"I don't suppose we could take care of the reconnaissance now, could we? I have this god-awful physics assignment due tomorrow..."
"The mission takes place on Thursday."
"But if we do it *now*, I won't have to finish this."
"What's the difference?"
I sigh. Right. Of course. Thursday. God forbid we make some of our own decisions. Not when it comes to missions and Heero Yuy. Oh, heavens no.
I sigh again, louder this time.
It's like we're following a script. This is how it's been for about a month now: me complaining about school work -- which I'm pretty sure I could do in my sleep if it weren't for this horribly short attention span -- and Heero telling me to shut up. Or some such variation.
I turn back to the thick textbook, idly thumbing through the pages, skimming endless blocks of tiny print and ridiculous looking diagrams labeled with Greek letters.
Physics. Not my favorite subject.
We sit like this in silence for about twenty minutes before I can't take it anymore and I start talking. About physics, maybe, about upcoming missions, lunch that day. I know I mention that huge orange Gundam piloted by that kid with the funny hair.
Heero just sits with his back to me, his fingers never faltering in his steady typing. Every now and then, I think he grunts, but I'm talking so loudly I can't really be sure.
Why do I talk so much? I can't seem to stop, because there's this buzzing in the back of my head that gets horribly loud when it's quiet, and it reminds me of stowing away on G's shuttle all those years ago, knowing only a thin layer of metal was separating me from the depths of cold, dead space.
And I couldn't speak. /If they found me... if they decided to let me drift out there.../
It still makes me cold to think of it, and I shudder a little, sitting at my nice sturdy desk in this nice warm room with a nice disgruntled Heero sitting across from me.
I sneak a peek at him, leaning my chin in one hand.
His fingers lay still on the keyboard; I think he's looking at me in the monitor. His back stiffens, and now I know he's caught me watching.
"Just finish it," he says and the clicking begins again.
I have to cough to cover a laugh.
/How can I not watch him?/ He's so beautiful and solid. *Solid.* We've been partnered up for over a month and he's not dead yet or trying to get away. He seems almost comfortable with the arrangement we have, and that's what gets me the most. He seems to want to be here, want to be with me, and if he doesn't, he's chosen me as the lesser of two evils, so I have to take that as something.
I get the feeling he's used to being alone. I know the look of someone like that, because I see it on myself every time I look in the mirror.
His fingers have stilled again, but I don't think he's looking at me. I drop the pencil I've been using to doodle in the margins of the book -- a rather accurate representation of Deathscythe kicking that orange Gundam's ass, given the limited space -- and nudge it off the desk with my elbow. It clatters to the floor and I bend down to pick it up, peeking at him again as I go.
Now he's looking at me, turned fully around in his seat.
I sit up slowly, grinning. "Boring, right? Told you it was."
He just raises an eyebrow.
I hold out my book like a peace offering. "I *have* been doing my work. Sort of."
He squints a little, and his brow furrows in thought. "What's that in the margin?"
"Oh, this?" I look over the edge of the book, noting that perhaps my detail in the orange Gundam is a bit lacking. "It's Deathscythe and that Gundam with all the guns. Look, see the scythe?"
Heero's eyes snap up to mine sharply. "Do you know that pilot?"
"What? No, we just met him. Remember? He's the one with th-"
"I know who you're talking about it. Why do you keep bringing him up?"
"*I* didn't bring him up. *You* did."
He lets his eyes flick to the picture, and I notice with a funny feeling in my stomach that his hands are clutching the edge of his desk, his knuckles having gone white.
"This? What, you think I couldn't take him? You would rather I drew Wing, maybe? Are you an easier target?"
He half gets up out of his seat. "This is the third time you've mentioned him today. I'll ask you again: Do you know him."
I lounge back in my seat, and I speak before I can even think about it. "*Jealous?*" I purr.
The funny feeling in my stomach is now spiraling towards my toes as Heero grinds to a halt.
I don't want to stop the dawning look on his face, I don't want to say anything that might erase the red that's starting to stain his cheekbones. I want him to know how I feel, how much I want to not be alone *with* him, how I could take it away for him.
We could find comfort in each other, the closest thing to love that we're going to ever find, if only he would realize what's right in front of him.
Which is why, as he steps closer to me and stops in the middle of the room, I get up, too, trying to meet him halfway.
"What?" he asks again, softer this time.
We're interrupted by a pounding on the door, and the mood is completely broken. "Lights out!" the dorm monitor calls.
Heero has already turned away from me, and is busying himself with enabling his laptop's security protocols.
I sigh and close the physics book slowly.
We undress without speaking, the silence only punctuated by the creaking of the bedsprings when Heero climbs into bed. I turn off my desk lamp before getting into my own bed, and the room is lit only by the soft glow of Heero's laptop.
I love the feeling of clean sheets on my skin, so I wear nothing but boxers to bed; sometimes, if I'm feeling daring, I even take those off once I'm under the covers, kicking the material into a ball at my feet.
