Adagio

By: Kyoryoku Nazo

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~content warning~
     !LIME!
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....

....

Ninety-eight..

Ninety-nine..

One hundred.

A slow grin spread across Duo's face right as the soft 'plink' of plastic on glass rang 
through the room. It was the first sound other than his voice, the rustle of hair and my own
breathing that I'd heard in about an hour. It was always an ordeal; combing his hair out 
after a mission. I love to watch him do it. There's something so sensual about the whole 
ritual, something personal and special that he doesn't want to share with anyone else. Never
has the phrase 'Watch the hair' been uttered so much in front of me as when that braided 
American graces me with his pressence. 

What is it about that boy? I mean, sure, Quatre has the whole innocent and friendly bit
going, so it can't be that that strikes me so much. The previously mentioned hair? Perhaps.
I never have seen a body feature quite like it before. Shimmering waves of mahogony that
cascade over his shoulders like sepia painting of a waterfall. Stunning. Absolutely 
stunning. 

Now he tosses it back over his shoulder, standing in front of the mirror, looking over 
his accomplishment and basking in his own glory like the god he is. He'd taken his shirt off
before he began, perhaps so that the fabric wouldn't interfere with his minstrations. I can
understand that notion. However, the process has left tiny pink scratch marks on his chest, 
most likely from brushing right against his wiery frame, rather than holding the hair off to
the side. It's all I can do to refrain myself from jumping through the window and kissing 
the tiny ailment myself, in some despret attempt to save his life from any more suffering, 
even on the smallest scale. 

But that's not the only reason I would take any exscuse to put anything of mine on anything
of his. Oh, I would be lying to myself if I even mentally remarked that my interests in 
Duo were purely plutonic and strictly professional. Hah. It's all I can do to keep from
shivering whenever I see him enter the room. And of course, that's all I could possibly 
bring myself to do. Shiver. I won't even allow myself to smile at the statue of perfection
himself. Therfor, it can only be assumed that he is utterly clueless as to my feelings for
him.

Hell, I'm not even sure if I know what those feelings are. Lust? Certainly. Why not. I've
spent far too many nights alone in the dark, with only my own hand and erotic mental images
that I would never dare to see through to try and convince myself that I'm not attracted
to him. And yet, even after I subdue my urges for one more evening, the fantasy lives on in
my mind, painting out for me what his eyes would look like in the scant moonlight after
we'd both reached our climax. I imagine how his soft breath would feel against my skin as
he slept, his breathing slow and steady. I imagine awakening to find him stirring slightly,
and reaching my arms out to hold him; comfort him from whatever nightmare he might be
experiancing.

So love then? Who knows. I've never known love before in my life, and I'll be damned if I'm
going to blow my friendship with him on taking the chance to see if that's what's been
racing through my entire body, from my brain down to all regions below. I sigh and lean
foward against the glass of his window. But perhaps too suddenly, for right as I do, his
head jerks up. His eyes narrow slightly, and his stance turns defensive and almost paranoid.
Oh well. I've had enough voyeruism for one night anyway.

Ever so slowly, I dislodge myself from the tree branch that has grown against the wall of
the current safehouse in a way that might make one think the building had once been used to
film a bad love movie. In fact, as I climb down the trunk, I'm almost certainly convinced
that I'm IN in bad love movie. Oh, I can see it now. The poor, unloved solider falls for his
happy-go-lucky partner in espianoge, only to finally rediscover his long-neglected heart.

Yeah right.

Sounds like a badly drawn yaoi doujinshi at best. And a badly written yaoi fanfic at worst.

