Title: The Arrangement the war days.
Rated R for sexual content, violence, language, and some other stuff I'll
specify in the relevant chapters.
The usual, Gundam Wing belongs to its owners (Bandai, Sunset, and a whole
host of others, none of which are me) and I'm not making any money off
of them. Not a single peanut.
WARNING: Okay, please read this, or you're not allowed to flame me.
This is NOT A ROMANCE as such. This is a story about an intricate relationship
between two slightly warped men. Though it will evolve throughout the
story's length (15 chapters, give or take... ) into something complex
and deep, if you're expecting this to end with candles and moonlight and
sap, you're going to be disappointed. Also, it's from Wufei's POV, and
though I step out of it slightly from time to time, it's mainly seen through
his eyes. This means the story doesn't always say what it means or means
what it says. Sometimes you'll have to read between the lines.
Oh and since this is a story about an essentially sexual relation (at
least to start with), there's a fair amount of citrus. Most are light
limes, like this one, some might be on mm.org only (chapter links will
be provided for ffnet users over 17).
And no. Wufei does not go on and on about justice, though he does mention
it occasionally in context... I tried to bring out the complexities of
his character, as well as Heero's (to a lesser extent).
(Big thanks to t3h j4ck for re-reading this and making sure this chapter
didn't come out half-baked. I owes ya! Thanks also to Crimson for planting
the notion of a 1x5 in my twisted little cranium, I hope this isn't too
far out of what you were expecting... )
Arrangement + Chapter 1
Kata and meditation. Two sides of the same coin. The kind you placed in
a corpse's mouth before the journey to the underworld.
Swing, bend, kick.
The meditation helped him take a step back from everything that his life
had become. A never-ending pursuit of justice, strength, revenge. A living
monument to the dead.
Dodge, swing, punch-punch.
The katas... plunged him right into it. He WAS justice. Strength. And
above all, revenge.
Straighten, kick wide.
The kata was a distillation of the battle fury that blew all traces of
sadness and doubt from his soul.
Slide fist down leg, sweep, turn, punch.
And it existed only for one thing. To harness the fury, and fight.
Straighten, fists pulled back in to sides. Breathe out. Fists down.
Never enough though.
"Got an eyeful?" Wufei snarled.
There was no perky, embarrassed answer. He turned in surprise. The presence
he'd felt behind him wasn't Maxwell, creeping up behind him to ogle him
during his practice (for the third time).
Wufei'd retreated to the Gundam's shed, where their metal alter-egos lay
like sheeted corpses in a morgue upon their flatbed trucks. The huge space
was mostly shadows, but there was one light flickering where none should
be. The laptop's screen made the cobalt blue eyes glisten.
Of course. There was only one other pilot who was just as likely to be
here as Duo, though he wouldn't have come to look at Wufei.
Heero Yuy was sitting next to Wing's open hatch, reading something on
the laptop's screen. He didn't bother to respond or even glance over at
"Thought it was Maxwell." Wufei said in lieu of apology, not that any
were needed, and turned away. The Chinese pilot wondered how long Heero
had been there. And if he was also escaping from Maxwell. Probably.
Wufei brought his fists up to his waist, breathed, then started to move,
the twenty-four step Yang form as ingrained as the katas. As he slowly
reached, stepped, turned, body almost floating, his mind dwelt lightly
on Heero Yuy.
He'd been slightly curious about Heero when they'd first met. Not that
much though. The slow moves of the Tai Chi forms were misleading to the
casual observer. Except when he was meditating, Wufei was never that tranquil.
He was a battlefield of emotions; anger, humiliation at his failures,
the burning desire to become better, stronger, to finally accomplish his
revenge, to attain justice for the fallen... that storm tossed a few other
feelings around like beaten rags, and curiosity was one of them, easily
forgotten. Mainly he'd wondered if the same storm blew through Heero.
The way the man laughed after shooting down half a dozen mobile suits
was enough to make a typhoon shiver and creep away quietly.