Tonight is one of those nights, sort of cool, the breeze coming through the cracked window -- which I'm surprised Heero allows. It's one of those things that makes me think he's not as unaffected as he would have me think.
Fresh air. One of those unspoken things that we must both love, having grown up on colonies with artificial climates. I casually roll my head to the left, glancing at him through slitted eyes, and all I have to do is look at the expression on his face to know he feels the same way I do about the open window and the sky beyond it.
Not unguarded -- I'm not sure Heero is capable of that expression. It's half-wistful, the look on his face, sort of far away even though his eyes are closed, but his brow is furrowed in concentration.
And that *is* concentration I see there. He likes to call it a glare, but I know when the little gears in his head start turning, and I know the look of a boy who can't stop thoughts from unfolding in his head, coming faster and faster, without giving him time to process everything.
We're much more alike than he would like to think.
My gaze strays to his hand, loosely curled, palm up, resting on top of the covers.
I snap my eyes up to lock with his and I notice that the expression has grown deeper; he's trying to glare at me, but his thoughts are jumbling him all up.
My hand, in much the same position as his, twitches under the covers, and I wonder if he does know how alike we are, and that's what has him confused.
"Go to sleep," he says coldly, but he doesn't fool me.
"Sir!" I say and roll over, hearing him sigh softly.
After a few minutes, his breathing evens out but I still don't move. Listening to him breathe, the buzzing in my head isn't so loud, and it's actually tolerable to lay in silence. I want to take advantage of it.
I think of that hand on his covers, fingers moving slightly against the air; long, slim, wonderful fingers that I've dreamed of feeling on me.
I remember the first time we met, out at the loading docks, and I remember watching as he pushed himself up from where he had fallen after my first shot, my eyes sticking to the sight of his fingers splayed out on the ground, tips pressed white.
For a second, the image of those hands on me flashed into my head, and my whole body flushed.
It's a fantasy I've had practically every night since we met. Just his hands touching me, nothing else. Just something to help me escape this world, to forget what I'm doing here, to pretend I'm something else, something he would actually want, had we been normal teenagers.
His hand twitches again on the blankets. I wonder what he's dreaming about, if he dreams at all.
I would love for him to touch me.
I let my hand stray to my chest, and I rub my fingers on my skin lightly.
I think about the time I broke him out of that hospital, how he held his hand out to me, asking for my knife. There was blood everywhere, but I was impossibly turned on. Something to do with the interconnection of sex and death I'm sure, or maybe it was just that he was somehow so helpless, and he needed me, really *needed* me...
It happened then, too, that full body flush.
My fingers dance over my sternum, and suddenly I press my palm flat, digging my fingertips into the flesh there. Excitement spears through me, right to my center.
And then there was the time he stayed with Howard and me, and his hands, such long, graceful fingers, were groping for instruments, never knowing how beautiful he was. I had gone into the garage to seduce him that night, wanting to feel those hands on me, *in* me, never wanting anything more, never wanting a name or a mouth on mine, just those hands, to forget.
My nails scrape over my skin, back up my chest, pinching a nipple.
But I watched him work and I couldn't, I just *couldn't*. Because he was a killer, yes, but he wasn't someone I could use like that.
So I waited, I've *been* waiting. And the way he was looking at me before, I think it won't be much longer.
Because he needs someone, too, and that someone could be me.
I can't take the teasing anymore, and I let my hand drift down my stomach. The anticipation has built up, and I'm painfully hard and starting to sweat, thinking about those hands touching me.
I roll onto my back at the first touch of my fingers on my cock, hoping the rustling of the sheets will mask the involuntary sigh that slips out of my mouth.
This has to be wrong, *has* to be; but an image of Heero is burning behind my eyelids, and the thought of those long fingers wrapping around me is just too much for me to entertain the idea of stopping.
I bite my lip to keep from making any noise as my hand starts to move, seemingly of its own accord, roughly at first, like I imagine his hand would be.
In my head, he bites a nipple as he squeezes my cock, and I let my other hand drift to my chest, twisting one stiff peak hard, loving the feeling of the sharp pain that shoots into my stomach and lower, bouncing back up as my hand starts to move faster.
Sweat breaks out on my upper lip, and I dart my tongue out to taste it, imagining it's his salty skin under my mouth. I can't muffle the sound that comes out now, just a tiny moan, and it makes me hotter to hear it, Fantasy Heero echoing the noise and slowing his pace deliberately, guiding me away from the brink so it won't end too soon.
"Heero." I whisper it out loud now, needing to hear his name on my lips. I dig my head back into the pillows and squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can, holding my breath and bucking my hips up into my hand.
My other hand flies to my mouth, to keep myself from saying anything more. But what would Heero do with that hand, with my fingers, smaller than his and just as thin...