No, it can't just be his hair that intrigues me to no end. That is simply one of the many
physical features which enthrall me. Not to mention all the non-physical ones. But while I'm
on the subject, I'm rather interested to actually pause in my life and take the time to
create a mental list on all the tiny minute details of Shinigami's body that catch my eyes.
Well, first of all, there's HIS eyes. Beautiful, lush, vibrant shards of amethyst that would
put a master jewler to shame in their faceted glory. Eyes that shine every aspect of his
emotions simply by moving as one with the rest of his facial features. By now, of course,
I've guessed that he's hiding some sort of deeply rooted pain beneath his almost psychotic
exterior. But then, his interpretation of joy is more pure and uninhibited than any other
human being's rendition of the emotion that I've ever seen. I guess what I'm trying to say
is that if everyone could only be half as content with their life as when he pretends to
be, maybe we wouldn't be in this damn war right now.

That's irony for you. In fact, his whole 'I'm-a-walking-contradiction' persona must be a
major aspect of why I've developed this infatuation. Now there's a word. Infatuation. I
wonder if that's all it is. Something trivial and passing that means nothing in the grand
scheme of life. Someone who, if your life was a movie, would be listed in the end credits
as 'Crush #5'. Part of me hopes that it is in fact, an infatuation. Lord only knows that I
need this one more distraction to detere me from my missions. Do you have any idea how hard
it is to think clearly in a combat situation when his voice comes over the com system and 
all I can do is imagine what that voice must sound like panting beneathe me? 

God, it's not easy. Or let's try when the current safehouse only has limited sleeping space
and I have no choice but to share a bed with him. Of course, I could always sleep on the
floor, but I ruled that choice out for more than one reason. First of all, one can't expect
to perform up to par on the battlefield when they've spent the previous night not only
dwelling on the upcoming mission, but getting practically no rest due to the fact that they
attempted slumber on cold and unforgiving planks of wood. The second reason being that if I
put up that much of an argument to avoid sleeping next to him, when I don't really seem to
blink twice at the idea when it comes up with another pilot, he might suspect that 
something's going on. That I don't trust either myself or him, and that no matter which one
it is, I'm uncomfortable sleeping next to him. No, I don't need that. What makes it worse
is that I have to deny my body the lonely and pathetic release that it has become accustomed
to whenever a certain braided idiot enters my thoughts.

Damn him. Damn him and his perfection. Before my mental cursing could escalate any further
however, I've reached my own window, left open, and commence crawling back inside...

...to find him.

Waiting there.

Looking at the window with an unreadable expression on his face.

Shit.

"What do you want?" I ask tonelessly, hoisting myself inside and calmly shutting the window
behind me. Unconsciously, I find myself smoothing out the creases in my shirt, cracking
my neck and picking up pieces of garbage that have managed to escape from the small and
overflowing trash bin by my desk. Anything to avoid looking at him. What DOES he want? Why
is he here? Could he have seen me? Did he know I was watching him? Oh God...

"Ah come on man," he chides, his face returning to it's default grin, but perhaps with just
too much of a pause in between my question and his response. So I was right. It is all an
act. Whatever he wants isn't casual conversation, and I'd hoped he'd have a higher opinion
of my attention to detail to notice when he's lying. Or maybe, he wanted me to catch that.
Despite common belief, our own personal God of Death is not as brain-dead as one might 
assume. That handsome bastard just might be playing mind games with me. At this point, he
had sauntered across the room and proceeded to drape an arm across my shoulder, using his
other hand to grab my chin and pull his face so that it faced his. "Don't act so formal
around me. Would it kill a friggin' tree to smile once in a while?"

Oh God, I almost passed out from the feeling of his skin against mind alone. Let's not 
forget that in the next split second he spoke close enough my ear that I could feel his
breath on my neck. I grit my teeth. He must think it's to keep from snapping at him, or
because I'm losing my patience. If thing's go my way, he'll never ever know that it's to
restrain my body from ravashing him on the spot. With a will from inside me that only the
type of training I've been subjected to could muster, I set my mouth into a firm scowl and
lift his hand off my shoulder at the same time I jerk my head away. Without another word I
pull the chair out from under my computer desk and begin typing away. "Baka." I mutter
under my breath.

I was talking to myself of course, but damned if I was going to let him in on that fact.

