Author: LoveyouHateyou
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Rating: NC-15/M
Pairings: Heero / Duo (1/2)
Warnings: Occasional profanity, some angst, some fun, some yaoi.
Disclaimer:I do not own them although I would like that. Or at least someone like Duo or Quatre, or perhaps both of them. All rights with their original owners.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: With her kind permission, this is based on Naomi's 'Charcoal Memories', which you can find at her websiteLocked away safely in a box under his bed, Heero keeps a drawing book to offload memories and longings. Duo is dying to know…
xxx
Someone had picked the lock.
He. Had. Picked. The. Lock.
Heero sat on the floor by his bed, the weapons case drawn half out from underneath the frame, his hands still resting on the latch. He stared at the tiny scratch on the brushed metal surface and felt unable to move. Or to think clearly for he was so mad at Duo that he felt he would storm into his bedroom next door and murder him.
He would have seen the book. Hell, of course he had seen the damn book, with all the secrets Heero had determinedly locked away – out of sight, out of his life, out of his heart. Mainly out of his heart, where they could gnaw and hurt and burn him.
And this little crook... no wonder he had looked so guilty beneath his smile. It had been a little too bright, a bit too sassy today, and Duo had disappeared straight into his room after school, 'To rehearse for the test."
Hah! Duo studying. A contradiction in terms. The boy had not a shred of discipline, let alone the capability of planning and acting as though he actually tried to achieve a goal. He was too busy fussing over his hair and the girls and whatever else moved him.
What did actually move him?
Heero angrily keyed the lock combination and yanked open the case. There lay his sketchbook, in its innocent black cover that shrouded Heero's dreams and nightmares.
Where did Duo fit in? Why on earth had he ever drawn the brat?
Huffing, he took the book out and hugged it against his chest as though he could hide it from view, from touch, from Duo's eyes now.
He remembered well sitting on that bench in the park surrounding their last school, and Duo fooling around chasing the birds on the meadows. It had been just before term break, the warmth of the late afternoon carrying the honeyscent of summer. Duo, in his black jeans and top, braid swinging madly, had found it hilarious trying to catch the stupid things, really something only Duo could enjoy, as though he had slumped right back into childhood years, and finally he had collapsed next to the bench in the soft, high grass. Sprawled on his back, he was panting, laughing in this silly way of his, his eyes shining with the reflection of the sky and sun and...
Something else that made Heero gasp, even now, drop the book, draw up his knees and wrap his arms around them, linking his hands tightly. It could not be. It must not be true.
But he had begun to draw. Duo sleeping at first. He had snuck to his room, knowing Duo always left his door slightly ajar – some old fear of being trapped, he had mumbled when Heero had asked him one day, and then he had laughed it off as always. As everything he was afraid of.
Heero had crouched by the gap and peered along the shaft of sparse light that fell into the dark room, enough to allow him a glimpse of features softened by sleep, the smile wiped off the face that suddenly looked pinched, the mass of hair that draped round Duo's bony upper torso – bare and pale, all muscle and scars, Heero could not help but notice, and blushed wildly as he caught himself wondering whether Duo wore at least pyjama bottoms beneath the sheets.
Nonsense.
He stared at the black book, anger seething within him and something much hotter that he preferred not to acknowledge. He knew the book, page by treacherous page, and most of them were covered with images of HIM. From stalking Duo's sleep from a distance, Heero had proceeded to sneak into his room at night, breathless and shivering with excitement at the forbidden pleasure it brought him to capture the always fidgeting, ever-blabbering loudmouth on paper: silent, relaxed, wrapped into stillness and floods of copper.
He had soon found out that Duo slept naked, and the frailty of his wiry body – so deceptive, so revealing – touched Heero strangely. He hated being touched.
He hated Duo for touching him even though Duo did not know. Duo slept.
Heero drew. Observation turning into obsession. He did not need to look at Duo, they knew each other so well and yet so little, but he had seen him in so many ways – hurt, bleeding, torn, laughing, fighting, manic, and in a very few, very precious moments, he had caught him with a softness in his eyes and a sweetness to his smile that was more painful than anything Heero had known.
For it went effortlessly through all of his so carefully built defences.
Striking straight into his heart.
Duo was watching him in school. The baka probably thought he would not notice. Duo could be so naive, so very much like the small boy he was never allowed to be. Somehow Heero felt that was his own role, and why should Duo have gone through horrors of his own if Heero had already dealt with them? It was not fair. He hated useless sacrifices, yet still managed to begrudge Duo his lightheartedness, the way he dealt with everything so superficially. He should have grown up by now, but he never would.
Heero felt he had been brought up as someone Duo should never have been.
But then, Duo was not like him. He refused to succumb to gloom and brooding. Yes, this was most unfair. Heero was supposed to be the stronger one of them.
Reluctantly he unfolded one arm and reached for the book. Traced its spine while chewing his lips. Inserted one finger at random between the pages and hesitantly flipped it open.
Duo laughing, over his shoulder, eyes cheery, slightly silly, mouth open wide as though to swallow the whole world, mussed copper bangs falling into his face.
