Author's Note: Much thanks, Shadowgoddess... I can't believe there was such a stupid typo... Wow, do I feel like a schmuck right now. At least I didn't mess up Duo's "Lecture." Man, I love that part... And, Seak, I think I'll just let you deal with those hot flashes on your own if you don't mind? ;)
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Roommates
Chapter 2: Making Progress
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"Woah!"
"Yeah!"
"Look out!"
"Right hook!"
"C'mon, Yo!"
Arms crossed, the silent figure behind the row of jostling kids calmly regards the action in the center of the arena. Two fighters deftly maneuver around each other in the ring, looking for an opening. It's the final round of the L2 Inter Colony Martial Arts Tournament Mid-Weight Division. And the roar of the crowd is deafening. He doesn't have to consult his seatmate to know that Heero is as tense as he is. The other spectators which comprise Yokaze's "cheering section," however, are not nearly so concerned about her welfare.
Two seats down, a young man in a black T-shirt leans forward to better see his chosen champion's strategy. With a wide grin and expressive gestures, he explains Yokaze's maneuvers to anyone within shouting distance.
"You see that? That's a classic move. Classic."
The academy's fencing club members listen with half an ear to Duo's running commentary.
"Ooh! That was risky. Brilliant but risky. Did you see the way she drew him in like that? Took the hit?"
Heero's glower grows—impossibly—darker as Duo's words only confirm the fact that his sister is playing a very dangerous game with her opponent.
"That could have gone so very wrong," Duo continues, oblivious to Heero's increasing tension. "If she hadn't been 100% in control of that move, he could have messed her up real bad..."
In perfect silence, Trowa wishes Duo would just shut the hell up. He's well aware of the risks Yokaze is taking to win. Just as Heero is. Just as Yokaze is. And it's driving the two who are forced to sit back and watch absolutely insane.
"Would have bruised a kidney and the very least... Damn! That guy is fast! Watch out for the jab, Yo!"
Trowa tenses as she does, indeed, watch out for the jab Duo had anticipated. She watches for it, and takes it. Heero's hands tighten around the armrest, stressing the metal, as Yokaze goes down.
Tumbling, she kicks the legs out from under her opponent. Trowa feels the death grip around his heart loosen as he realizes it had been a controlled fall. Heart pounding in his chest, he watches her pounce. She moves so quickly that no one sees the hold forming until she's got the man in her arms, pressing against several pressure points at once.
Her opponent struggles to retain consciousness. The referee commences with the count. He flexes his muscles, trying to weaken Yokaze's hold. He attempts to bring his limbs underneath him, to push them over, to slam her against the mat, to turn the maneuver against her.
The referee continues counting. The crowd is on their feet. Trowa and Heero stand as well, looking out over the jostling sea of humanity to the one person they would do anything to protect. Beneath her, the fighter thrashes. Signs of strain and fatigue are obvious on her face, in her shaking limbs. But she holds on.
The three former pilots are very aware of the effort it requires to subdue someone in the manner Yokaze has chosen. They are also very aware that she is two small moves away from snapping the man's neck. If either of them had ever entertained any doubt that Yokaze's training hadn't been as complete—or even more so—than their own, this fight would have unequivocally convinced them of her competence. They had watched as, during each of the previous rounds she had foregone the kill shot and settled instead for coaxing her prey into a position which would allow her to subjugate them using non-lethal means. It is exhausting work. And the three of them are exhausted just from watching her.
The auditorium throbs with the cheers of the throng as the referee approaches the end of the count. Yokaze's opponent still hasn't given up. He gathers his impressive strength for one last attempt at dislodging her grip. He somehow manages to get a hold on her hand and bends it awkwardly backward. The crowd goes crazy as Yokaze tumbles off of the guy, helpless to resist the momentum that forces her away.
The referee backs off.
Yokaze doesn't. As she lands on her back, she manages to twist her opponent's grip so that now she has hold of him. In the instant it takes for him to comprehend the sudden reversal, she sweeps her leg around, sending her heel into his stomach and forcing the breath from him. In a swift, aikido move, she bends the gasping man's arm behind him and applies threatening pressure to his bent wrist.
