Text flew across the screen in flashes. So fast, but he had no difficulties in absorbing every bit of important information from the stream of letters. The room he inhabited at the moment was dark otherwise, just the green glow of the laptop illuminating his young but battle-hardened face and flat, uncaring eyes, giving them an eerie glow.
Wiry, callused fingers danced over the keyboard, issuing new search-perimeters. Fingers that were attached to sturdy wrists, strong arms and to a body that was like knotted rope. Hard with muscles, gaunt with neglect, topped with a mop of dark hair and a mind full of technical terms, coldness and determination to see the war through and die in an efficient way, when his body had served it's purpose.
The fortress known as Heero Yuy had no cracks in its walls.
Everything he needed was inside, everything else was just a distraction and a weakness. Heero Yuy didn't have weaknesses, and he couldn't abide distractions.
His life was the Mission. The Mission owned him.
He casually reached to his gun and clicked the safety off, all the while watching the laptop announce new matches to his query. Someone was at the door of his room.
The room was extravagant, which was no surprise because it was located on one of the many Winner family estates and currently being used as a hideaway and resting place by the five pilots. Four of them were busying themselves with recreational things and being sociable, while the fifth prowled the depths of the net in his room of plush softness, white linen and dark mahogany.
Heero didn't give a damn about the polished wood as he aimed the gun at the door and waited. He was very soon rewarded with the large door sliding effortlessly open, letting in warm-toned light from the hallway. If the curtains in the room would have been open, which they were not, because Heero had drawn them over the bright windows, he might have noticed that the night had fallen. A head poked in, scanning the near pitch black room until they fell on the laptop and the youth sitting before it with a raised gun. A grin split the newcomer's face.
"Naa, Heero", he said with a mellow voice, helped himsef in and closed the door, not single bit fazed with the fact that there was a barrel of a very formidable AMT Hard Baller .45 trained at his head, following his every movement with precision. "Whacha doing?"
Heero glared for a second, then lowered the gun, flicking the safety back on. No threat. He turned back at the laptop, while the long-haired boy came to peer over his shoulder, nonchalance incarnate.
"Maaan, you're the only one I know who can get away with wearing those spandex shorts", Duo stretched, yawning hugely, then padded over to the hardly used bed and collapsed onto it. Heero ignored him, feeling maybe a tad bit annoyed that the American was acting like he owned the place.
The bedsheets rustled minutely. Heero registered the sound with indifference, his fingers starting their work again on the keyboard, punching in codes and passwords to get into an adequately protected database.
"Sheesh, doncha ever get tired to hear that whirring?" Duo asked languorously, obviously planning to fall asleep where he was. Heero didn't give a damn. Duo yawned again, and the Japanese could almost taste the fine red wine in his breath even from the other side of the room.
"Soon you won't be able to talk anymore, 'cos you never ever open your mouth. Your lips will melt into one, or sumthin. Boy, won't the world lose a fine speaker", Duo lounged on the bed on his stomach, hands propped under his chin to give him a clear and unrestricted view of the Wing pilot's back. Or his form as it silhouetted against the glow of the laptop.
"I bet you're one of those people who even sleep with their butt cheeks clenched together."
Heero's fingers stumbled. Just a bit, but it was enough to screw up the code he was inserting. The computer replied with a faint bleep and a red flash with the words Access Denied.
"Didja mess something up?" Duo grinned. Heero sensed the impudent smile in the room without really even witnessing its existence. He didn't need to turn around to see it, it flared inside his head, tasting of slight drunkenness and need for attention.
"Heero the Perfect Soldier hit the wrong key, huh? Or have you finally come to the end of your superb hacking skills? Maybe it's those shorts, I mean, it's proved that a man's brains reside down there.."
Duo gave a little laugh. "The marble statue spoke."
The chair legs scraped the floor as Heero stood up, and walked at the end of the bed, looking down at the sprawled American, all relaxed like a cat, with a promise of violence in glittering eyes and retracted claws inside velvet paws.
"What do you want?"
"Aah, dunno", Duo shrugged, knowing full well he treaded on dangerous area. Irritating Heero was just a perfect mix of verbal acrobatics and usually later physical exercise. It seemed the Wing pilot wasn't about to disappoint him this time, either. "A reaction?"
"You got one. Go away."
Come on, come on, Heero...
Oh, my, what a dangerous hobby, as Quatre would say. Duo smiled infuriatingly brightly, the most sensible part of his brain giggling inside a red bubble of too hastily drank wine. He knew he was no match for Heero in hand-to-hand combat, but no one had ever told him not to practice, and who a better teacher than the master himself?
"Naa, Heero, any new love-love messages from Relena? Ardent letters of passion? Young love is just so sweet.."
A snarl interrupted Duo's suicidal words, just in time to give a warning as Heero punched, his fist landing squarely on the American's chin. Duo's whole body jerked with the force of the impact and he hardly had time to recover before Heero was on him and at him, wrestling for all he was worth.
For a cold, emotionless killer, who laughed maniacally when destroying stuff, Heero was hellishly easy to aggravate into fits of rage. Or then he just needed the release of physical action just as much as Duo in a time of lull like this.
Sometimes wearing long sleeves and baggy pants was just a bitch. The ripping sound was an aberration from the overall grunts and pants of the fight and Duo had a task for the next day. His black overshirt was now laying on the floor where it had fluttered after Heero's less gentle yanks almost in two pieces.
"You- you- you- idiot!" Duo fumed. "I hate sewing!" The rest of his rant was efficiently drowned into a pillow that Heero shoved his face into, while trying to lock his flailing limbs into one place.
