by Uru-Chan

***I'm falling...***

"Oi! I get the big one!"

"Duo.....they're both the same-Agh! K'so!" Heero scowled as the American swept by, the tip of Duo's braid tickling his nose. "Omae o-ah, fuck it." The Japanese boy tugged the passkey from the door panel, swiping blindly at the wall-switch as he passed. Yellow light burst from a lamp on the far table, positioned squarely between two headboards.

"Sugoi!! A real bed!!!" Duo launched himself at the far wall, tossing his pack aside and hurling himself across the mattress. Heero winced as the springs creaked beneath each bounce, sinking dramatically into a wooden chair.

"Oi, Heero," Duo's voice cajoled from across the tiny room. "Why'd ya get two beds? Ya squeamish or somethin'?" The Japanese boy busied himself with adjusting his laptop, elbows resting on the circular table. "Aw, come on, Man, you can't ignore me forever."

"Not forever," Heero returned, deadpan. "Just for the rest of the mission."

"What mission?" Duo groaned, exasperated. "Heero, we're just layin' low like everybody else, waitin' for somethin' to happen. God, did somebody drop you on your head as a child? Repeatedly? From the top of a Gundam? Come on, lighten up a bit, you're so uptight!"

Rich laughter spilled from the boy's throat, eventually piquing Heero's curiosity. One cobalt eye peeked out from above the monitor, gazing skeptically at the American. Duo lay back on the dull white spread, arms behind his head, legs sprawled almost indecently.

"Nani?" the Japanese boy grunted, affecting disinterest. Shimatta. If I told him to close his legs, would he think I was looking? I won't look at him...I won't...

"Heh; gomen, Man," Duo chuckled, arms upraised in a feline stretch. "Just thinkin' bout that old man at the counter. Only two rooms left, and you choose the one with double beds."

"What's your point?" Heero replied irritably, fingers clattering across the keyboard.

"Just thinkin', that's all," Duo grinned mischievously. "'Bout how some poor businessman's gonna have to sleep with his fat ole' balding boss just cause Heero "who-needs-a-parachute" Yuy is too squeamish to share a bed with his best friend."

"Kisama! Omae o-"

"Eep! Uh--first in the showe~r!!" Duo leapt to his feet just as Heero's hands slammed against the table top, wooden chair screeching beneath him. "Oi, sit down, sit down, Man, no need to get excited," the American bubbled cheerfully, rummaging violently through his pack.

The fall of clothing startled Heero from his typing, eyes checking the fluttering descent of a t-shirt. The Japanese boy winced as Duo stretched, joints popping audibly, work all but forgotten. The American's hand fumbled with his jeans, thick fabric pooling around his ankles. Heero quickly averted his eyes as the braided boy, clad in nothing but smiley-faced boxer shorts, bounded eagerly over.

"Whacha' doin'? Hey, is it a mission? Can I see?" Heero slammed the laptop shut, cheeks flushing as he realized what he'd been unconsciously typing. "OK, OK!" Duo sweat-dropped, waving his hands before him placatingly.

The bathroom door swung partially shut, allowing the dull roar of water to permeate the room. The Wing pilot raised the screen of his laptop, gradually deleting the block of mistyped text. He glared at the tiny characters as they fell beneath his cursor, evidence of his lust for this beautiful, and above all irritating-

"My baloney has a first na~me, it's O-s-c-a-r-" Heero's forehead smacked against the table, his hands fisting in desperation. Why me...why!?

"Aw hell! Oi, Heero! Hee~ro!"

"WHAT?" the Japanese boy growled, head jerking up in frustration. "What is it now?!"

"Gomen, Man," the American shouted apologetically. "I forgot my conditioner. It's in my bag. I know you're busy and everything, but Dude, you do NOT wanna see me without--"

"Shut up, Duo! I'll get your bloody conditioner if it'll keep you quiet!"

"Arigato!" Shinigami sang out cheerfully. "I knew I could count on you! Now, where was I...Oh yeah! My~ baloney has a second name, it's M-a-y-e-r..."

Heero's fingers gripped the zipper of Duo's bag, yanking it free with unnecessary force. He buried his hands in the cool soft tumble of fabric, rummaging blindly about. Frustrated, he piled the American's clothing onto the mattress, amazed at Duo's frivolous nature.

What the hell...Heero scowled as he lifted a bundle of tattered manga, rubber-banded together, the covers turned inside-out. What's he afraid of? His fingers looped in the bindings, tugging almost unconsciously before he checked himself. Later, Yuy, Later. You want to get caught? It's probably just pornography anyway. Heero tossed the books aside, returning his attention to the near-empty pack. Holy shit.. The Japanese boy withdrew his hand, a pair of 'adult-novelty' handcuffs dangling like a dead rat between his fingertips. Oh my god...

"Hey, Heero, did ya get lost out there? Can I have my conditioner now?" The wing pilot fished the pearlescent bottle from the pack, hurriedly replacing Duo's belongings.

Heat emanated from the tiny bathroom, assaulting him as he pushed at the narrow door. Steam billowed up from the shower, stifling in close quarters, sending a trickle of sweat along his temple. Duo's voice echoed against the fixtures, rich and surprisingly gifted, despite his penchant for grocery jingles.

"Duo. Here." Heero stood stoically by, one hand outstretched, fingers clenching the bottle of conditioner. "Come on, Duo, take it!" The Japanese boy shifted his weight about on his feet, mouth curling into a scowl. "K'so! Duo no baka! I know you can hear me! Omae o-oh, hell-I don't have time for this!"

Heero snatched at the shower curtain, yanking it violently aside. His cheeks preformed a slow burn as he caught a glimpse of Duo's soap-slicked flesh, white suds trickling down the hollow of his back. An unbound span of chestnut hair hung neatly across one shoulder, cascading down Duo's chest to pool against the drain. Duo's right hand slithered across his flesh, lathering his shoulders and chest.

"Shit!" Heero gasped softly, utterly stunned, as the sliver of motel-soap slid from the American's fingers. Duo bent, not at the knees, but at the waist, retrieving the slippery item with a slow, languorous dip. Oh my god...He does it like he knows...like he's showing it off for me...Cobalt eyes narrowed to mere slits of color, his tongue darting out to moisten parched lips.

Beautiful... He's--Iie! Heero no baka...This is Duo! He's the only person alive you can honestly call a friend. What would he think if he saw you like this, staring at his ass like some freak from the barracks? Turn around. Walk out of here now, before he sees you, before it's too late to--

"Shimatta!" Duo gasped abruptly. "Heero! You scared the crap out of me! Geez, man, don't use that surveillance shit on me! I mean, God, would it kill you to knock or something?"

"Here," the Japanese boy rasped, throat inexplicably dry. One arm extended mechanically, thrusting the bottle of conditioner at the flustered boy. "I have work to do. Try not to bother me again." The American winced as the bathroom door slammed shut, flinging a gust of steam into his face.

Aw, shit. I thought for sure I had him that time, Duo lamented, lathering the length of his hair. Oh well...that look on his face was almost worth it. Just you wait Heero. One of us is gonna get screwed before this trip is through, or my name's not Duo Maxwell, infamous seducer of stone faced spandex wearin' maniacs! The braided boy launched into a earsplitting rendition of the "Mission Impossible" theme song, waving his fingers in a "v".

On to part three. Back to part one.