I draw two digits into my mouth and roll them around with my tongue. My skin is salty and slightly bitter with sweat and arousal and I suck on them hard, rubbing the pads of them along the roof of my mouth.
/Heero, I want.../
Now that hand is suddenly between my legs, one wet finger running behind my balls and into the cleft of my ass.
"Please..." Again, this is said out loud, and I don't even care anymore when that moist finger finds my entrance, probing the tight pucker before slipping inside, hard. I roll it in a small circle, stretching a bit before thrusting it in as far as I can reach.
/Oh, I can't.../
I can't contain it, because it feels so good, too good. My feet are slipping against the sheets as I try to gain some sort of purchase against the incredible feelings surging in me.
"Heero..." Am I being as loud as I think I am? Dimly, I worry he might wake, but I can't take the time to really consider it. I have two fingers worked past the ring of muscle and my other hand is stroking my cock, my hips moving mindlessly to keep the rhythm up.
I'm deliberately avoiding that soft nub inside me, letting the anticipation build. It curls through my stomach and into my limbs, the same feeling I had earlier, when Heero and I were verbally sparring. On the edge. /Oh, I'm right on the edge... God, God, so close.../
There's a sharp intake of air from the other bed, a rustle of sheets.
I want him to see me so badly, all my wet dreams about staying in these dorms with him rushing back to me.
/Jesus, God, I can't stop, please, I can't stop.../
My hand slows but doesn't stop as I roll my head to look across the darkened room. I thrust a third finger inside, all the way up to the last knuckle, and a dart of pain rips along my nerves.
It feels so good, I almost don't see the glint of his eyes, wide, staring at me.
His eyes stray to the bump of my fist moving along my erection, to the peaks in the covers created by my knees, drawn up so I can get better access. My hips jerk upwards sharply and my eyes half-close as a wave of pleasure ripples up my spine.
My lips move, but no sound comes out.
We lock eyes and I moan again, louder; no need to muffle it now, and if he hasn't already tried to leave or hit me, I guess it doesn't matter.
He shifts on his bed, turning slightly to face me. His eyes are still wide, but they're bright with something, something I know is reflected in my eyes.
Maybe it does matter. But not the way I thought.
"Duo?" His voice is low and rough, and the sound of it goes straight through me.
"Can't," I gasp, and I'm not sure what that means, but Heero doesn't speak again, so I guess it's enough.
I speed up again, and my hips are moving in earnest now, my hand frantically plunging in and out of my body, four fingers having made their way up inside. I'm loathe to stop looking at him, and I have to struggle to keep my eyes open.
His hand disappears beneath the covers at the same time I let myself find my prostate. I let loose a strangled gasp and the heaviness in my belly unfurls hard and fast, sending white-hot sparks shooting through my limbs.
I watch his face, and I know the moment he touches himself; his beautiful features twist with pleasure, his eyes rolling halfway back and his lips parting ever so softly.
/Yes. For me./
The covers at his waist move slowly, and he focuses again on my face. He's so beautiful, it hurts me, and the emotional pain heightens the feeling, my nerves feeling like they're on the outside of my skin.
I can't stop looking at him, can't stop moving my hands inside and on myself, can't stop the odd, mewling noises that are coming from my throat.
His eyes darken, the movement at his waist increases.
I have my feet planted firmly on the bed now, and the covers have slipped to one side, draping over one knee and down my thigh. But his eyes only flick briefly, almost negligently, to my exposed skin, returning to capture mine again as he arches up slowly, his neck curving backwards.
I'm not sure where the thought comes from, whether it's what I want to hear or what I want to say, but it's too much for my brain to handle, too much with the weight of his gaze holding mine.
/More, Heero, please.../
How would he finish me? I want to think it would be gently, but I know our coming together would be rougher, possessed, and my body instinctively knows it, too.
My hand -- his hand -- pulls hard on my cock, squeezing, stroking. And the hand inside me -- *Heero* inside me -- thrusts in roughly, stretching almost to the point of pain, searching...
Heero's neck snaps back suddenly, and a soft, strangled shout leaves his lips as his body stiffens.
That noise shoves me right over the edge.
"That's... oh, Jesus, that's..." My hips lift off the bed, my back arches impossibly. I throw my head back and I can't help closing my eyes as I shudder, sobbing his name over and over as my muscles clench around my hand and I come and come, my whole body shaking.
Now, the quiet click of the door reaches my ears and I'm sliding down from a haze of passion, grunting softly as I pull my fingers from my body, sticky, sweaty, and thoroughly sated.
The bed opposite mine is empty, the covers thrown back almost frantically, exposing Heero-dampened sheets.
"You can run, Heero, but you can't hide," I say, my voice hoarse and overused.
No answer but the breeze that comes in through the window and washes over my flushed face. I smile sleepily, turning on my side and nuzzling into the pillow.
I've got him now, and it's only a matter of time before he realizes it, too.