He sighs and trudges over to the small single bed that I've pushed up against the farthest
corner from the door. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him lay down, resting his head
on the lone pillow provided for us when we received the safehouse. I turn away. It was just
the previous night when I'd dreamed of him there, laying on his side and facing me, his soft
eyes catching the moonlight before we would fall asleep together. Does he know? No. How 
could he. They all say that I'm the angel. They're wrong. It's him. It's always been him.

Pretending to ignore him, I sit down at my desk and start typing away. Mission reports are 
a beautiful thing. They've become my trademark and I'm expected to throw myself into them 
at a moments notice. So of course, Duo would assume that I've stopped paying attention to
him, and maybe, just maybe, if there is a God, he'll leave and let me be miserable in peace.

"Ne, Hee-chan? Whatcha doin?"

There is no God.

"Reports. Go away," I reply with as little emotion in my voice as possible.

"What kind of reports?" I can hear the bed springs creak, signifying that he's getting up.
Great. Just great. 

"Mission reports, baka." Starring straight foward now, I focus on breathing and typing. The
damn thing's in code anyways, so he doesn't know that I'm just pushing keys.

"But we've haven't done the mission yet, so why do ya need to send stuff in?" he drapes his
arm around my shoulder and I push it off. 

"Go away," I reply acidly, jerking my shoulder away from his provacative touch. Damn him,
damn him, damn him, damn him....

"Is there anything I can do?" he leers closer, pressing his lips against my ear. Biting my
lip, I swat at his head and shove him back.

"No. Leave."

"But Heero..."

"LEAVE!" I turn and stare him square in the eyes, raising my voice a little higher than I 
actually meant to. 

And then it happened. 

The final piece of confirmation I'd been looking for to say that beneath Duo's cheerful
expression, dark and hurtful emotions were pulling at his soul. For one half of a second, 
his eyes widened and his lips parted in a silent "but" before his stepped back a few feet
and ran out of the room.

My own eyes widened in shock, seeing my friend and partner hurt so badly. Hurt by me. I 
don't deserve to claim to be his friend, much less his partner. He just wanted somebody to
talk to. Hell, he's probably scared out of his mind about tomorrow's mission. I know I am.
And what do I do? I yell at him, of course. 

Standing up from my humble chair in front of the laptop, I commence to pacing to tiny room,
trying to descide my next move. Is there even a next move? I've certainly never gone out of
my way to make ammends with him before. But then, he'd never looked at me with those pain-
filled eyes before either. Surrendering to apathy, I find myself leaning against the wall
opposite of the bed and slowing sliding down it's surface until I'm sitting on the bare 
floor, one hand braced on the cold plaster. Soft sounds are coming from the room next to
mine, and it takes a moment for me to descide that it must be Duo...crying. Lord God, what 
have I done? 

I start to stand up, but before I even balance myself, the rasp of human voice turns from
sorrow to something else entirely. My eyes widen. Slowly, bracing myself carefully, I sit
down against the wall again, pressing my ear on it's surface. A second sigh. Now there is 
no doubt in my mind what actions are taking place in the next room.

Duo is finding release in the same, self-hating way that I always have.

Oh God.

"Oh God," I hear in a low moan from beyond the wall, echoing my last thought. With every
intake of breath, his voice hits a higher octave, sending chills down my spine. I'd never
known that the sound of someone breathing could be so...erotic. Squinting my eyes and 
fighting every nerve in my body that demands I follow his lead, I lean closer against the
barrier that seperates us. What is he thinking about? What could have brought it on? Is he
so driven by his emotions that any sort of imbalance turns him on? But more importantly, 
what is he thinking about??

"Yes..." he murmurs with a sharp intake of breath at the end of the word, suggesting he just
took some means of action to intensify the situation. I can only imagine what he must look
like right now; laying across his bed with his shirt open and his chest exposed. Maybe he's
tracing his fingers from his lips to his abdomen, trailing feather-soft caresses all the 
way down. I see him, in my mind, teasingly pulling at the button on his pants, torturing
himself in the process with his slowness. And then maybe he reaches down further, 
underneathe the restraining fabrics...

