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Rec Summary: Short but cute. Heero and Duo are in a school, and Heero is narrating his observations of Duo’s tendency to destroy pen caps. He gets a bit more than he bargains for, however, when Duo notices his perusal.

Author’s Note: Why I wrote this, I do not know.
—

I am done with the worksheet packet Mr. Hof gave us five minutes ago. I use black ink pen, and make no mistakes. Duo hasn’t started yet. He is making little sqiggles on the back of his worksheets, liking the fresh paper, turning lines and swirls of ink into little pictures of houses and dogs and things like that. As he realizes I’m looking at him, he gazes at me out of the corner of one eye. Then he draws a stick figure with wild, palm-tree-like hair and a stick-gun, saying in little capital letters, *Omae o korosu.*

I glare at him. He just laughs noiselessly, and eases the tip of his pen cap between his lips. He’s always doing stuff like that - looking at me with a smile, chewing on something. His pretty white teeth cut into the cheap plastic cap of the pen, and he decorates the entire cap with designs made of bite-marks. I try not to stare, but when he does weird things like that, it’s difficult not to.

When Duo begins to draw again, his pen cap is mangled. He squiggles some more before catching sight of the clean, new pen resting in my pencil tray.

He leans over ever so slightly, his hair brushing me, and whispers, “You gonna eat that?”

He points to my pen with his chewed-up pen. I scowl at him. There’s no way I’m letting that baka chew up my pen cap.

“That a yes or a no?”

I can’t say no. He’ll snatch it up before I can stop him and before I know it, my pen cap will be worried in his teeth, dented and wet from his tongue. So I pick it up and say with as much dignity as possible,

“Yes.”

And as much as it pains me, I stick the pen cap between my teeth, frowning at him triumphantly. He arches his eyebrows, staring at me in surprise. I squish the cheap plastic between my teeth and flatten it in five seconds, then lick it for good measure, then place it, deformed and slimy, back into the pencil tray. My teeth feel pressured, and it doesn’t feel half bad.

The expression, bewildered and intrigued, on Duo’s face, makes the gory death of my pen cap worth it. I think I’ve won, then Duo suddenly reaches into his desk, gets a new pen out, and places it in front of me. I simply stare at it, then up at him with a pointed glower. He gets out yet another one, and begins to chew on it thoughtfully, staring at me and daring me to demolish the one he placed in front of me.

I can see the plastic being wounded between his teeth, his tongue swirling around the very tip of the cap. He’s a pro at this. Casually, I pick up the cheap pen and take the cap off with my teeth, switch the ends around, and stick it on the end of the pen before proceeding to grate my teeth on the plastic. Duo is incredibly interested - he watches me fixedly. I study him, too, as he displays his methods of pen cap destruction. It is a lot like how he goes after enemies - flair and ruthless efficiency tied up neatly into a flashy package, sealed with a kiss of death. His teeth create designs. Mine simply smash.

We stare at each other at work. I concentrate on bending mine into a different shape, while Duo is making a pattern of bite marks which resemble plaid. The plastic is weak and chewy now. Ninmu kanryou. I gnaw on it while I stare at Duo carefully doing his artful annihilating. A few more moments of manipulation and careful indentation, and he is done. It is plaid.

“Fun, ne?” he asks in a warm whisper. I am completely captivated. He cocks his head and rests his chin in his hand, leaning close to me. He taps his mangled pen cap on the desk a couple of times. “Know what else is good to nibble on?”

No, I don’t know. Tell me. I ask him with my eyes.

He wiggles a finger. *Come here. Closer.*

I lean in - our foreheads are almost touching. We must look as if we’re sharing our math answers. His hot breath fills my ear and makes me shivery. Instead of a voice caressing my ear, it’s something moist, and warm, tracing the rim of my ear, then gentle teeth scrape over my earlobe. I visibly tremble, and Duo abruptly sits back. I am shaken. I have never felt like that before…

Duo reaches into his desk again and pulls out another new pen from a package of fifteen cheap black ink pens. Its cap is fresh and untouched by his - our… our touch of destruction. He hands one to me, and retrieves one for himself. And again, we chew at them fixedly, and I think, next time, it will be my turn - to nibble on Duo’s ear.

Owari

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Summary: After a long day of nothing but mishaps, Quatre comes home to Trowa’s care.

