Title: Locks (1/1)
Author: Sailor Seraphim (slrsera @ aol.com)
Archive:
l.e.t.h.a.l.t.h.o.u.g.h.t.s. :: http://www.pluh.com/members/icefire
FanFiction.net :: http://fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=39868
Final Triumph :: http://www.geocities.com/finaltriumph
Emy's Archive :: http://emy.gwyaoi.com
All others please ask.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its related characters. If I did, the series would be chock-full of tasty shounen ai goodness. I do, however, own the situations which occur in this fic.
Pairings: 1+2
Warnings: A bit of sap, domestic interaction, introspective!Heero, and hair.
Spoilers: Yet another fic where you don't need to know anything except general series knowledge. Maybe a smidgeon of Duo's Episode Zero, but not much.
Notes: A completely self-centered fic. I wrote this for myself because I was inspired by the gift-pic that Sandra Delete drew for me, which you can find at: http://www.pluh.com/members/icefire/1x2.gif
I love this pic... and a bunny attacked me because of it. I'm so happy that it's quite amazing.
Feedback: I take all constructive criticism. No flames, they leave nasty scorch marks on the carpet.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Heero leaned back against the couch cushions, idly twisting the end of Duo's braid between his fingers. Duo had fallen asleep not long ago; ironic because Duo had been the one to suggest a popcorn and movie night for the two of them. Heero turned his Prussian glance away from the images flickering on the TV screen and looked out the window instead, watching the quiet splatter of cold rain against the glass. The night was so dark, so cold, but Duo was laying with his head pillowed on Heero's lap as if that was where he was always meant to be. It was comfortable. Heero made no objections, continuing to play with Duo's braid as he watched the rain.
Duo's hair was beautiful. The American had privately admitted that it was his personal vanity; that his hair was far too important to him to be mistreated. Heero could only agree, as his lover's own actions attested to that fact. Duo steadfastly refused to have his hair loose in public, always weaving it into his habitual braid. Even in the comfort of their apartment, Duo still pulled his hair back in some fashion, a ponytail sometimes... once even piled on his crown in a sloppy bun. But the times when Duo did let his hair down, Heero was always mesmerized. Freshly washed, every strand seemed to catch the light, showing off the myriad highlights in Duo's chestnut hair. Spread out beneath Duo's body, gleaming in the moonlight and spread across the pillows, Heero could never resist. It was so long, so thick, so unbelievably *Duo*... the Japanese man could never resist running his fingers through it. Duo asked him once -- while he was brushing the American's soft locks for him -- why he was so obsessed with his hair. Heero hadn't been able to answer, instead lifting up a handful of his lover's precious locks to his face and brushing them against his cheek, the faint scent of coconut filling his nostrils. Duo had made a soft sound of pleasure as Heero's hands tangled through his scalp, and the question had soon been forgotten.
But Heero's hair, unlike Duo's own chestnut locks, remained perpetually messy and untamable. He'd once tried to grow his hair out, not to the extent of his lover's, but longer than the nearly military cut he usually wore. Heero had thought that the added weight would make gravity pull everything into submission, but that was sadly not the case. He'd managed to grow his hair out until it reached the annoying stage -- where it was too long to stay out of the way, but too short to pull back -- but Duo had ruffled his slim fingers through his messy chocolate bangs one morning as if he was some sort of shaggy dog. Heero had cut his hair back to its normal length that same afternoon.
No, his hair was unlike Duo's. The both of them were almost complete opposites when it came to everything in life. Frankly, it was amazing that the two of them had managed to hold on to a stable and fulfilling relationship without the constant threat of war hanging over their heads. Now their lives were not filled with mobile suits, missions and destruction, but laundry, groceries and the neighbor's dog, who liked to howl on moonlit nights. How strange, that the two of them would end up together... able to enjoy the peace that they had helped to create. And life was good. There were arguments over who forgot to take out the trash, whose turn it was to mow the lawn, and why exactly they had such a high phone bill, but there were also nights where they were wrapped in each others arms, surprise dinners, and the way Duo always hummed under his breath when he was dusting the shelves, reminding Heero that he was never alone even when he was washing the dishes.