He'd observed the other youth for awhile, and decided they were not the
same at all. Yuy could control his emotions perfectly and was an admirable
soldier, but he wasn't constantly taming and challenging and pushing himself
to become any better. Heero was a weapon. He didn't have a purpose. He
was a purpose. Sometimes, Wufei caught himself envying the simplicity
and icy calm of that state of being. But he wouldn't trade it for the
storm that gave him strength as it constantly ripped him apart. This was
who he was.
Wufei finished the Yang forms and started on the more vigorous Chen. Slow
movements uncoiling into more rapid twists and lunges, like a snake uncoiling
He wished Heero would spar with him. He'd seen some video footage of his
escape from the OZ base, as well as some other actions. Yuy was better
than Barton and way above the other two, and Wufei longed to see how he
measured up against him. But he was sure Yuy would not agree to a match;
he wouldn't see the point. Wufei was constantly trying to find new tests
to measure and improve his skills. Heero only knew missions and the most
efficient way to fulfil them. He trained against the enemy. It didn't
matter to him that most enemies they faced including the hated mindless
puppets Romefeller were using now- were way below him and didn't test
the purity of his skills the way one-on-one bare-hand combat would...
Wufei finished the form, then started the series of pressure point movements
which always made him think of his master. The old man had sworn by the
Thirty Four Points method, which, he told his pupil, would insure Wufei
would never go deaf, or suffer from arthritis in his old age. The Chinese
pilot still performed the moves, fingers pressing and rubbing vigorously
over points of his skull and his joints, never mind the fact he was likely
to be dead before his sixteenth year was finished; it wasn't something
that occupied his thoughts much. He just remembered the wrinkled old man
in the artificial dawn of the colony, in a simple tunic and loose pants
quite removed from his usual ceremonial garments, doing the same slow
moves day after day... until... enough.
Wufei fell back into first form. Straight, legs slightly apart. Breathe.
Draw fists up to the side, elbows bent back. Breathe. Begin. The cleansing
violence of the kata took him over once again.
A flicker of feeling tried to tell him that dark blue eyes were, in fact,
watching him over the top of the computer's screen. The feeling was ripped
apart by the storm. It was probably wrong anyway.
Several days passed and still no mission, just the endless running, dodging
and evading of enemy troops, swarming like ants after giants. There was
no opportunity for a real fight, and Wufei was beginning to feel the lack,
a creeping numbness in his mind. Without real battle, the storm died,
and most of his soul died with it.
Wufei sat, cross-legged, in the spare room. In the dark, bar a trickle
of sunshine from the shuttered windows and the light coming in from the
partially open living room door. All the pilots were feeling the pressure,
and Maxwell was fast becoming unbearable. Some things in particular were
getting... hard to ignore. Wufei snarled silently, forcing the braided
fool out of his thoughts, he'd interrupted him enough! And beating him
up would not provide much of a challenge. Hopefully Duo wouldn't come
looking for him in a dark and apparently empty room. Wufei needed to meditate
or he was going to go insane.
Emotions roiled and he separated his centre from the sticky strands, forcing
himself to rise above them, confront them, dominate them and subdue them.
Putting his mind through the same kind of gruelling, punishing routine
he inflicted upon his body.
Meilan in a field of flowers; flowers of fire as his colony exploded
like a budding rose; rose scent from Treize holding a sabre to his throat
before letting him go as if casually tossing out useless broken suit parts
floating in space and among them Meilan in a field of flowers of fire
as his colony exploded like a budding rose scent from-...
The front door closed with a click. Wufei glanced up automatically checking
for danger. It was Yuy, back from one of his endless revisions of Wing
(well everyone needed a hobby).
Wufei didn't relax. Something was... off. He unfolded his legs and leaned
forward to better see out the half-open door.
Heero stood at the entrance to the living room, staring straight ahead.