Notes: Written for Merith’s Showering!Quatre challenge on livejournal. Beta’d by my lovely three musketeers, pond, blue soaring and windsor blue. *smooches* I monkied with this after they beta’d, so if there’s something messed up, it’s totally my fault.
Archive: Ask first, please.
Disclaimer: Don’t own, not making any cash off of.

__________________________________________

Quatre limped down the hallway to his suite, smiling ruefully. He’d certainly had better days. He ached in a dozen different places, and he was fairly certain by the stiffness of his clothing that he’d bled in a few of those achy spots. He wanted a hot shower, a nice meal, his bed, and for the entire wretched day to be done and over with.

Reaching his door at last, he dug into his pocket for his keycard and came up short. It was gone. He could have sworn he’d put it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket when he’d left this morning. Muttering to himself and patting down the rest of his pockets, Quatre swore under his breath. Nothing. Sliding his wallet out of his back pocket and huffing in annoyance, bangs blowing away from his eyes, he rifled through the compartments. Credit cards, local currency, Duo’s new phone number… but no keycard. He was locked out of his room. Quatre closed his eyes and leaned against the wall in defeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A dull thud startled Trowa out of his doze and jerked him upright on the couch, eyes wide and body tensed. At the second thud he relaxed, recognizing the source as someone at the door to the suite. Swinging his legs off the couch, he rose and padded across the room on bare feet, pulling the door open just as a third thud vibrated through the wood.

Quatre’s weight against the door pulled it from Trowa’s hand, and Quatre fell into Trowa with a startled yelp. The two tumbled to the floor in a tangle of arms, legs, and surprised curses.

Sprawled on his back and staring bemusedly at the ceiling, Quatre’s weight draped heavily over him, Trowa shifted his hips a bit. Quatre didn’t move.

“Hey,” Trowa said quietly. There was no answer, save for a blond head burrowing its way between his neck and shoulder. Concerned, he curled an arm around Quatre’s waist and gave a light squeeze. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“I refuse to move until the rest of this god-forsaken day is over with.” Quatre muffled the response against Trowa’s neck, trying not to sound as tired and grumpy as he felt.

Amused, Trowa shifted his gaze from the ceiling to the blond hair just visible out of the corner of his eye. “That kind of day, was it? I wasn’t expecting you back for a while yet.” He brought his other hand to Quatre’s hip, rubbing soothingly up and down his side.

With a hiss, Quatre jerked away from the touch, his elbow catching Trowa in the ribs as he rolled onto the floor. Sitting up and gritting his teeth at the throb in his side, he looked apologetically at Trowa, now curled around his own bruised ribs. Apparently, his bad luck had followed him home.

“What was that all about?” Trowa asked, his voice pained. Uncurling carefully and sitting up as well, he wiped away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. Rubbing at his abused ribs, he looked in concern where Quatre was gingerly holding his own side.

“I’m sorry -” Quatre broke off as Trowa rose slowly to his feet, shaking his head. “I think I’m cursed today,” he continued once Trowa was upright. “Everything I’ve touched or gone near has gone to hell in a handbasket.”

“This would be why you were trying to break the door open with your head?” Trowa asked dryly, offering Quatre his hand.

Quatre let Trowa tug him to his feet, his wince as he stood obvious only because Trowa had been watching for it. “No, that would be because I appear to have lost my keycard. Knocking myself unconscious seemed like a good way to end my day.” He moved over to the dining table, emptying his pockets onto it before carefully shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it over a chair.

Watching Quatre through narrowed eyes, Trowa stepped forward, stopping abruptly as Quatre swung around. The back of his dress shirt was streaked with what looked like dried blood down the right side.

“Your shirt is a mess. What happened?” Gentle fingers bumped Quatre’s hands out of the way, pulling his shirttail from his slacks and loosening his tie before tackling the buttons down the front.

Quatre grimaced. “I’m not surprised, I think my hip and leg are scraped up as well.” He unbuttoned one cuff, making a face as his fingers brushed a few more abrasions he hadn’t noticed. “And my arm. At least I didn’t break my watch.” Removing the gundanium timepiece, he placed it with the things he had removed from his pockets.

“And you were offended when I bought you an indestructible watch,” Trowa snorted. Finishing with the buttons, he waited until Quatre opened the second cuff, pushing the shirt carefully off of Quatre’s muscled shoulders and catching it as the fabric slipped down and off his arms.