My head jerks up quickly, shaking myself out of the fantasy. Tiny beads of sweat line my
forehead and I discover that all of my muscles have gone tense. Whatever Duo IS doing in
there, it sure has managed to get ME into it. 

"Ahh!" he cries out, followed by a slight creak of springs, suggesting that he's arching his
back toward whatever invisable lover he's conjured up. My body responds with shivers running
from the center of my pleasures to the tips of my fingers and toes. By will of it's own,
my hand slides down the cotton fabric of my shirt, lighting my nerves on fire as they
cascade down. The oversensative skin shudders at my touch, elicting a sharp intake of breath
on my part. I musn't make an incriminating sounds, though. I can't risk breaking the spell
that Duo has cast over my by distracting him with my own harsh breathing.

Do I dare follow him? My body screams an affirmative against all of my discipline and 
training. Tentatively, I trail my fingertips over the unforgiving spandex of my shorts.
Why do I wear spandex? Why? It hardly matters now since in a matter of seconds, I WON'T be
wearing spandex. With a swift pull, the article of clothing goes flying across the room to
join my shirt on the bed. So here I am, completly naked and curled up against a wall on the 
floor, listening to Duo get himself off at the same time that I do. I don't dare pry my
hearing away from his minstrations. There's still that pathetic hope inside me that whatever
translucent partner that is hovered above Shinigami might bear resemblence to me. If he
were to mention my name on one of those heart-wrenching moans...

Another cry on his part is almost seconded by my own lips. Biting down hard enough to draw
blood, I clamp my jaw down, surpressing the urge to express my pleasures with the same
decibles that he obviously dares to. Maybe he wants me to hear him. Maybe he's doing it all
on purpose. And maybe tomorrow everyone will just throw down their guns, stop fighting and
live happily ever after. No, unfortunately, life doesn't work that way.

Without warning, Duo calls out his final exclamation of ecstasy. My eyes widen and a rush of
adrenaline pours through my system, half bliding me for a moment. And then...

Silence.

There is a soft click, undoubtably of the lamp in his room, and after a few more minutes, 
only the steady sounds of breathing can be heard. And yet my own urges are far from
satisfied. But...for some strange reason I don't even want to finish what I started. 
Whatever power was being held over me vanished with Duo's climax and I find myself alone in
a barely lit room, wearing nothing and huddle in a corner. Reality sets in. I'm alone. And
I'm an idiot. And if anyone walked in right now, I'd be too mortified to go on living.

Standing slowly, I make my way back to the bed and pull on my clothes. The physical proof
that my lust has not been satisfied still remains, though my mental state is hardly in the
mood. Crawling under the covers after switching off my own bedside light, I can't help but
dwell on the events that just occured. What if Duo had intended for me to follow him into
his room? What if what he was experiancing took place with me in mind? And...

What if during tomorrow's mission, one of us dies.

I'll never know. I don't know if what just took place could be called my only chance, but
I obviously didn't take it, whatever it was. And now it's too late. Now he's asleep, I 
should be, and there's a dangerous mission looming over our heads.

I above all the others should recognize the need for a good night's sleep. So I close my
eyes and force myself into slumber.

Right before unconscieness takes me away, I could have sworn that I saw a pair of sad, 
violet eyes watching me from the doorway. I probably just imagined it. But then, there was
the sound of my door closing and, farther away, the similar clicking of another, perhaps the
room next to mine. It doesn't matter. Tomorrow we go off to battle. If I survive another
day, I'll only be alive to live for the next. Maybe once this is all over, I'll be able to
stop and concern myself with imaginings of beautiful co-pilots and mysteriously closing 
doors. Until then, I live in this constant adagio; the sad and the slow.

~End~

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GUNDAM WING AND IT'S CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS
ALL ORIGINAL FICTION CONSIDERED PROPERTY OF KYORYOKU NAZO
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