The American stirred in Heero's lap, curling up even further, sock-clad feet rubbing against each other against the chill in the room. Heero wondered -- for a moment -- if he should get the afghan that was lying across the overstuffed chair. But that would require movement, and Heero refused to disturb Duo's slumber for such a thing. Instead, with his free hand, the one not clutching Duo's hair, Heero pulled his lover more firmly against his body, hoping to shield him from the cold with his own warmth.
His Prussian eyes drifted down, memorizing every nuance and shadow across Duo's sleeping face. The lines of worry, joy, and anger had all left their mark across Duo's features; slight creases near the eye from laughing, faint shadows under thick lashes betraying the American's fears. But above all this was the small contented smile that rested across Duo's lips, meaning that his dreams were light and free and not the tortured nightmares of the past. Heero sighed softly, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. He lost himself easily, drifting off to a place where all that existed was himself, the heavy weight of Duo against him, the thick strands of chestnut hair tangled in his fingers.
"Oi... Heero... stop thinking so hard."
Heero's eyes blinked open and he wondered how long he had been asleep. A quick glace at the clock told him only a few minutes, then his gaze traveled to Duo, who was still curled on his lap, violet eyes still shut in sleep. The Japanese man wondered if he hadn't dreamed the whole thing, but then saw the small smirk that Duo wore.
"So you can hear me thinking now?"
Duo shook his head a little, eyes still firmly closed. "No, but you always unravel my braid when you're thinkin'."
Shocked, Heero realized that he *had* unconsciously loosened Duo's hair. It now spilled down his arm and across his lover's black-clad back in a shower of chestnut and mahogany.
"I'm sorry," Heero murmured, knowing that Duo's didn't take offenses to his hair lightly. He was about to untangle himself from Duo's locks when one of Duo's hands came up, holding him in place. He turned his eyes to Duo's face again, somewhat amazed that his eyes were still shut as if dreaming. Then Duo's hand stroked softly against his own, and Heero's could feel the roughness of the calluses on Duo's fingers. Duo smiled, warm and inviting, and Heero threading his fingers with Duo's, strands of chestnut caught between their interlocked hands.
"It's okay. You're the only one I trust with it."
Then brilliant amethyst eyes opened.
And Heero saw his universe reflected in them.
-- Owari --
Author: Sailor Seraphim (slrsera @ aol.com)
Archive:
l.e.t.h.a.l.t.h.o.u.g.h.t.s. :: http://www.pluh.com/members/icefire
FanFiction.net :: http://fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=39868
Final Triumph :: http://www.geocities.com/finaltriumph
Emy's Archive :: http://emy.gwyaoi.com
All others please ask.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its related characters. If I did, the series would be chock-full of tasty shounen ai goodness. I do, however, own the situations which occur in this fic.
Pairings: 1+2
Warnings: A bit of sap, domestic interaction, introspective!Heero, and hair.
Spoilers: Yet another fic where you don't need to know anything except general series knowledge. Maybe a smidgeon of Duo's Episode Zero, but not much.
Notes: A completely self-centered fic. I wrote this for myself because I was inspired by the gift-pic that Sandra Delete drew for me, which you can find at: http://www.pluh.com/members/icefire/1x2.gif
I love this pic... and a bunny attacked me because of it. I'm so happy that it's quite amazing.
Feedback: I take all constructive criticism. No flames, they leave nasty scorch marks on the carpet.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Heero leaned back against the couch cushions, idly twisting the end of Duo's braid between his fingers. Duo had fallen asleep not long ago; ironic because Duo had been the one to suggest a popcorn and movie night for the two of them. Heero turned his Prussian glance away from the images flickering on the TV screen and looked out the window instead, watching the quiet splatter of cold rain against the glass. The night was so dark, so cold, but Duo was laying with his head pillowed on Heero's lap as if that was where he was always meant to be. It was comfortable. Heero made no objections, continuing to play with Duo's braid as he watched the rain.