Heero remembered and scowled. He should not be so damn jolly. He needed help, protection, warmth, things Heero could give him... wanted to give... and was afraid of. If Duo got hurt, he knew he would hurt too. He hated hurt, vulnerability, weakness. He hated them in Duo for they made him such an easy prey. He had tried to tell him, in angry grunts and rants, putting him down for almost everything he did.
Nothing worked. Apart from putting this passing shade of sadness into Duo's eyes, he achieved nothing.
Heero thumbed through the pictures. Seeing Duo sad, or even serious, did him no good either. This discovery surprised – no, it shocked him. It made his heart falter, his breath hitch.
And he was stunned to find that he could not stop anymore. He tried to burn the book, setting fire to it with a lighter from Duo's jacket pocket, only to dab the flames out as soon as they licked over the edge that was now browned and brittle. It would have been akin to burning Duo.
So he kept drawing. In class, back in the flat they shared, outdoors, even at the Mission Control Centre. He could not help it. Duo thought he studied too hard and teased him about growing haggard and thin. Was he? He would look into the mirror later to scrutinise, something usually done only by Duo. Perfect Soldiers did not give a damn about their looks.
He turned a page, and there was Duo sitting astride on a low wall, legs dangling, hair down, hiding most of his face as he pleated the heavy strands. He appeared relaxed, tranquil for once, and completely unaware of his secret observer.
Heero gaped, his throat growing hot and dry. He shifted uncomfortably. How did Duo manage to ooze so much damn... sex doing his hair? The baka had no idea, really, and if even Heero could not help but feel, what about others? Someone needed to keep an eye on him. Heero puffed up his cheeks and let the air out in a slow, tense stream against his sweaty upper lip and brow. It was as good an excuse as any to stay close.
He still had to deliver a rant, he vaguely remembered, and a fresh wave of anger washed over him. He slapped the book shut and jumped up but realised he would have to take things rather steady or be betrayed by his own body. Furiously kicking the case back under the bed, he whirled around when he heard the door open.
From the gap, Duo stared at him, eyes wide with worry and defiance, lips drawn between his teeth, lanky frame hunched, coiled for flight or fight, whatever came first. So typical Duo. And then his gaze raked over Heero and a smile spread on his face.
"You-" Heero snarled, hands clenching, teeth bare, and began to stride towards the door.
"I've come to apologise," Duo said hastily, retreating a little as Heero ripped the door from him and flung it open. "Heero, I didn't – I had no fucking idea, and I'm sorry I tried to... look, I only wanted to pass this damn exam, not to embarrass you, and... and-"
Heero glared at him, letting his jittery barrage splutter past until Duo ran out of breath.
Duo gasped irritatedly. "Dontcha wanna say something?" Ah, a spark of resistance here, kindled by stony silence. This would always work; Duo could not stand silence. "Man, Heero, why didn't ya say you had your private stuff in there?"
"'Cos it would have been like inviting you idiot!"
Duo blinked, tense, the smile freezing a little and waning from his eyes. Heero felt his heart cramp. Oh, it hurt to see him cloud over like this, growing all wary and suspicious, and hell, it should not matter a fig.
"Hell, yeah," Duo said, retreating by another small step and half-turning away, "just keep it all to yourself, ne? Never mind what was, or what could be if you weren't so fucking stuck up your ass. Just stop using me as your pin-up, will you? Or I'll get ideas, like it could mean something."
"You're lucky I don't slap you around, baka."
"Don't call me that." Duo's voice suddenly softened, he still smiled, but he looked weary, and angry and very pissed off – as though he had been wronged. "Please. And you may slap me around 'cos this time, I think, I deserve it."
And hell would freeze over that very moment, because Duo the Wild Thing, Duo-touch-me-not squeezed his eyes closed and slightly turned his head, offering his cheek to Heero and drawing a deep breath in expectation of the blow.
Heero was helpless. Furious. Utterly unable to do as asked.
So he kissed instead. And growled, "I'll call you what I like, Maxwell."
Duo recoiled, eyes ablaze, cheeks flaming. "Piss off, Yuy."
Heero watched him storm off, rip his jacket off the peg by the door and clatter down the stairs. The outside door slammed shut with such violence that the windowpanes sighed a glassy complaint.
So this was wrong as well. He should have known. Duo had managed to defeat him. Disarmed him. Just how? He hated it.
Heero leaned against the wall and slowly touched his lips. Duo's taste still lingered there, a pungent mix of smoke, alcohol and spice. He drank way too much, and he was bad at it. He should be glad that it was out now, instead he had chosen to make a scene and run off. Heero pushed himself off the wall and gave it a hard kick.
This pain was easier to cope with than the other kind. Had he been so mistaken? Duo had been coming on to him a few times during their missions, and he had thought it was for battle comfort. So now what? Why was he acting in such a prissy way, precious about being drawn? Not even... without...
Heero groaned and pressed both hands between his thighs. If Duo thought he could determine the way this was going, he was so wrong. If he wanted to be prude now, Heero would wait, no matter what it would cost him. He had to win again.
So he made his way to his room, slumped on his bed and willed his breathing to slow. Forbade himself to touch, to dream, to wonder.
Heero emptied his mind. The Perfect Soldier could do this. He could deny, ignore, suppress the urges of his body and his heart.
And he finally fell asleep in the small hours of the next morning, the minute he heard Duo sneak back in.
xxx
On to chapter 2.