He slaps the mat in defeat.
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"Oh my God, Yo, that was awesome!"
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Duo."
He laughs. "Enjoyed? Now that's an understatement."
She arcs a sweaty brow at him. "You're a bit bloodthirsty, aren't you?"
His answering grin is rather sharp and very predatory. The other fighters sharing the locker room take a few steps away from the young man congratulating Yokaze. "Man, Yo, I couldn't believe you took that jab at the end. And that left hook to the side. A guy that size, with that much skill... he could have sent you to the hospital with that maneuver... And the way you just stepped into it was..."
A slight movement to Duo's left has him glancing in Heero's direction. In the fraction of a second it takes for Duo to read his friend's very tense, very volatile body language, his words slow.
"... incredibly irresponsible, Yokaze," Duo continues, inflection changing from raging enthusiasm and praise to chastisement. "You could have really hurt yourself all for a stupid championship. What the hell were you thinking with a move like that? I can't believe you'd do something so stupid it absolutely defies description! You'll be lucky if the three of us don't kick your ass for that!"
Yokaze, under the pretense of wiping the sweat off of her face with a fluffy towel, snickers at Duo's tirade. He accomplishes his goal, though. Heero's deadly, blue glare is now completely focused on Yokaze and not on Duo.
Crossing his arms, Duo demands, "What do you have to say for yourself, hm?"
Expression now somber, she lowers the towel and looks from Duo to Heero to Trowa, all three of which are glaring at her with their arms crossed over their chests as if to stop themselves from wringing her neck in screaming frustration, and says flatly, "Bring it on."
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Trowa looks up from his laptop as a small bottle of scented massage oil clatters across his lap. He pulls his hands away from the keyboard, retrieves the intruding item, and looks up at Yokaze. She's still damp from her shower and wearing another pair of jogging shorts and a tank top.
She smiles shyly at him. "I'll be your bestest friend for life," she offers in exchange for a massage.
Trowa grins back and sets his laptop aside. It's enough of an answer for Yokaze and she plops herself down between his knees on the edge of the couch. It's not a completely unfamiliar routine, but Trowa tenses nonetheless. He stares at the nape of her neck, feels the humid heat rolling off of her skin, smells the essence of her shampoo in the space between them... The very meager space between them. His mind seems stuck on the fact that she's sitting in front of him, that her hips are framed by his thighs, that she's asking him to touch her...
"Where do you want it?" he asks and the suggestive meaning hits him a split second too late. He closes his eyes and counts to ten.
"Arms first," she requests.
With a final, fortifying Yokaze-scented breath, he opens the cap on the bottle. "Sure."
He starts with her left forearm, wrapping his arms around her in order to get his fingers in the position necessary to relax the tight muscles. Her sore body sways with exhaustion but she manages to sit up straight. Noticing this, Trowa resigns himself to enduring even more of the unsettling sensations that have been asserting themselves lately in response to his roommate.
"Lean back against me," he tells her shortly.
"I'm fine," she says quietly, enjoying the sensation of her left arm being slowly reduced to a limp mass of tissue.
"You're exhausted," he corrects.
"And you're not?" she inquires but she accepts his invitation and leans back into his chest anyway.
Trowa glances at her, noting her closed eyes and parted lips. "I wasn't the one fighting today," he tells her.
The lips curve. "No, you weren't. You just had to watch."
He studies her, wondering how she would know what it's like to be watching while a friend is... He stops in mid-thought as the answer comes to him. Of course she would know what it's like. Watching from the outside had been her role for an entire year during the first war.
Trowa continues to work the tension out of her arm, his silence confirming her statement. The scent of cedarwood permeates the air around them. Back pressed to chest, they begin to subconsciously synchronize their breaths. The quiet familiarity of the moment relaxes both of them and when Trowa finishes with her left arm, he doesn't mind that it ends up draped over his thigh as he moves on to the right. Long minutes pass as he gently coaxes the tightly coiled muscles to release their tension. Neither of them speak. They simply breathe... and feel.
