lol just when you thought it was over...it's not! Sequel to "Come Undone," enjoy!

Gundam Wing-copyright Sunrise/Sotsu Agency. Yadda Yadda Yadda.

As follows, the songs I have mentioned so far in my fanfiction.

1. Simon and Garfunkel - Cecilia
2. INXS - Mystify
3. George Michael - I want your sex
4. Duran Duran - Come Undone

The Duel

Well, it has been precisely two days since my blunder at ecstasy, and it seems as though nothing ever befell. It is the equivalent of tripping the finish line, so close, but in the end so interminable far. Of a door being opened, then promptly shut in your face-Abrupt, offensive, and confounding. Good-bye sweet caresses, tender kisses, hello emptiness, hello solitude. So what was I left to do? Slink away with my tail between my legs, oh I abhor that analogy.

I have already stated I am not adept at romance. I am no poet-I'm a mechanic. Where words of eloquence might exist, I have sarcasm. Where gentle touch should be I have a firm right hook. So how do I court the boy with the vivid blue eyes, whom I believe deep down needs these things? I'm at a loss. I don't think he's aware that I'm more than the so-called jester, the brash nomad, and the lonely soldier. So what can I offer him? I'm searching, beyond the mirror's reflection, for the better part of me. And it's not easy. This boy makes me what to step outside my boundaries, to tear down the walls, and that chills me to the bone.

Though my pride was severely wounded from rejection, I have done my best to conceal this, especially since Heero has behaved as usual, possessing a calm demeanor and delivering only terse replies in conversation. That does not deter me-my mind cannot chase away the memory of what occurred two days prior.

I have been masturbating more frequently.

So, now it is another Friday night, and I am situated alone in my room with no companion save the television. Go me.

There is a news broadcast featured tonight involving the "secret identity of the Gundam pilots." I surmise the only reason our roles have not been revealed are due to the fact that despite everything, we are still technically considered minors, that is, for another year. Those in the know have refused to release any information regarding that subject, and for their discretion I am thankful. Yet one can only avoid reporters and cameras for so long.

Unfortunately, poor Quatre and Miss Relena are not immune to the scrutiny of the media-Quatre being the famed heir of the wealthy Winner family, and Relena, well, royalty. If my speculations are accurate, Mr. Winner might be paying us a visit soon, as he has been out of the camera's eye for several days now. That means, he has managed to shirk his duties for a while and is going to mingle with the common folk. Heh.

It is suddenly brought to my attention that the house is still and silent. Heero must not have gotten lucky tonight. I wonder if Trowa's absence has anything to do with Quatre. Interesting.

I hesitant for a second, holding my breath, as I detect the faint sound of footsteps in the hall, a soft rapping.

They do not veer off to the right, but continue on, towards me.

Round Two?

Excellent.

I roll onto my stomach, propping my chin up on my hand, and divert my attention to the television. But it is of no concern to me. My focus is on the silent figure tarrying in the doorway. He entered without a sound, but I can feel his eyes on me. I have never encountered someone with such a magnetic presence, it is almost overpowering.

I grin at him, unable to resist, and inquire, "What's the matter stud? Isn't tonight party night?" I love to tease him sometimes. It produced the expected result, for he frowned at me. I am not discouraged.

"Did I strike a nerve"? I asked with an amused smile. Heero only stared at me, his eyes having a far away, intense quality, lingering on me. Heero has the distinct ability to convey so much without words, which I believe contributes to his rather reticent personality. Who needs to speak when you are able to express so much in just a glance? That only makes him even more appealing.

We lock gaze, his mouth still, forming no words. I fear to break this silence that has settled in the room like a thick cloud, for fear of sundering this quiet intimacy between us. This is such delicious torture.

I have always liked that often, that we can speak volumes without uttering a word, a special ability reserved only for the two of us.

If I listen intently and concentrate, I catch the erratic sound of his heart thrumming in his chest. Or was that mine, beating like a drum inside my cavity? It is a sonorous echo in my ears.

My palms are slick with perspiration.

I dare to speak, cutting the silence with an invisible knife.

"Are you going to sit down"? It was a low utterance, suggestive, an invitation.

He makes no response, as if frozen in some private dream.

This exchange is akin to a pair about to engage in a duel, weapons raised resulting in the clash of steel. But it is not formidable, nor meant to alarm, it is more playful, more erotic-the war for dominance or equality, the testing of waters, of measuring the will of each other, of deciding who will impose the first move.

I have lifted my blade, now I move to strike.

I voiced his name lowly, and I saw him blink, flitting out of a reverie.

He spoke in question, "Hm"? I felt a smirk crease over my lips, and I replied, "Are you lonely without your boy toy?"

It was a challenge, a request to continue our spar.

He emitted a low humming noise, distracted, while I searched his gaze in question, seeking the returning strike.

His next statement caught me off guard.

"You are immaculate, I want to engage in intercourse with you." I had not expected him to be that direct.

I felt much to my chagrin my features burn a light shade of scarlet. No one had ever called me perfect.

He studied me, and I'm not sure if there was a faint degree of amusement on his features. I disregarded it.

I think he is aware he has the upper hand now that the reigns of control have shifted.

He approaches me, pure poetry in motion, a slow saunter, and climbs onto the bed.

Challenge accepted.