The slide of two bodies against each other and the sheets were the only sounds for a moment. The blessed silence only lasted as long as Heero managed to keep the wildly squirming American in one place, after he escaped the room was filled with howled protests.
Heero finally reached a satisfactory lock which gave them both a moment to cool off and catch their breath. The Japanese was practically sitting on Duo, forcing his arms wide open to keep him from attempting anything. Then Heero had a brilliant idea, a dirty tactic indeed.
Dirty, and one that should have had nothing to do with this match.
Heero released Duo's hands, and burrowed his own under the American's shirt to tickle him mercilessly. The Japanese wondered at himself and at the action he had just made. Those things however promptly vacated his head when Duo gave a pained kind of laugh, arching his back off the bed, hands gripping Heero's wrists and trying to pry them off. The Wing pilot doubled his efforts, wanting more of that sound of desperate enjoyment.
Such a beautiful sound, was Heero's first thought. Why haven't I noticed before? I thought there was no more divine sounds in this world than those associated with a perfect Mission.
Heero paused and let Duo scramble away, violet eyes wide open and cheeks flushed with adrenaline and liquor. The American panted, air rushing past his pink lips.
Heero was transfixed.
"That was.. dirty!" Duo flung a pillow at him, his braid disheveled and clothing in disarray. He had a sheet knotted around his other foot. Heero dodged the pillow easily and had a lapful of Duo the next second, the American having followed right after the pillow.
They fell backwards in a tangle, and Duo, who had had enough tried to slide off the bed's edge, failing miserably as Heero's arms came around his waist and rolled them over. Duo valiantly kept trying to escape, but ended up only being pulled from his crouch into a semi-kneeling position by Heero, who had a good hold on his braid. The American clasped his scalp and was pulled against Heero's rigid body with one of the Japanese boy's arms circling his waist.
"Heero?" A careful knock sounded from the door before it was inched open to reveal a petite blonde. "I just wanted to inform you that breakfast is at- at-" He froze, looking at the two other pilots strained against each other on the bed. Even with the darkness of the room, Quatre's blush was evident, the hotness of embarrassment radiating from him. "Ah.. ah.. excuse me.." was all he managed before shutting the door with a shocked expression and rounded blue eyes.
"I don't wanna know.." Duo moaned. "Don't wanna know how this must've looked like.." If it looked at all like what it felt like, the two of them were in for a little treat of odd looks from the rest three. Or at least Quatre. Maybe Trowa, if Quatre was shocked enough to go tell him. And even while Duo wailed at their predicament, Heero was busy invading the American's private space.
"Wha-?!" Duo squeaked funnily, then twisted in Heero's grab, trying to avoid the fingers that were drawing circles around his bellybutton, making shivery trails. The American couldn't decide whether he was supposed to be mortified, mystified, or laughing his head off because it tickled. In a way. He shifted restlessly, biting his lower lip, suppressing the throaty laughter he wanted to release. Heero's fingers traveled upwards under his shirt, and Duo wasn't sure if he wanted to break away or not. He sighed as the hardened pads of the Japanese's fingers brushed as far up as the little hollow in the base of his throat, then slid back down. Heero continued patiently, giving up on holding onto Duo's braid, because it seemed the American wasn't going anywhere, just leaning against Heero, his head tilted back to lie on the Wing pilot's shoulder. The Japanese grasped Duo's arms and lifted them up to circle around his neck, then let his own hands fall to run his fingertips along the American boy's ribs, that shuddered with every breath he took.
The wait was rewarded when Duo arched his back and let out a gushing sigh, a wavering moan and a muffled "ahhhhhhhh". Heero allowed himself a smirk, nuzzling his face into Duo's neck, which gave him a slight "unh". He pinched at the long-haired boy's abdomen suddenly, earning a jerk and a startled exclamation of pain in response.
Who knew that mere sounds could be so intoxicating?
Heero's other hand made the journey upwards while the other strayed farther down, lingering on Duo's belt buckle, not daring to continue. The other hand slid onto Duo's cheek, turning his face towards Heero who wanted to force more sweet sounds from those parted lips. He smelled the wine in Duo's breath, then tasted it, robbing the American's breath away.
For a moment their mouth stayed locked, Heero's tongue forcing a long, melting "unnnnn" from Duo, then they both jerked away, staring at each other incomprehensibly. Duo was the first one to try and break away from the embrace-like position. His mouth took control where his brains failed to process the information. And while Heero had enjoyed immensely the small, muted sounds that Duo had made, the chatter only irritated him.
"I don't wanna know what _that_ was, 'kay? We'll just forget this ever happened, right? Yeah, I'm going to sleep now, which I should've done earlier, but I didn't 'cos I thought teasing you would be more fun. I really hope Quatre's not gonna make any stupid questions tomorrow, I don't think I'm- Good night."
And he vanished through the door, having spent the whole time he spoke retreating towards its relative safety. Heero just sat on the bed, watching him leave with prussian blue ice chip eyes and composed features. After Duo was gone, he got up and returned to the laptop, where he didn't do any work for the rest of the night, because he was too busy wondering his body's reaction to the whole thing.
It was.. irrational. Unsettling. Getting off on a few little noises.
* * *
I hate it when my inspiration arrives at one frigging thirty am. I'm tired, but I can't sleep 'cos I hafta write it all down before it vanishes, and I start forgetting words 'cos it's in the middle of the night and my brains aren't functioning.. what a ride.
Insane enough to try...
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