The slight scowl was usual. The tension in his shoulders was not. Neither
Trowa nor Quatre noticed though. To Wufei's practiced eye, the slight
imbalance in Yuy's stance screamed trouble
Heero's eyes flicked over Quatre who glanced up in nervous surprise at
the foreign feelings brushing him. The gaze lasted all of a heartbeat,
sweeping on dismissively and resting on Trowa on the couch. Trowa was
motionless for a few seconds, reading a mission print-out under the blow-torch
glare. Then he lifted his head, one steady green glance from behind the
thick bangs, eyes calm and flat. Heero hesitated then his eyes travelled
on. They caught on Duo as he walked out of the kitchen with a ration bar
and the scowl that exploded onto Heero's features sent the braided L2
pilot ducking back into the kitchen on pure instinct. Wufei didn't blame
The eyes ran over the room, still searching. Wufei rose in a fluid movement
and walked to the door. Cobalt blue eyes caught his movement and focused
on him. He felt himself weighed and measured to the last atom. Hackles
rising slightly he faced the gaze with the calm of his lingering trance.
"Chang. A word." Heero turned without any further comment and headed out
the door again. Three pairs of eyes Duo had cautiously emerged from the
kitchen- fastened on him. Wufei followed Wing's pilot calmly.
Heero was walking quickly two dozen feet ahead as if he'd had no doubt
of being followed. Wufei felt a little needling urge to return to the
safe-house, but ignored it. Heero would have a good reason to want to
talk to him, and if he was high-handed it was because he didn't see the
need to be anything otherwise. There was a war on; matters of politeness
A change of direction caught Wufei off guard. He'd assumed they were heading
to the barn where the Gundams were housed still on their flatbed trucks.
But Heero, with a glance behind them, had taken off at an angle and was
walking swiftly toward the left. Wufei remembered a long low shed off
to one side of the property they were hiding out in. It housed a broken
tractor and a lot of dusty empty space. He followed, curious.
Heero was staring at the tractor when Wufei closed the door behind him
and moved into the shed, hazy dust-speckled sunlight rippling around his
movements. Then the L1 pilot turned and walked in a half circle around
Wufei, keeping a few feet of space between them. Wufei could feel cobalt
blue eyes on him, coldly assessing him, his reaction to something. Was
he needed for a mission? No, this felt different.
Wufei ignored the man who was moving slowly between him and the door although
of course he noted the position. He moved forward a few feet eyeing the
tractor, a broken rusty relic rearing from folds of tarp like a fossilized
reptile half caught in rock.
"I find myself with an issue." Yuy's voice echoed behind him in the dusty
air, flat, slightly nasal. "You may be affected too. I want to suggest
a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Wufei turned slowly to face the soldier.
"We are at war and cannot afford distractions." Heero's voice was abrupt,
his eyes as hard as always. "However, adrenaline, hormones and the after-effects
of action take their toll on self-control. Sexual tension can interfere
with proper functioning. We can assist each other with that."
"You wish me to teach you how to control your urges through meditation?"
Wufei asked, slightly derisively. His face was his usual mask, impassive
bordering on disdainful. Behind the facade he was dealing with the shock
that Heero Yuy had just admitted to having urges that broke his iron self-control.
The offer of meditation was padding against the second shock, which was
what he thought Heero was actually proposing-... and it wasn't anything
to do with mental exercises.
"Meditation helps you with this?" Heero's voice was coldly incredulous.
"Any weakness can be overcome with sufficient focus and determination."
Wufei snapped, looking down his nose.
"Is that why your temper around Maxwell has gotten steadily worse over
the past few days?" Now the nasal voice was downright mocking.
Wufei's eyes glittered with anger. "Maxwell annoys me!"
"Yes, but you can ignore that. The fact that he's flirting with you is
what seems to be getting to you."
Wufei's fists clenched in anger, though he couldn't actually deny it.
"Well there's your answer then, Yuy. He's been flirting with you too,
maybe you should-"
"Don't insult me." A cold sneer. "I need physical release, not an emotional
train-wreck. Maxwell and Winner- do not have the detachment necessary
to see this as a need to relieve, a purely physical problem. They lack,
as you call it, focus."
Blue eyes weighed him again carefully. Wufei felt himself grow hostile
under that gaze as it judged him and found his answer wanting. "I can,
if I need to, though I'd rather not. Barton is an unknown quantity to
me. I don't think he has the emotions to get in the way. But I'm
not sure he has the need either."
