel like sparring a bit?"

"Are you up for it?" He asks doubtfully.

"Just try not to kill me." I mutter, but without much conviction as I head towards the door.

I glance back at the click of the laptop closing for good this time. I catch a strange look in his eyes. He looks like he's about to ask me a question -even stone-boy must be wondering what just happened these last twenty minutes- but then he shrugs and follows me out the door.


On to chapter fifteen

Back to chapter thirteen

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