Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Gundam Wing.

Warnings: Shounen ai (1+2, 3+4), it's weird-- I'm not fucking kidding about how weird this one is.

"Maxwell! Come here."

Duo Maxwell unconsciously began to gnaw on his lower lip, glancing into the oddly decorated room, of the resident Kung-Fu movie star, Chang Wufei. His was a uncomforting and slightly superiour presence. But then again, working as a professional Kung-Fu fighter in Hollywood, will do that to you, ne?

Faultering for signs of acknowledgment to asscend, before the Chinese man began to yell, Duo held himself from whimpering. He decided he would use the Trowa method.

"..."

"Maxwell, enter--NOW!" The voice boomed from within the partially opened door.

The Heero method?

"Hn."

"Approach me, cowardly weakling!" Came the voice again.

"Gods, Wufei! What do you need now?" Huffing, irritantly, Duo pulled the door from it's hinges, tossing it into the hallway, to let himself in.

'Always have to show off, huh?' Wufei scowled as the American entered with a most terribly fraud smile plastered upon pale lips. "That's the third time this week, Maxwell, I will have no more of it. You may approach me now."

"Well, it is only Wednesday..." Duo answered.

The braided boy rolled his eyes and jovially began to saunter towards the eminantly large throne, recently constructed upon the eastern wall of the room. It was a lavish asset, in it's golden splendor, to the crimson silk tapestries lining the walls of the room. Wufei had ordered his fellow pilots to construct it for him after his Kung-Fu star debut in the movie "Ducking Man, Flying Pigeon". Unbeknownst to 'Fei, though, they had constructed it of cardboard and spray paint. The tapestries... God knows where he got those. Those and that crown he was wearing. And the sceptre. And the emmaculate robes.

"Kisama! Maxwell, what do you think you're doing!?" The Chinese man stood, his face the colour of ripe tomatoes, and steam spouting from his ears. Any moment now, the clock on the wall would strike four o'clock and it would be time to empty the hot tea from his cerebellum (we always knew he in-took an unearthly ammount of the stuff), thus cutting off the steaming-ear factor.

Unbeknownst to both of those in the room, the clock was at five past four, an the tea bags were making Wufei's brain bitter. Of course, niether of the two room occupants knew of this for the following reasons:

1) The wall was covered in 'Fei's blasted silk tapestries.

2) Why in hell would 'Fei know what was going on inside of his head?

Feeling a bit sour from some unknown cerebral disorder ('Probably just a migrane from this baka's insolence,' thought he) Wufei stood, narrowing his eyes at the being before him, who had stopped his approach. "You have been told, surely, that all ye whom might wish an approach to me, must crawl on hands, feet, and belly, whilst carrying thy shoes upon back." He pointed to the floor, looking towards Duo in a manner most disdainful.

"Well, I don't 'wish' to approach, so I'll just be leaving." He winked, giving a cheeky grin and began his journey out of the door. "Later, Wu-man."

"Halt!" The braided boy froze, hearing the voice of Wufei behind him, "I gave you no option, weakling-whom-wears-his-hair-like-a-weak-onna! Approach me now!"

Duo turned, whimpering slightly. "But Heero makes me leave my shoes at the door when I come in!"

Now even more enraged, Wufei began to-- Oh! Nevermind. Instead, Quatre, Trowa, and Heero headed in, the first carrying a tea tray with light pastries and other tea hour esscentials, the second carried a towel and toolbox, and the last carried a .44 upon a cusion of red-velvet.

"Oh, I do hope it's not to bitter! This could absolutely ruin afternoon tea, if we are too late." Quatre set the tray down upon a table near the wall. He turned green seeing the handcuffs dangling from his wrist ('Uh oh... Eh heh. I guess I forgot about those...'), then nearly fainted upon realising the whip was still draped about his neck, driven through the hook on the back of his dog collar ('Dammit, Trowa! We are never again getting kinky right before afternoon tea! There's simply not enough time to change!' he sighed). "Er... Trowa, you may unscrew his crown now." He began trying to conceal the whip beneah his vest.

"HOLY SHIT, Q-MAN! THERE'S A SNAKE AROUND YOUR--" Duo's eyes were wide and fearful. "IT'S GONNA EAT YOU! NOOOO--"

A shot rang out.

Everyone, and a very frightened Quatre turned to face Heero, whose barrel now sent a small translucent coil of smoke into the air. "...Someone said snake." He put the gun down.