"And I do?"
A smirk was his only answer.
Wufei turned and walked slowly towards the tractor, getting his temper
back under control. He heard footsteps shadow his a few feet away.
"So is your hand injured?" Wufei asked, once more impassive as he faced
"Hand? Oh. I find that sharing the need is more satisfying."
"One of the rebel soldiers who worked with J partnered me previously but
now I need another arrangement."
Onyx eyes narrowed. Arrangement. Partnered. What... quaint terms. Yuy
was ten feet away, between Wufei and the exit.
Partnered? "I guess we can discuss-" Wufei's eyes flicked to the door
behind Heero in surprise and annoyance. Heero glanced behind him then
turned back with a question in the cobalt blue eyes that was answered
by the gun pointing straight between them. Heero glared at it.
"A simple 'no' would have sufficed." Anger and adrenaline radiated from
the deadly killer.
Wufei ignored the death-threat scowl. "That's what I wanted to be sure
"... If I was a rapist, Chang, I would be making my own arrangements."
The voice was coldly contemptuous. "In that case you would not be my first
choice of victim."
But he had been his first choice for the... arrangement. Wufei was now
the one weighing, measuring. Trying to figure out if he was supposed to
be slightly flattered or hugely offended. Neither felt right in the face
of Heero's attitude; a straightforward and efficient approach to a calmly
stated problem. That was what was keeping Wufei's temper in check. Because
part of him in fact the biggest part of him since his clan was destroyed,
erasing his past, his self, in a blaze of fire - thought like that too.
Efficiency. You saw a problem and you solved it and then you went on to
kill the enemy in bigger and better ways. But still... there was one point
on which they seemed to be different.
"Not your choice of victim? I think you enjoy challenges." Wuefei finally
"I do. But I keep things separate." Yes, neatly compartmentalized, Wufei
thought. "And I am no rapist." Heero repeated, obviously waiting for Wufei
to put the gun away so he could leave. Partnered...
"Neither am I. But then again I seem to have better control over myself
than you do in this matter at least." Blue eyes blazed in cold fury and
Wufei's finger instinctively put pressure on the trigger. Then he loosened
it again, and lifted the gun. "I have other needs though. I've seen some
of your hand-to-hand fighting skills, I'm curious to measure myself against
Without the gun in his face Heero was actually listening to him, but the
blue eyes looked puzzled. The man can only think in straight lines, Wufei
thought. He glanced down at the gun in his hand, saw his thumb brush on
the safety as if it belonged to a stranger. He couldn't quite believe
he was contemplating... as a small piece of him cringed, the answer came
out from the dead part of his soul, the one that didn't care about anything
but battle anymore.
"Pin me, and you have your... arrangement." He tossed the gun aside. It
hit the beaten dirt ground with a thud, spinning lazily.
Heero stared at him for a whole ten seconds. Enough time for the part
of Wufei's mind that could still worry about details to catch up with
"But no-... " Wufei stared at his own raised finger, tension ringing through
him. No what? What exactly did Yuy have in mind? Wufei's knowledge about
these matters was nil. He didn't even know what it was that he didn't-
Heero turned his back on Wufei, who was surprised at the strength of both
his relief and disappointment. But Heero didn't leave; he slowly reached
behind him and drew his own gun out of its back holster by the top of
the barrel and flicked on the safety blind, before turning and tossing
the weapon to join Wufei's, whose tension returned with a vengeance.
"No penetration. Agreed." Heero lifted an arm and rolled his shoulder,
eyes steady and thoughtful as if he hadn't just said that.
The words were making this all too real to Wufei as he dropped into a
defensive stance. The dead part of his soul shivered in anticipation of
a real challenge; the small part that was still the prim, reserved scholar
was swearing to do all that was possible to not get pinned down and-
Heero didn't adopt a stance or anything, he just leapt forward. No formal
style, Wufei had time to think, then he was parrying blows that were still
light and probing but probably wouldn't be so for long.
The warrior took over, and Wufei welcomed him. The battle-hardened fighter
couldn't feel pain, loneliness, despair, humiliation, doubt. The emotions
were blown away and he became a thing of controlled dark fury, the heart
of the storm.