He let out a low whistle, fingers ghosting over the large bruise blossoming along Quatre’s side from the top of his ribs to his waist. Trowa’s hand hesitated, and he looked questioningly at Quatre.

“The stairs,” Quatre sighed, moving away from the soft touch and walking stiffly towards the bedroom, his fingers fumbling with the buckle on his belt.

“The stairs?” Trowa followed, eyes sharp, watching Quatre closely for signs of more serious injuries.

“We went to Montmatre for lunch,” he answered, pushing open the bedroom door and tugging on his slacks. “Heero showed up with Relena, and she wanted to take him to Place du Tertre for a sketch.”

“Ah,” Trowa nodded, once more nudging Quatre’s hands away. Peeling the fabric carefully over Quatre’s hips and giving him a gentle push towards the bed, he waited until Quatre sat before crouching and sliding the pants lower. “They’ve been petitioning the city to repair those steps for years; they’re an accident waiting to happen.”

“They got tired of waiting, apparently.” Quatre toed off his shoes, pushing them to the side with his feet as Trowa pulled off his slacks, then his socks. “We’re lucky we didn’t break our necks.” He leaned forward to peer at his leg, tie hanging down to tickle the fine blond hair on his thigh. “I thought so.” His voice was resigned. “It felt like my pants were sticking to me.” His leg was scraped raw and smeared with dried blood.

“You did a job of it, all right.” Trowa pulled up the leg of Quatre’s boxers, eyes tracking the abrasions upwards. “It looks like you got your entire right side. You must have fallen quite a ways.”

Leaning carefully backwards to lie on the bed, mindful of his back, Quatre grunted. “About half way down, the stone just crumbled right out from under our feet.” He lifted his uninjured leg up, planting his foot on the bed and raising his hips enough to slide his boxers off, kicking them away and dropping his foot back to the floor, then throwing his unmarked arm over his eyes.

Standing, Trowa reached over his shoulder to grasp his shirt, pulling it off and dropping it to the floor with Quatre’s clothing. “Heero and Relena are alright?” He tossed his head, his hair settling back into place.

“They’re fine. They were far enough over that they could grab the railing. Graham was with us, he wasn’t as lucky. He’ll be spending the summer with his arm in a cast.” Quatre grinned for the first time since arriving home. “He’s not very happy, to say the least.”

Trowa’s grin was a toothy reflection of Quatre’s own. “I’d imagine he isn’t; the good Senator’s temper is hair-trigger on the best of days. The city has no idea what it’s in for now.” Leaning over Quatre, he wrapped his fingers around the tie curled on Quatre’s bare chest and tugged. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up before you really stiffen up.”

Allowing Trowa to pull him upright, Quatre carefully rose from the bed, following Trowa into the bath before a thought stopped him. “Why are you home? I thought you were going back to the Louvre today.”

Trowa felt around for the first aid kit on the top shelf of the linen closet, already low-slung jeans slipping further down his narrow hips. He shook his head as his fingers found the kit. “Duo called shortly after you left. By the time I got off the phone, I really didn’t feel like going out. We’re going to be here for a while, I figured one day of lazing around wouldn’t hurt.”

“You fell asleep on the couch is what you’re saying.” Coaxing Trowa aside with a hand to the small of his back, Quatre pulled out some towels and washcloths.

Trowa’s brow arched. “I was resting my eyes.”

Quatre shot him a look of amused disbelief.

“I fell asleep on the couch,” Trowa grinned sheepishly, turning towards the vanity. Quatre strode across the room to the shower and Trowa paused, appreciating the grace he managed to retain. The tie sans clothing was rather nice, too, the narrow piece of grey silk dangling forward as Quatre reached for the water controls. He laughed and carried the kit to the counter.

“Laughing at the injured isn’t nice, you know.” Quatre appeared at his elbow and opened the kit, digging through it for antiseptic and swabs.

Watching Quatre in the mirror, Trowa shook his head, smiling. “I wasn’t laughing at you.” At Quatre’s questioning look, he continued. “I just found it amusing that despite the fact that you’re a walking road rash, I still can’t help but admire what I see.”

Quatre’s gaze went to his own reflection, eyes tracing over his damaged skin, his lips twitching. Raising his eyes, he met Trowa’s in the mirror. “Road rash turns you on, does it?” he asked in amusement.

