6x1 for Summer of Zechs!
I've written countless stories (90% of them aren't finished, mind you) but I've never actually shared them with anyone before. Lately, though, I've started to feel more confident and comfortable with sharing. Special thanks go to claraxbarton: your fics have inspired me to start writing for GW, so thank you!
Wine Red
It should be illegal for that man to wear red.
He acts like it doesn't drive Heero crazy. It's not like he wears the color often. He can't afford to stand out too much and take away from the art in his gallery, and with his long blond hair and good looks he already gets enough stares.
"Ready?" Zechs asks, meeting Heero's eyes in the mirror as he adjusted his sleeves.
They were heading to the Corinthian for dinner, and while Heero never understood why they had to dress up just to walk down to the harbor-side club and eat, Zechs said that it was "a matter of course" to dress in clothes that somehow managed to look expensively casual. Like the damn red silk shirt he was wearing right now.
Heero didn't even realize he hadn't responded to Zechs's question until he met eyes with him in the mirror again, seeing a smirk upon the man's face. The bastard knew.
"Darling, you're staring."
"Don't 'darling' me. If I'm acceptable, can we leave already?" Heero huffed, spreading his arms to show off the light blue button down he had tucked into his jeans.
Zechs frowned, "Hm, almost acceptable."
In two long strides Zechs was in front of Heero, looking down at him with a predatory grin widening on his face. First, his hands went to his wrists. He carefully rolled up one sleeve, then another. The places where his fingers touched tickled slightly which, to Heero's horror, somewhat aroused him. Then, Zechs's hands gently went to hiss neck, briefly brushing against his skin before moving on to undo the first button. Then another.
"You want me to just take it off?" Heero complained. Zechs was good at pushing buttons, especially Heero's. And despite the good front he was putting up, inside his heart was racing- no matter how long they'd been together, being this close to Zechs always made Heero's blood pump faster.
Zechs's knowing smirk grew. "You could," he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of Heero's ear, "but then we'd never get to dinner. Or would you like me to have you for dinner instead?"
For a split second, Zechs thought he had won. Heero's pupils widened and his breath hitched. Zechs's hands automatically moved to undo the next button when Heero's hand gripped his. Then, it started to slide up the soft red silk and then down his chest, Heero's touch so light he could barely feel it. Unconsciously, he arched forward for more. The hand ducked under the red silk and finally came into contact with Zechs's skin, warm and sure against his hip. Meanwhile, Heero's other hand had taken Zechs's and brought it to rest on his cheek, Heero's hand still over his.
Looking up through his lashes, Heero said, "You wanted to celebrate with dinner at the club tonight, so let's have dinner at the club."
Then, he took Zechs's hand from his cheek and moved it towards his lips. Zechs could feel his warm breath on his palm.
"But, we'll come back home for dessert," and he lightly nipped the skin of Zechs's palm. It drew a gasp from Zechs, and the man stepped forward into Heero. His hand going into Heero's hair, he drew him in for a kiss.
When they came apart, both slightly flushed, Zechs remarked, "Didn't anyone tell you not to bite the hand that feeds?"
Heero shrugged and let his hands run over the red silk again, "So are we going or not?" A challenge laced in his tone.
Zechs laughed. Heero would always one-up him. But, surprisingly, Zechs didn't mind. As they walked to the club, Heero's hand clasped in his, Zechs considered updating his wardrobe to include more red.