The emotions coursing through him now were harsh and crude; dark joy at
seeing the cobalt blue eyes widen in surprise as he spun and twisted with
ease inside Heero's guard. It was like punching gundanium, he felt he'd
bruised his fist more than Heero's ribs. He'd held back a bit, the blow
wasn't crippling. Heero wasn't trying to injure him, and he, in turn,
wouldn't do anything to remove a gundam pilot from the war effort even
temporarily. It would soon be obvious to Heero he couldn't get through
Wufei blocked a blow that numbed his arm for a few seconds and retaliated
instinctively, following the moves that had been imprinted into his very
cells by constant practice. Fist pistoning out Heero dodged- half a step
forward to keep him off-balance, strike again- But he could feel it, the
sheer potential in the lithe body he was targeting as Heero manoeuvred
to get into position, analysing Wufei's moves.
Wufei smiled in fierce elation. At last an opponent to his measure. What
Yuy wanted from him almost seemed a fair deal in exchange for finally
fighting someone who could challenge his best, who wasn't an abyss of
weakness pulling him down. Wufei's smile widened as Heero's quick jab
got through his guard, striking his side before he could entirely twist
out of the way. The pain was a small flash of light in the fury of the
storm, easily ignored.
He couldn't pin down Yuy's style, it was so different from sparring with
a real martial artist- Wufei suddenly bent at the knees, blocked Yuy's
automatic kick, shoved the leg and shot up in his opponent's slight stagger,
left fist up for a punch to the jaw that would put Yuy out for the count-
Heero moved faster than was almost imaginable and the fist merely knocked
him in the mouth in passing. Wufei was already following through with
his right fist. Heero intercepted; the hard blow impacted on a steely
arm which barely moved a fraction.
Heero dropped back a few steps, running a casual thumb across his lip
to flick away blood seeping from a small split. His eyes were measuring
Wufei more carefully now. The perfect soldier smiled, a small cold movement
of the lips that must have stung and didn't reach his eyes.
Thirty seconds later, Wufei was flat on his back. Two steel hands were
wrapped around his wrists, a strong body was pinning his legs and sides,
and he was staring up dazedly at two cobalt blue eyes that showed as much
emotion as the LED in a computer. Wufei tried to twist against the hold
but he could barely move. He glared up at the victor. Who was waiting.
Giving him, he realized, the option to change his mind if he wanted to.
"I'm as good as my word." Wufei snapped, offended. "You can-"
Hard lips crushed his own, not so much a kiss as another kind of hold.
Wufei tasted blood, he couldn't tell whose. Heero's body twisted against
his own, his knee forcing Wufei's legs slightly apart, lowering and- Wufei
tensed as he felt Heero grind down against him, groin to groin, a hard
nearly bruising movement.
Wufei lay, unmoving, mind replaying those last thirty seconds, trying
to figure out how Heero had beaten his guard so quickly. Trying to distract
himself. Not so much from what Heero was doing it was the winner's prerogative,
and hardly the worse he could have chosen to do with it- as from his own
body's mechanical reaction to the friction. He didn't need that. This
was humiliating enough.
A writhing part of Wufei he wasn't fully in touch with insisted that this
was only fair. He'd lost. He'd not been strong enough. A man who lost
deserved death or humiliation; not to be let go as if he was nothing.
The lips left his own. Wufei took a trembling gasp of air, his body still
shaking a bit from the brutal take-down that had pinned him to the chaff-ridden
dirt floor. The rhythm of thrusts increased, Heero was breathing hard
near his shoulder. The hold on his wrists became painful, then bruising,
then agonisingly crushing. Wufei snarled silently but said nothing. Winner's
privilege, he thought, grinding it into his mind to ignore the grinding
of flesh against his own, and his own hardness in response.
The steel body pinning his stiffened, then, well, it wasn't a relaxation,
more a slight uncoiling of tension. Wufei shifted. Fine, now they could
just forget the whole-
The lips crushed his again, and Wufei gave a muffled cry of surprise.