Duo's hair was beautiful. The American had privately admitted that it was his personal vanity; that his hair was far too important to him to be mistreated. Heero could only agree, as his lover's own actions attested to that fact. Duo steadfastly refused to have his hair loose in public, always weaving it into his habitual braid. Even in the comfort of their apartment, Duo still pulled his hair back in some fashion, a ponytail sometimes... once even piled on his crown in a sloppy bun. But the times when Duo did let his hair down, Heero was always mesmerized. Freshly washed, every strand seemed to catch the light, showing off the myriad highlights in Duo's chestnut hair. Spread out beneath Duo's body, gleaming in the moonlight and spread across the pillows, Heero could never resist. It was so long, so thick, so unbelievably *Duo*... the Japanese man could never resist running his fingers through it. Duo asked him once -- while he was brushing the American's soft locks for him -- why he was so obsessed with his hair. Heero hadn't been able to answer, instead lifting up a handful of his lover's precious locks to his face and brushing them against his cheek, the faint scent of coconut filling his nostrils. Duo had made a soft sound of pleasure as Heero's hands tangled through his scalp, and the question had soon been forgotten.
But Heero's hair, unlike Duo's own chestnut locks, remained perpetually messy and untamable. He'd once tried to grow his hair out, not to the extent of his lover's, but longer than the nearly military cut he usually wore. Heero had thought that the added weight would make gravity pull everything into submission, but that was sadly not the case. He'd managed to grow his hair out until it reached the annoying stage -- where it was too long to stay out of the way, but too short to pull back -- but Duo had ruffled his slim fingers through his messy chocolate bangs one morning as if he was some sort of shaggy dog. Heero had cut his hair back to its normal length that same afternoon.
No, his hair was unlike Duo's. The both of them were almost complete opposites when it came to everything in life. Frankly, it was amazing that the two of them had managed to hold on to a stable and fulfilling relationship without the constant threat of war hanging over their heads. Now their lives were not filled with mobile suits, missions and destruction, but laundry, groceries and the neighbor's dog, who liked to howl on moonlit nights. How strange, that the two of them would end up together... able to enjoy the peace that they had helped to create. And life was good. There were arguments over who forgot to take out the trash, whose turn it was to mow the lawn, and why exactly they had such a high phone bill, but there were also nights where they were wrapped in each others arms, surprise dinners, and the way Duo always hummed under his breath when he was dusting the shelves, reminding Heero that he was never alone even when he was washing the dishes.
The American stirred in Heero's lap, curling up even further, sock-clad feet rubbing against each other against the chill in the room. Heero wondered -- for a moment -- if he should get the afghan that was lying across the overstuffed chair. But that would require movement, and Heero refused to disturb Duo's slumber for such a thing. Instead, with his free hand, the one not clutching Duo's hair, Heero pulled his lover more firmly against his body, hoping to shield him from the cold with his own warmth.
His Prussian eyes drifted down, memorizing every nuance and shadow across Duo's sleeping face. The lines of worry, joy, and anger had all left their mark across Duo's features; slight creases near the eye from laughing, faint shadows under thick lashes betraying the American's fears. But above all this was the small contented smile that rested across Duo's lips, meaning that his dreams were light and free and not the tortured nightmares of the past. Heero sighed softly, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. He lost himself easily, drifting off to a place where all that existed was himself, the heavy weight of Duo against him, the thick strands of chestnut hair tangled in his fingers.
"Oi... Heero... stop thinking so hard."
Heero's eyes blinked open and he wondered how long he had been asleep. A quick glace at the clock told him only a few minutes, then his gaze traveled to Duo, who was still curled on his lap, violet eyes still shut in sleep. The Japanese man wondered if he hadn't dreamed the whole thing, but then saw the small smirk that Duo wore.
"So you can hear me thinking now?"
Duo shook his head a little, eyes still firmly closed. "No, but you always unravel my braid when you're thinkin'."
Shocked, Heero realized that he *had* unconsciously loosened Duo's hair. It now spilled down his arm and across his lover's black-clad back in a shower of chestnut and mahogany.
"I'm sorry," Heero murmured, knowing that Duo's didn't take offenses to his hair lightly. He was about to untangle himself from Duo's locks when one of Duo's hands came up, holding him in place. He turned his eyes to Duo's face again, somewhat amazed that his eyes were still shut as if dreaming. Then Duo's hand stroked softly against his own, and Heero's could feel the roughness of the calluses on Duo's fingers. Duo smiled, warm and inviting, and Heero threading his fingers with Duo's, strands of chestnut caught between their interlocked hands.
"It's okay. You're the only one I trust with it."
Then brilliant amethyst eyes opened.
And Heero saw his universe reflected in them.
-- Owari --