Quatre quickly felt his neck again, to make sure he was still alive, realising that it was only the hook and whip that had been shot off of the collar. He would live. 'Dammit, Yuy! You're buying me a new collar AND whip!' He growled.

Wufei could hardly sea anything through the thick steam clouding around his head from his ears. He did, however see the bullet hole. "YUY! YOU MADE A HOLE IN MY TAPESTRY! KISAMA! YOU DISHONOUR YOUR FAMILY--"

He had no time to finish, for Trowa had opened his tool box, removed a screw- driver, and was now unscrewing the top of Wufei's head.

"What do you think you're doing, Barton!?" The Chinese man swatted at the offending tools trying the open his skull. Though he was suddenly powerless. He felt himself being tipped forward and all of his brain-liquid drained into a teapot. They then tilted him upright again, removing the teabags as the steam came to a stop and vanished. "Aa... That felt good..." He slurred.

Trowa then a lit a joint and stuck it in his mouth, whilst he replaced the tea-bags for evening tea, and screwed the crown and top of Wufei's head back on. "For being a good sport." Said the silent one.

Duo was horrified, "QUATRE! You mean to tell me, that's where you get our tea?!" He wrinkled his nose, appaulled, "Eww..." He glanced at his stoic lover, "You knew about this?"

Heero was not paying attention, he simply took a sip from his cup and let his eyes roll back a bit in steamy pleasure, that not even Duo would know how to create in him, and simply muttered two words, licking his moist and most sensually heated lips, "Mmmm..." He groaned, a deep and steamy rumble from his throat, "Brain juice..."

"Duo, would you like milk or lemon with your afternoon tea?" Quatre offered, interrupting his current state of drooling over the stoic Japanese pilot.

"Er... I like my tea bare." He paused and then added, "And made with real boiling water inside of the kettle."

The blond groaned before heading off into the kitchen muttering promises of murder, murder most fowl upon those picky enough not to drink his brain- tea.

Meanwhile, on his throne, Wufei was on the brink of seeing stars. There were already leprechains dancing about his perch and he was simply dying for a mallet to smash them with. He frowned in that they all seemed to resemble the braided baka that was currently drooling on his floor.

"Maxwell!" He took a puff, "I'm not done with you yet--K'so! Where are they coming from!?" He began swatting at the dancing Irish-folk. He turned back to Duo, "Approach me!"

The American looked over, "For the last time, 'Fei, NO!"

"APPROACH. ME. NOW. Someone has to fluff this pillow while I'm still wearing this cast!" His face was controted in anger.

"Argh! No!" He turned to Heero who was about to toss his cup into the air and watch it shatter when he shot it with his gun. "Hey, Hee--"

Quatre leapt in through the open door way, "HA! The film company for your Kung-Fu movie went bankrupt! You're not gonna be famous!

"Tch!" Heero took the moment to role his eyes, "He broke his leg during auditions. He never even got into the movie; I would have thought you guys would have figured that out by now." His tone was blank and matter-of- factly. He polished on his gun.

Everyone stared open-mouth at Heero, and Wufei fumed. In a fury, Trowa and his Arabian lover left the room, as Duo began to scream. "I've been dealing with this for THREE WEEKS! So, NOW, I find out that we're all being tricked!? AHHHH!!"

Never the less to say, Duo Maxwell was mad.

Heero, glaring at his braided lover, finally removed his fingers from his ears, after a moment or two of silence.

Wufei was beginning to sniffle uncharacteristically.

Darting across the room to toss the box of kleenex into the hallway, Duo smiled devilishly, and approached Heero. He pulled himself up, suddenly, wrapping his legs fiercely tight around Heero's torso, and holding himself up, he began to lick at his lover's smoothly tanned skin, playfully kissing and sucking a trail lower and lower on the Japanese pilot's neck.

The gun fell to the floor, clattering against the tiles as a moan even more delicious than that he had experienced with Wufei's brain juice arose within his throat. Against his neck, the American's lips curkled into a smirk, as he pulled himself up to glance at the almighty Kung-Fu King.

As suspected, 'Fei was whimpering and trying to stop the blood from flowing out of his nose. And it was gushing out most fiercly over his white-satin suit. "ARGH! MAXWELL!!!"

Duo's smirk only increased, as he turned to Wufei, "Bleed, baby! Bleed!"

Notes

None.