Jukebox Hound (jukeboxhound) wrote,
Jukebox Hound

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fic: curved lines (gw)

Curved Lines
Written 24 December 2007

Heero/Duo fluff with no redeeming value whatsoever, and so short I couldn't come up with a better title or summary.  Please accept this as a humbug's humble holiday gift to you all.
There's just something about the softness of someone on the verge of waking up that makes me forget how much I generally don't like people.


Duo Maxwell was full of sharp edges.  They were edges formed by plague, broken by fire, and sharpened through war.


When he had presented the idea of their moving in together, Heero was entirely aware of these edges and the hair-trigger reflexes behind them.  After all, he had many of his own, but it was easier to step through a minefield when you had some idea where the explosives were buried.


Peacetime hadn’t quite dulled those edges.  Instead it surrounded them in a thin layer of silk and civilian life, keeping the jagged pieces close to the surface but far enough away that the once-hidden curves could stretch and grow.


Heero paused at the bedroom doorway for reasons he didn’t fully understand, tilting his head in silent thought.  Appearances could be deceiving, but Duo didn’t look like he was full of edges at all, not with the way he was laying on his side and his body had been loosely wrapped around a pillow.  The dark blue comforter was one of those thick and oversized ones, draping over the skinny pilot until it appeared to be swallowing him whole.


A heartbeat, then two, and Heero walked quietly across the carpet in his boots to sit on the edge of the bed.  A few wispy strands of hair that had escaped from their normally tight braid rested on the gentle slope of a cheekbone, and the comforter didn’t quite cover the curve of a pale shoulder.  Moving slowly but not stealthily—that would make all the sharp edges slice through the thin silk of peacetime without hesitation—Heero ran his fingers up the bare skin of Duo’s arm until they met the edge of his sleeveless shirt.


“Duo,” he murmured.  He waited for a breath, then repeated, “Duo.”


The last few years had allowed Duo’s body to become so familiar with this bed, with Heero (who had dangerous edges of his own, don’t ever forget that), that he didn’t snap into full awareness.  Instead he shifted slightly, nose wrinkling a little, the hands curled loosely by his face flexing minutely.  Heero’s fingers wandered of their own volition to Duo’s cheekbone, earning him a sleepy look from half-open eyes.


“’eero?”  His voice was husky, and he coughed lightly to clear it.  “Shouldn’t you be at work?”


Une had managed everything in such a way that there were at least two Gundam pilots on shift each day.  Unfortunately, this meant that Duo and Heero’s schedules didn’t always coincide, as today.


“Yes,” Heero admitted, “but you were still asleep.”  Meaning that because Duo was in the habit of rising with the dawn, he’d been a little worried.


Duo gave a small huff of self-directed laughter.  “Didn’t get to sleep on time, so I guess I had to make up for it.”


Sharp edges could make sleeping difficult, Heero understood.


Stretching his arms above his head lazily, Duo twisted his body so that his back was against the mattress.  His eyes were still hooded, his lips a little puffy from sleep, and suddenly Heero was mentally cursing Une’s strange method of resolving politics.  The young Japanese man could feel the other’s legs pressed against him through the heavy blanket, and the skin under his fingers was pleasantly warm.  Duo hadn’t yet woken up enough to put on his normal smirks and sarcasm, and Heero was very much aware that he was probably the only person to have seen such trusting lassitude in him since the L2 plague.


Suddenly Heero turned away and reached down to unlace his boots, unmindful of the confused frown that marred Duo’s brow.


“Uh, Heero, what’re you doing?”


Without answering, he stripped off his Preventers jacket and tie and loosened his cuffs.  Then he lay down beside the bemused American, on top of the comforter, reaching out once more to trace the outline of full lips once Duo turned to face him.


“You’re going to be late,” he pointed out.  He didn’t even bother to pretend to be convincing.


A corner of Heero’s mouth turned up in a wry smile.  “I won’t be late if I don’t show up at all.”


Duo blinked, noticing the gentle touch following the curve of his cheek and not quite certain what his partner was thinking.


“You’ve often told me not to let my head confuse what my heart’s saying, right?”  Which was true, but somehow it sounded unbearably sappy when Heero said it.


Right now, Heero’s heart was looking at a sleepy-soft Duo lying alone in a large bed and deciding that Heero’s brain could go fuck off for today.  Maybe it could come up with a halfway convincing excuse to tell Une, because Heero himself was sharing some lovely kisses and had no intention of moving away from warm, silky curves.


Happy Chrismahanukwanzaakah and merry yule.

Tags: - fic, f: gundam wing, p: 1x2
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