And when he laughs
By Aurenne
Warnings: This is rated R for slightly citrus-ey interaction between two males. Yaoi, okay? Slash. If you do not like, do not read.
Disclaimer: Do not own.
Do not sue.
Do not have money
To give to you.
Understood?
A/N: Now, this little fic is a result of too much military space opera and my 2am muse. It is also my first citrus. I think. Can it be classified a lime? It's not really graphic, so sorry to disappoint the pervy fangirls out there (or fanboys, or whatever *grins*). It's probably a PWP, but that's okay, right?
Just a bit of musing upon Heero's all-too-rare maniacal laughs. And I'm sure you can figure out who 'He' is. The capitals are just to emphasise that it is a different person, as I name no names. And it is also an idea I blatantly stole off Koyuuno-chan, who, I hope, will not mind *smiles hopefully at K-chan*
Well, apparently she doesn't, as she did a fantastic job of beta-ing for me. I am so blessed. *grins*
This is dedicated to Liralee, who accidentally inspired this; because I'll be damned before I turn Observing Amber into an opportunity for gratuitous lemons. So all the excess hentai thoughts ran off to present this.
Gundam pilot 01, Codename: Heero Yuy, never laughed.
It was common knowledge.
It was a rule.
Yet every rule has its exceptions, and it is the exceptions that capture interest.
A scene of devastation meets his eyes as he looked at the remains of scattered enemy suits, and he laughs.
Laughs in hysterical appreciation of the irony of his situation—at the fact that he survived once again.
Again, after countless variations of the same events in repetition. Surely, the odds couldn't favour him forever – one day he would die, and he took comfort in that thought, as he was almost comforted by the repetition of his actions.
What kind of universe allowed him to survive, time after time—for it went beyond merely superior technology and training. Was it due to the ineffable plan of a remote God, or the devious machinations of a bored pantheon of deities who derived amusement from his inability to escape? Was it pure blind chance, with the results thus far unevenly stacked in his favour?
Did it make a difference?
Whatever—one day it will fail. Would fall. He would die, and there would be an end.
And he laughed that it hadn't come yet.
Laughed, in bitter amusement at whatever took his course down those pre-destined steps: at his enemies, so fatally entwined in the movements of his dance.
And laughed, finally, in helpless rage.
~*~
Hands advancing cautiously into enemy territory, sorties and forays played out against skin—scouting out lean planes and muscular shoulders, retreating carefully over His abdomen.
Fingers tangling cruelly in His chestnut hair, its strands wrapping tightly about the throat of the assailant as tongues attack and duel fiercely, neither giving way.
And then the counter-attack.
Mouth disengaging, He nips delicately at the neck so blatantly vulnerable—a weakness swiftly exploited mercilessly. Fingers pull harder, and in retaliation a more aggressive, vengeful bite is administered.
Eyes locked together, breathing hard, a cease-fire is called—
The pause broken as His fingers slide cunningly up the ribcage – sly cobalt eyes announcing belatedly a surprise raid.
And then the hostilities commence in a ferocious blaze of action; a battle of mind and will, body to body, determination and desire and competition entwined hopelessly—a battle fought in a rejection of logic and a suspension of disbelief.
And when he laughs, it is a sharp declaration of victory – of pleasure snatched in defiance of whatever destiny or fate or chance may dictate of his life.
Owari
AN: My beta wants me to write a sequel to this – but I don't know if that is going to happen. It may.
She also says that she doesn't think "counter-attack" has ever been used with quite such a dirty double meaning. Insert my own maniacal laugh here.
And if you hadn't figured it out by now: yes, it is 1x2, ok?