Trowa’s lips quirked in return. “I can’t say that it does, but I have to admit the tie-only ensemble is working for me.” Stepping behind Quatre and slipping an arm around his chest, he ran his palm down the length of the tie, leaving his hand flat against Quatre’s abdomen.

Quatre’s hand covered Trowa’s, and they remained there for a long moment, eyes smiling at each other in the mirror. Finally breaking the gaze, Trowa dipped his head to press soft lips to Quatre’s neck. “Come on, gimpy, into the shower,” he said, words muffled but still amused. He reached up and tugged the tie loose from its knot, letting the piece of cloth slither from Quatre’s neck to the floor.

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Rec Summary: This was just…sweet. Heero’s monologue on Duo, how other people view Duo, and how people view him in comparison to Duo. He’s a bit sulky, which some people may find OOC, but he is a 15 year old boy - he’s allowed a bad day every now and then.

. . .

That obnoxious yankee is staring at me again.

He shouldn’t be concentrating on me.

He should be concentrating on class.

If he asks me for my notes so he can copy them later, I am going to be royally pissed off at him. I turn my head very slowly to see if I can catch him in the act, and sure enough, his head quickly turns and his eyes zip to the chalkboard at the front of the classroom.

I can almost feel the growl of annoyance forming in my throat as I feel his eyes flick back towards me. Watching me. Like he always does. I sneer and turn my head, and this time he is obviously so distracted that he doesn’t notice me shift my attention to him.

He looks startled, and slightly scared.

I’m glad.

He sighs quietly, studying my face, and willingly turns back to the front of the class. I watch him until he takes out his notebook and begins writing. From my position, I can’t be too sure that he isn’t just drawing and wasting paper, and I’m a little anoyed to say that I wouldn’t be surprised at all if I looked into his notebook later and saw stick figures and clouds.

Damn yankee.

I turn back to the front of the class and notice that the teacher has carelessly moved on with the notes, erasing the one’s on the board. I grimace and I realize that yet again that idiot made me miss class notes.

That bastard is always causing me trouble.

Half an hour passes, the bell rings and I stand up, knowing what will happen in a few seconds. An arm wraps around my shoulder and I level a glare at him; He smiles.

“Soo, now that class is over..what do you want to do?”

I wish he would go away, that’s for damn sure. Sometimes I would seriously enjoy five minutes of peace without him yapping in my ear and telling me what had happened to him during his other classes. Granted, I don’t tell him this…

I’ve seen him upset before; made me feel like I had kicked a little boy’s puppy then told that same boy that Santa wasn’t real and never had been.

When he’s hurting, he throws on this real big-eyed, poutey-lip look that makes him appear younger than he is. The sad thing is..he isn’t faking it. He truly gets upset when I won’t pay attention to him.

Once I ignored him all day, and I came back to our dorm room and he was sniffling and whining on his bed. Made me feel like a real monster; I made the idiot cry. Making him cry is like making a woman cry. All I could do for him that night was tell him that I was sorry and I didn’t mean to upset him. In actuality, I didn’t mean to upset him. It just happened; it’s my nature.

I stare at him now and see hope shining in those impossibly large eyes; he wants attention, and he wants it from me. A sigh escapes my lips before I can stop it and I grab my things. He cheerfully follows me to the classroom’s door, and I lead him down the hallway. We stop by my locker and I toss the books I don’t need in there. I take my Biology textbook and my backpack, and I’m ready to go back to our room.

He chatters about everything that is present in his mind, and asks me questions that he knows I won’t offer a reply to. He grins and continues, occasionally stopping to shout out to a friendly face in the hallway. I grumble as those friendly faces shout back, equal cheer in their own voices. I wonder how people can be so happy at times when I can’t find a way to be happy at all.

People stare as we walk down the hall together; most of them gazing at me. I know what they’re thinking, too: ‘How can those two be considered friends? I don’t see why anyone would want to be friends with someone so quiet as that boy. He just isn’t nice at all. I tried talking to him once..he didn’t even try to talk back. Duo sure is nice, though…He’s probably being nice to that boy so he doesn’t feel so lonely. Good for Duo, then. Helping people in need of friends.’

It’s disgusting. My fellow classmates tease me a lot, most of the boys throwing off-hand comments at me about my being anti-social. Sometimes it’s hard knowing Duo Maxwell. As a result of knowing him, I have to face the comparisons that people make between myself and Duo.

