Uhmm...shounen-ai thoughts, blah blah blah. So....uh huh. Flames will be used to burn math textbooks.
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The remote of the small stereo taunted him, barely inches out of his reach from his comfortable, blanket-covered slump on the safehouseÕs single shabby cot. He frowned, silently willing his fingertips to somehow grow, so he wouldnÕt have to move from his den of covers. He sighed, finally giving in to his laziness and returning underneath his pile, allowing the tempting remote to continue itÕs dust-gathering. A large black t-shirt and his boxers had been his only attire for days, since the completion of his last mission. Stray strands of chestnut hair poked out of his long braid, unbrushed, and so quite untamed. Duo Maxwell was, in short, a wreck.
A sort of longing lethargy had consumed him, and he had let it, content to curl up and sleep in itÕs warm mouth. But now he was unsure of quite how to drag himself out.
Come out. He thought, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully. Come out to him.
Uhg. The concept itself was what had thrown him into this slump in the first place. In fact, it was what he had been prone to falling into such slumps about for quite a while now. Heero Yuy...damn him anyway for being so dense. Duo could practically recite all the scripts he had made up for the ways he was going to come out to him, to tell him how he felt about it, and had gotten the courage to use. This, of course, was due to the fact that, try as Duo might to make-believe he would, Heero would never conform to his little plays by returning the sentiments.
Heh...It would probobly just freak him out...make him never want to speak to me again...He told himself, a bitter smile playing across his lips.
It wasnÕt like he hadnÕt dropped enough hints...at least he thought he had. Duo was contact-needy, always slinging an arm over the apathetic Wing pilotÕs shoulders, grabbing him playfully around the chest. He considered himself an expert at the art of ÒglompÓ. It was just in his nature to touch and be touched, and he expressed this natural instinct as often as possible towards the stoic brunette. Which, needless to say, never seemed to please the Perfect Soldier. Every day with him seemed to be a senseless repetition of the same attempts, the same nervousness, the same pit in his stomach when they came into contact. And every time, the slightly annoyed frown from Heero.
Dammit Dammit Dammit, Duo turned over in his nest, pawing the covers into submission as they tried to smother him, Nothing I do...
From itÕs perch on the roomÕs only table, his laptop loudly voiced itÕs glee at having received new mail. He groaned, dragging himself slowly from the twisted blankets, shivering slightly as he took a seat in front of it. A few clicks found the e-mail responsible for pulling him out of his Òblissful reposeÓ.
It was from Heero, a blunt, short note describing their next assignment. Sighing softly, he made his affirmative reply, then leaned back in the chair, his head drooping backwards, staring up at the ceiling.
Here we go again...
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The remote of the small stereo taunted him, barely inches out of his reach from his comfortable, blanket-covered slump on the safehouseÕs single shabby cot. He frowned, silently willing his fingertips to somehow grow, so he wouldnÕt have to move from his den of covers. He sighed, finally giving in to his laziness and returning underneath his pile, allowing the tempting remote to continue itÕs dust-gathering. A large black t-shirt and his boxers had been his only attire for days, since the completion of his last mission. Stray strands of chestnut hair poked out of his long braid, unbrushed, and so quite untamed. Duo Maxwell was, in short, a wreck.
A sort of longing lethargy had consumed him, and he had let it, content to curl up and sleep in itÕs warm mouth. But now he was unsure of quite how to drag himself out.
Come out. He thought, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully. Come out to him.
Uhg. The concept itself was what had thrown him into this slump in the first place. In fact, it was what he had been prone to falling into such slumps about for quite a while now. Heero Yuy...damn him anyway for being so dense. Duo could practically recite all the scripts he had made up for the ways he was going to come out to him, to tell him how he felt about it, and had gotten the courage to use. This, of course, was due to the fact that, try as Duo might to make-believe he would, Heero would never conform to his little plays by returning the sentiments.
Heh...It would probobly just freak him out...make him never want to speak to me again...He told himself, a bitter smile playing across his lips.
It wasnÕt like he hadnÕt dropped enough hints...at least he thought he had. Duo was contact-needy, always slinging an arm over the apathetic Wing pilotÕs shoulders, grabbing him playfully around the chest. He considered himself an expert at the art of ÒglompÓ. It was just in his nature to touch and be touched, and he expressed this natural instinct as often as possible towards the stoic brunette. Which, needless to say, never seemed to please the Perfect Soldier. Every day with him seemed to be a senseless repetition of the same attempts, the same nervousness, the same pit in his stomach when they came into contact. And every time, the slightly annoyed frown from Heero.
Dammit Dammit Dammit, Duo turned over in his nest, pawing the covers into submission as they tried to smother him, Nothing I do...
From itÕs perch on the roomÕs only table, his laptop loudly voiced itÕs glee at having received new mail. He groaned, dragging himself slowly from the twisted blankets, shivering slightly as he took a seat in front of it. A few clicks found the e-mail responsible for pulling him out of his Òblissful reposeÓ.
It was from Heero, a blunt, short note describing their next assignment. Sighing softly, he made his affirmative reply, then leaned back in the chair, his head drooping backwards, staring up at the ceiling.
Here we go again...