Heero released Wufei's bruised left wrist his hand, numbed by the pressure,
could only twitch for a few seconds- and dropped between them, jerking
Wufei's black cloth belt loose and slipping down to- Wufei gave another
muffled shout, and his weakened left arm shoved against a hard shoulder,
which didn't move an inch. His right hand was still pinned down with bone-cracking
force and the body atop of his stopped him from twisting away. Wufei's
initial fear to have that hard hold on a much more delicate part of himself
than his wrist gave way to anger and affront as he realized that the
hand was gentler than he dreaded but was purposefully caressing him, half-hardened
as he was, with sure, efficient movements.
He didn't-! He didn't require this! His left fist tensed but there wasn't
much he could do with just one hand. Well, no, there was a lot he could
do, but not while Heero had his own left hand where it was; this was no
time to startle the perfect soldier with a sucker punch or a nerve pinch.
Wufei cursed internally, anger burning through him, matching the humiliation
as his body responded. He tried to control it, deny it, ignore it, not
even notice exactly what Heero was doing to him, and how it felt, and
all this wasn't helped by the fact that... even left-handed, Yuy... appeared
Wufei slowly returned to the low shed, dust falling eternally in the crude
light, the smell of dirt, oil and old wheat muffling the more organic
scents of sex and sweat. His body was thrumming, and he was embarrassingly
wet and sticky and thoroughly confused about how he felt about any of
this. Heero released his wrist and rose in a fluid, unconsciously graceful
movement, neither looking at Wufei significantly nor particularly avoiding
his glance. It was as if nothing special had happened. Slight gratitude
for that went into the emotional mix churning in the Chinese man's guts.
He managed to sit up, rubbing his arm across numbed and bruised lips,
head spinning. He heard Heero pick up his gun then rummage near the tractor
Wufei turned and barely caught the rag before it hit him in the face.
He glared at Heero who was wiping his hands against the spandex, oblivious.
The long green tank top, now hanging loose from the shorts, dropped low
enough to hide any traces of their... activities. Wufei grudgingly cleaned
himself up and straightened his clothes, wishing the mental repercussions
could be sorted as easily. A strong hand appeared before him. He glared
up, ignoring it. Cobalt blue eyes measured him again.
"Do we have an arrangement?"
Wufei stared in anger and disbelief, fighting to keep his face impassive
as he tried to figure out what to say. Since he wasn't sure himself.
Heero's eyes dropped to the dirty oil-stained rag Wufei was holding. "Next
time I'll bring something cleaner." He added.
"Next time I won't go down so easily, Yuy!" Wufei snarled, surging to
his feet, ignoring the proffered hand. It was withdrawn without embarrassment.
The other one was extended. Wufei stared for three second at his gun held
out to him by the barrel, then he took it without a word and holstered
it. A small humourless smile brushed Heero's lips as he turned away and
walked to the door. Wufei, who couldn't quite believe what he'd said and
They walked back side by side in silence. Heero was quiet because he was,
well, Heero. And Wufei was busy sorting through the words that would explain
some things to Yuy, hopefully right after they'd explained things to Wufei.
He didn't know what he felt about the... arrangement he'd just agreed
to. Well, furious and embarrassed, of course. But also oddly... pleased
that Heero had chosen him, had realized he had the focus and dedication
to not let something like this interfere with his efficiency. And it didn't;
because all the emotions he felt were just flapping around uselessly in
the cold wind roaring in his soul, temporarily sated with the aftertaste
of a real battle. No, the deal was fair... except for...
Wufei had been a scholar once, before the storm. He was widely read, and
knew quite a bit about traditions in many Asian countries. He knew what
he'd agreed to; shudo, the Japanese called it. The sexual relations
between samurai who, shunning the weakness of women and the ties they
implied, preferred the company of men. That he understood, and as such
he wasn't repulsed, or dishonoured. On the contrary. The relations were
normally between an older, more experienced warrior and a younger one.