‘Duo’s nice…Heero’s not.’

‘Duo’s sweet…Heero’s not.’

‘Duo’s a great guy…Heero’s not.’

‘I sure wouldn’t mind getting to know Duo.’

‘Duo would make a great friend.’

‘Duo would make a great boyfriend.’

‘I don’t see why Duo likes Heero at all.’

‘Maybe I should ask Duo out.’

‘Duo and I would make a great couple.’

‘Duo sure is sexy.’

Duo this and Duo that…blah blah blah..

They are all liars. They’ve never tried to get along with me. It’s always Duo. They’ve never tried to become my friend. They don’t want me as a friend. They know how close Duo is to me, and they pretend. They pretend to be interested in knowing me at a fleeting chance that it will make Duo like them more. They all want it to seem like they are interested in what Duo is interested in. And, by golly, if Duo Maxwell is interested in me, then everyone else will try to see what Duo sees!

I roll my eyes at me own thoughts and glare at everyone who dares make eye contact with me. They look away quickly, and I can’t help but feel briefly satisfied at their semi-frightened looks. Duo notices my antics and a peal of cheerful laughter fills the hallway. I grimace yet again and pull out my room key as we reach it.

I open the door and try to slam it on Duo, but he senses what I was wanting to do, and he puts his arms out and blocks the door from closing. He enters, a shy smile gracing his features now, his eyes sparkling. He closes the door and turns to face me.

At his slightly-sympathetic look, I know I must be sulking, but I can’t make myself stop.

“Hey, ignore them.” He says, softly.

I turn away from him and plop on my bed.

“I’m serious, man, they don’t know what kind of person you are. They are jumping to conclusions.” He smiles. “They don’t see what I see.”

I snort and pull a pillow over my head.

If the damn yankee would shut up for a few minutes, maybe I could stop this splitting headache before it gets too terribly bad. No luck there.

“Man, you gotta stop paying attention to our classmates. They’re used to cheerfulness, and they can’t adapt to the kind of personality change you bring into this joint. Plus, I like you the way you are…don’t forget that.”

I feel weight plop down next to me and he tugs at the pillow. I grasp it tighter, and he finally yanks it free and chunks it to the floor.

“You’re throwing a temper tantrum.”

Liar.

“You’re acting like a kid, man.”

Stupid lying yankee.

Doesn’t now what he’s talking about. If anyone acts like a child, it’s him.

“Say something, please.”

I shake my head at him.

“Please. Don’t ignore me cause you hate this school.”

I close my eyes and turn my head away from him.

“Babe, please.” He whispers.

I sigh and open my eyes, staring at him like he was the devil himself coming to take away my soul. I sneer at his calm expression and try to roll out of the bed. He grabs me and holds me tight, eyes challenging me.

“What bothers you so much about what they say?”

He doesn’t get it, does he?

“Please, I want to help you. You’ve never had this problem before.”

I wonder how he would feel if I told him that I was jealous of his personality and care-free attitude. Would he be happy if I told him that I envied him? Would he lie to me and try to comfort me if I told him I wanted people to like me the way they like him? Would he laugh?

No.

He wouldn’t.

I speak quietly to him, “They like you for who you are.”

He blinks gently at me, urging me to go on.

I close my eyes again, dismissing him from the conversation, and I hear him sigh loudly.

“Dude, I give up…”

I open my eyes again, and see him smiling down at me.

He leans down and presses his lips gently to mine, and before I can respond, he pulls away. I snort.

“Babe, listen. You’re taking this too seriously. If people can’t like you for who you are, then you shouldn’t associate with them in the first place. I like you for who you are…you like me for who I am. I’m the only friend you need.”

I grumble under my breath, and he looks at me.

“What was that, lover?”

He knows how much I dislike that word, even though it is an accurate term. I glare at him and he laughs. I shove him off me and he falls gracefully to the bedding, braid snaking across my pillow.

I stand up and start for the bathroom.

His voice stops me.

“Heero, I love you, ya know…”

I nod at him slowly, and he grins. His laughter fills the room yet again.

He stops laughing as I respond to him.

“I love you, too, you damn yankee.”

As I close the bathroom door, the action muffling his loud laughter, a smile creeps across my face as I realize my heart is racing with excitement.

That idiot is the only friend I need.

–End

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