"Next?" Trowa breathes against her ear.
"Mmm," she says, reluctantly leaning forward to brace her elbows on her knees. As she does this, she pulls her shirt over her head, leaving it bunched around her chest and biceps. Trowa gazes at the expanse of her back... her bare back. His throat tightens and that strange tingling in his wrists asserts itself once again as he comprehends the fact that she'd been wearing nothing beneath that small, tight shirt.
He coats his hands with the massage oil again and starts at her shoulders, working his way towards her neck. She is completely submissive in his hands, trusting him without reservation. His fingers wrap slowly around her neck and he knows, so easily he could... It wouldn't take much at all to snap the third vertebrae. She'd never be able to put up a fight. That level of trust awes him, humbles him. Her open display of vulnerability forces a twisting ache to blossom in his chest.
Her body rocks slowly beneath his hands. The slow, deep, soothing rhythm of the massage is the only movement in the entire apartment. Trowa's breathing slows even more during these languid moments. As he nears the small of her back, he finds himself running out of room to work easily. Without thought, he adjusts his body, opening his legs even wider in order to reach her lower back.
And then, having covered her entire back, he moves upward again. Once his hands have settled on her shoulders once more, she tugs her shirt back into place and reclines back against his chest again.
"Your hands getting sore yet?" she asks, barely enunciating.
He shakes his head. "No."
"A little more?" she asks.
"Where?"
With a heavy sigh, she lifts herself over his leg and stretches out on the couch with her head pillowed against the armrest. She settles the nearest foot on his lap in silent request. Without a word, Trowa pours a bit more oil into his palm and begins with her sole. Her eyes are closed but he knows she's still awake. He continues upward over her ankle, her shin and calf, her knee, he's halfway up her thigh when he wonders if she wants him to continue.
"Yokaze?"
"Higher."
His fingertips are at the edge of her shorts when she shifts slightly. "Hip?" she inquires.
One hand cradling her inner thigh, the other slowly rubs further underneath the fabric. She sighs as Trowa forces the tension away. He takes in the sight of his hands on her, the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. If he weren't already completely relaxed, Trowa suspects he would have felt that way again. But he doesn't. He watches his left hand move beneath the fabric of her shorts and feels perfectly at peace in this moment with her.
A slight movement from her signals him to switch to her opposite leg. Again, he starts at her foot and moves upward. This time, when he reaches her hip, he manages to make an observation he should have noticed earlier. Much earlier.
Yokaze doesn't seem to be wearing anything under this particular garment, either.
His hands falter. He becomes hyper sensitive of the way he's cradling her thigh, of the soft, stretchy cotton sliding over the back of his other hand. Oddly enough, Yokaze doesn't seem to notice his hesitation. He studies her slack lips, observes her slow, even, shallow breaths.
She's asleep.
For a moment, he simply stares at her. And then he leans forward to carefully arrange her body along the couch. He gathers a pillow and a blanket from her room and attempts to make her as comfortable as possible. Then, after he's finished, he gathers up the bottle of oil and his laptop, preparing to get ready for bed himself, and hesitates.
His gaze roves slowly over her, his friend, his roommate. Face carefully expressionless, he wonders at his odd reactions to her lately. In the past four years they had been there for each other, had offered—without question or reservation—whatever assistance the other had needed. They'd tended each other's sprains and bruises and fevers. They'd cooked dinner together and had water fights over a sink full of dishes. They'd used each other's shampoo when one of them had forgotten to buy more during the last trip to the grocery store. They'd rubbed shoulders and leaned on each other when watching movies in the evening. They'd even wrestled in mock hand-to-hand combat over who would make the popcorn.
Trowa can list a thousand ways in which Yokaze has shown her trust for him. He can list another thousand ways in which he's shown his trust for her. So why now, after a simple, medicinal massage, did their friendship seem so much... deeper?
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~End of Chapter 2~