As such, it probably hadn't surprised Heero that Wufei had suggested a
fight first, just to establish who was who in their relations, since they
were the same age. But the fact that Heero had also... why creep around
the facts. The fact that Heero had jerked him off afterwards indicated
that the Japanese youth considered him something of an equal, or at least,
a fellow warrior with the same urges he had. It was a neat, efficient
solution to a problem, typical of the perfect soldier. Heero hadn't meant
to insult him, either with the proposal or the... the last part.
As such, Wufei didn't know how to find the words to tell him he didn't
want anything to do with that bit. In his view, his share of the... arrangement
would be the chance to measure himself against someone who could beat
him fair and square. He already knew how he'd respond to some of the moves
Heero had shown him today. Next time, he wouldn't go down so easily.
But when he did go down and he was good enough a fighter to realize
that it would take more than one round for him to figure out Heero's informal
fighting style- he didn't want Heero pawing him afterwards, he didn't
need that release.
Not that it wasn't-... No, he didn't need it.
He used meditation to calm those urges. No, actually, he used the memory
of Meilan a hundred thin needles rammed themselves into his heart and
soul, in a customary act of self-punishment- to conquer the urges, then
meditation to recover his calm and his centre, to allow himself to accept,
once more, that he'd failed his wife and that she was dead, just as he'd
failed his clan and they were dead, and that revenge for both was still
lacking due to his failure, his weakness. The controlled fury washed him
clean of all sexual urges.
The thought crept into his mind that if he let Heero continue to uphold
his end of their... arrangement, then he could concentrate on taming some
other demon during his sessions of meditation. It was embarrassing not
the need for sexual relief, he felt no shame about that, he was just ashamed
he couldn't control it better- but then if he could spend time improving
his mental stability, while at the same time increasing his martial skills
against Heero... he would surely be only the stronger and better for it...
When they reached the house, he'd said nothing to Heero, and he knew he
wouldn't now. The deal was done.
"Ah there they-sweet mother of god!" Duo gaped at the bruises evident
on Wufei's arms and Heero's split lip. "Wh-what, did you guys fight?!"
"Sparring." Wufei and Heero both answered at the same time. And turned
as one towards Quatre. The blonde dropped his book and recoiled in the
armchair under the double-barrelled gaze daring him to comment or even
feel anything strange with his empathy. Quatre's lips moved silently
in protest at the intensity of the stares and the underlying warning,
shrinking helplessly into himself, until two long arms were placed protectively
on the armrests on either side of him.
Wufei and Heero shifted their gaze towards Trowa, leaning over Quatre
and the back of the armchair and making a rampart of calm green eyes against
black and blue. Heero measured him up with slight surprise and turned
away. Wufei noted his small sneer of disdain, and glanced back at the
two. No, he didn't think Heero had it right, he was thinking in straight
lines again; those two weren't lovers, at least not in the physical sense.
It was more something like inter-dependency, maybe some friendship. Wufei
didn't care. It wouldn't affect Trowa's performance. And though Wufei
judged that Quatre had way too many weaknesses for a true warrior, his
positive points made him a good tactical leader who, in the midst of battle,
wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice any one of them including Trowa if he had
Wufei turned his back on the three in the living room and walked towards
the small room he shared with no-one. He heard the shower running down
the hall and hoped Heero wouldn't use up all of their meagre supply of
hot water. He went to grab some clean clothes dirt and wheat-chaff clung
to his white pants and he was still sticky- and waited his turn, trying
not to think. He was getting very good at that.
NOTE: The Yang and Chen forms are schools of Tai Chi. The pressure points
forms (whose name, to my great shame, I have forgotten) is also part of
that discipline, and boy does it hurt like hell. As for shudo, also known
as wakashu-do (it has other names as well), the term used to describe
homosexual practices among samurai in Japan in the 16th to 18th century,
I'm sure you can find more information on that on the net.
I make Wufei practice katas here because it is a canon of fanfics, but
katas are Japanese. Chinese refer to the pattern of formal exercises that
allow the practice of martial arts as 'forms' (loose translation into
English, natch, I don't know the Chinese and couldn't find it, someone
please tell me). I kept kata so people would know what I meant.
[chap. 2] [back to