I sat on my couch and watched a very wobbly looking Duo Maxwell try to get to the bathroom, giggling lazily as he stumbled into the sofa, and once again into the door. Of course, I was really no better off than he was, I just didn't need to get off the couch yet.
I reached for my beer, and then frowned as my fingers refused to form the proper grip in which to grab the can, and I sank back into the cushions.
Too much to drink? In all likelyhood - yes.
Should I, a muslim, be drinking? Probably not.
Religion's a fine thing when taken in moderation. Not that I made a habit of drinking, but when you're best friend, of which has been missing for several years, comes barreling down a preventer hallway looking fit to be tied, you grab on, and agree to whatever the hell he wants.
Even if that does involve getting absolutely toasted.
At 3 in the afternoon.
At least the hangover would be well and truly under wraps by tomorrow morning.
Duo was back now, and saying something, but I had recently discovered how fascinating my hand was, and didn't care to listen to him.
I woke up with a miserable headache, and the most gawd awful taste in my mouth. What the hell had I been doing last night? I sighed and rolled over-and over - and landed on the floor.
Grimacing, I looked around me to discover I was in the middle of a strange apartment, with a snoring Quatre on one couch, and me on - or off - the other.
I rose slowly, moving towards a room I vaguely remember being the bathroom. I splashed some water on my face, and looked up at myself in the mirror. Like a tidal wave, memory came crashing over me, through me, picking me up and carrying me away. Away to a room with a man spread out on a kitchen counter, his lover above him, thrusting into him.
Heero.
Fucking BASTARD!
Rage was the first, most overwhelming emotion, followed by pain and regret. Then, suprisingly, it drained away, and I remembered Mast- Zechs.
I remembered the way that he touched me, the way that he breathed my name - MY name!-as he came inside me, the way that he had tried to get me to remember, in the very beginning, before he had tied me to his bed, and opened me to my core.
What was I going to do?
What did I want?
I wanted to go home, to Zechs, and curl up into him, and hold onto him until everything was okay again, and I knew who I was. Who I wanted to be, 'cos I sure as hell wasn't some goddamned rent boy, following some guy around begging for his cock up my ass. I wouldn't be that, couldn't be that, and if I wanted Zechs, then I'd have to make sure he damn well knew that I was my own fucking person, and if he didn't want that -
Then what?
I'd be alone again. But, would that be worse that being somebody's pet? I needed him to understand that I anted to be with him, but as an equal.
Of course, if he wanted to tie me up when we fucked, I can't say I'd object too much to that.
Or even at all.
This was not how I had anticipated to day going. Well, the night either or yesterday afternoon for that matter.
I had arrived at Preventers to find Duo had run off with Quatre, Heero and Trowa were sporting some very impressive bruises, and Wufei and Lady Unne were having a very loud, emphatic "comversation". I had left shortly after, not wanting to answer the accusations or answer the questions. I had done what I had done, and I was not about to apologise for any of those actions.
Except perhaps to Duo.
Duo. For him I would apologise, I would plead, I would crawl on my knees and beg, grovel, if he would deign to see me, to hear me, to understand that I had not meant to deny him his self, but that I had wanted. I had wanted him so badly that it had turned into a need, burning in my stomach and making my fingers tremble with the *need* to have him. To touch his skin, taste his mouth, delve into his secret depths, where no one had ever been. I had burned inside to have him, and I had. I hoped it would not cost me his presence in my life, but the signs were not promising.
Not promising at all.
It was 10am, and he was still not home. I had sat here all night, in this rather uncomforatble Victorian chain, tucked away in a corner of the foyer, watching the door and brooding. Brooding is something that I do particularly well and far too often, but what else could I do? Would his friends speak to the man who had kept him as a slave? Chained to him emotionally, and never given him a chance to know who he truly was? He had said that if he were free he would choose to be a slave, to be dependant on someone, that he was happy, but I had know Duo Maxwell, and Shinigami would never submit to another.
Perhaps in the bedroom, he would be a supplicant to the more passionate emotions, but in life he would fight, would strive to present his ideas, his opinions, would stand up and demand to be heard. Sitting quietly behind someone and abiding by their decisions was not in him. I had known it, and I had ignored it, and now I would pay the price.
The lock catching was enough to shake me out of my reverie, and I glanced sharply towards the door, my hands tighting around the arms of the chair until I thought the centuries olf wood would crack. Then he was there, in fron of me, proud and defiant and somwhat hungover if I guessed correctly.
"Zechs" He muttered tersly, nodding his head in my direction, but not moving, not coming towards me, but not moving away either "we need to talk."
I nodded and stood, hoping he didn't notice that me knees were trembling. I was hot and tingly, fire running along my nerves, my head swimming. In that instant I knew that I loved him, and that he could very well destroy me in the next few moments. He moved towards the drawing room and I followed, watching as he poured himself a generous dose of whiskey, and downing it in a single pull.
Thinking of what else had been in that mouth, what those fingers had been wrapped around, knowing that my wanting had not deminished, and even realising that he could destroy me, still wanting him with a immediacy that had me aroused and picturing him bent over the coffee table.
He turned then, his violet eyes studying me, giving nothing away. He sighed and turned back to the bar, pouring himself another glass. I merely stood, watching him, drinking him in as he drank my scotch.
"I'm not sure what to say, where to begin. What to do." He said eventually, staring into the amber depths of his glass.
"I'm in love with you, if that helps." I replied. Best to be upfront about these things, after all. Let him know what he was dealing with.
He slammed his glass down, and turned, his face flushed with anger.
"Love me? You love me?! You don't even know me! For the last several weeks all I've done is follow you around and simper! That's NOT ME! I am not that person! I am an equal, I am EQUAL to YOU!" His breath was laboured, his eyes flashing fire, and I smiled. This was the passion that I had been missing. This was the Duo Maxwell that I had wanted, not the pale shadow of himself that he had been before. This man, this survivor, rebel, soldier, agent...he was who I needed with me.
"Stop smiling goddamn you!"
I moved towards him, and he stood his ground, a challenge in his eyes. I grabbed him, and kissed him, and didn't let him go as he struggled, not even when his foot connected with my shin, or his teeth my lip, not until he had softened and crumpled against me. Not until I was bearing his weight and had him wimpering in my arms. I looked down into his eyes, and saw his humiliation and his anger, and knew that he believed I had tried to show him just how submissive he could be. I smiled at him, loving him so much more.
"If you yell at me like that, Mr. Maxwell, you can't expect me to stand idly by. I have very little self control, and I'm afriad that when I see you angry, the last of it gets completely tossed out the window."
And then I kissed him again.
Later, much later, when our passion was spent - for the time being - we talked, and discussed what to do. I wanted him, wanted him near me, but he was bored. Being my personal attendant was not the challenging career that he had wanted. He wanted a life outside of mine, but still a part of it, something he could share with me.
Suggestions were thrown out - Preventer, programmer, head of security - and then we found it. Duo would become a security consultant for myself, and whichever corporation or company could afford him. Breaking their systems, finding the weaknesses, then rebuilding them to be stronger. His skills and reputation would make him highly sought after, and it was an occupation that would allow him to travel with me, and keep him out of danger, yet challenge him mentally.
Of course I offered to help, after all, office work can get tedious.
THE END