The Challenge | By : Eliztric Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Fresh out of the oven!
Alright, so in all honesty this should really be connected to the first “chapter”. I don’t think I’m going to play softball with this fic’s setup - you get what you get, when you get. Besides, isn’t it hell to sit down to read a one shot and realize it’s about two yards long? It’s put me off many a good fic, because I just don’t have the time to sit down and read it all. So with that said, I hope you can tolerate the erratic documentation of this story. Or whatever it’s trying to be. I can’t call it a smutfest, though I like that word. Because there’s no smut yet. Just this.
By the way. Wow. 23 hits in one day. A little less than. So! In honor of those 23 hits, I will hereby declare REVIEW! If you don’t tell me you like it, who’s to say I’ll keep on?
To be continued! Or will it?
If you give me a hint, maybe I’ll take it.
-The Author
Wufei examined Heero covertly as he led him up the stairs to the infirmary, on the second floor. The brunette was flushed undeniably, and looked like he might fall over. “What’s gotten into you, Yuy?” Wufei asked casually, trying not to be worried about it. Heero was a soldier, he would be fine in a moment - but it did indeed take a lot to bring him down. Heero had been known to keep fighting with a concussion, sprained ankle, and a bullet in his shoulder all at once, expression stony and fierce through it all.
“It’s nothing,” Heero said, stopping in his tracks, and, as Wufei watched, the Japanese pilot seemed to physically will himself back to normal.
The Chinese pilot shook his head. “At least drink something,” he commanded, before taking the pilot up to the third floor and their office, where Heero patiently waited for a cup of tea from Wufei’s thermos. All the while, Wufei was puzzling over what the three of them had been up to - their fast exit was unusual. If one of them needed something, just one would go. Not to mention the fact that Quatre had been dragging Duo along like an angry mother might drag her small child out of the candy shop. This and the fact that he could hear their voices on his way down the archive steps - though he couldn’t understand what they were saying at all - disturbed him, along with Heero’s strange state of being.
“Thank you, Wufei,” Heero said, placing his cup down on Wufei’s desk. “You’re welcome, Heero,” Wufei replied, catching an odd expression in Heero’s eyes before the stone-faced Preventer was walking away, back to his desk in the other corner of the room.
‘It’s nothing, just as he said,’ Wufei decided, before turning back to his mission report. Unfortunately, he realized, he could write nothing more until he checked the maps he had told Quatre to bring up for him for the bases that he and Trowa had brought down. Their operative had been to incapacitate one of the bases known, but the intelligence they had received had been compromised somewhere, and they had wound up in a far denser swathe of jungle than they expected, with a much larger target on their hands - seven smaller bases had grown up in the area around it and in order to bring down the larger one, the smaller ones had to be eliminated as well. The backup they called for was late in coming, because they, too, had had the wrong coordinates, thanks to an error in the encryption code receiver they had been using, an outdated model that couldn’t pick up Trowa and Wufei’s signal correctly. And so now he had to mark where the new bases they had encountered were in his report. Where was Quatre?
Duo had a smirk on his face that was unlike him as he entered the office, not that Wufei was looking. The Chinese man’s reflexes had his eyes darting up every time a door opened, even now, he was so used to the possibility of an attack wherever he was. Especially in a place such as the new Preventers office, where the security was still being set up and things were still being moved in, and people were still being recruited and trained. He himself had been asked to lead a close-combat class for the interns, shortly after his return. Wufei winced. It was his one forgetful moment that had gotten the two of them almost killed, and if it hadn’t been for Trowa watching his back, Wufei would surely have been the first to go.
Wufei’s eyes lit upon Quatre, who was flushed and tousled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair again. It was one of his nervous habits, Wufei knew.
“Hey,” Quatre said with a bright smile as he passed Wufei the thick manila folder. Wufei smiled back, unable to resist. He bit down fiercely on the urge to reach out and smooth down Quatre’s messy blonde hair. It was indeed a unique colour, Wufei thought. Almost like cornsilk, almost like honey, somewhere in between. Beautiful nonetheless…“Like sunshine.”
“Eh?” Quatre replied, wrinkling his nose a little. Wufei had yet to remove the file from Quatre’s grasp, and so it was between them now.
“My apologies,” Wufei said, realizing he had slipped, “I was distracted by the colour of your hair. When it catches the light like this, it’s almost like sunshine.” He tugged a little abruptly on the file and it slid easily out of Quatre’s fingers.
“Oh,” Quatre said, sounding genuinely flattered. He turned his head on one side as Wufei tried to ignore his faux pas but couldn’t ignore the blonde’s expression. His smile was soft and small, something that seemed as if it wasn’t supposed to be on his face, most certainly not because of him, but now Quatre obtained an absolutely ethereal glow, and it wasn’t just the sunshine falling through the double-thick bulletproof windowpanes. It was in his eyes.
“Thank you, Wufei,” Quatre murmured. “It’s nice to know what you think.” The blonde’s aquamarine eyes caught the light strangely, and Wufei watched as Quatre licked his lips quickly, leaving them slick and slightly reddened. “I hope you find what you need,” the Arabian added in a voice that Wufei had never heard before.
“How…is Trowa?” Wufei asked, instead of the hundred other questions that suddenly sprung to mind as Quatre ran a finger back and forth across the edge of Wufei’s desk.
“He called this morning to say that he would be back in a week - Catherine needs a stand-in acrobat since Grey broke his leg, and none of the others know the act,” Quatre said, his expression transitioning smoothly into the businessman’s face Wufei knew. “He said to apologize for him, for leaving you with such a mess on your hands,” the blonde added, smiling sadly, having known his share of messes as well.
Wufei smiled back, heart rate returning to normal as they trod familiar ground. “It’s the easy part,” he said in reply, waving his file of maps as he added, “No bullets.”
Quatre laughed at the joke, and gave Wufei a friendly grin as he said, “Still. Let me make it up to you in his absence. How about dinner? I’ll cook this time.”
“Quatre,” Wufei said, “You can’t cook.” It was true. Trowa did most of the cooking for the three of them, it having become his new hobby in the free time since the wars.
“Can too,” Quatre said, hands on his hips, sounding not unlike a ten-year-old in his protests.
“Nuh-uh,” Wufei replied, equally childishly, grinning, “Do you remember when you tried to make spaghetti?”
Quatre made a face. “Yes,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “All that smoke! We‘re lucky the stains came out of the walls, too.”
Wufei couldn’t help but laugh. Quatre pouted in response. “So what will I do for you instead?” he asked.
“You don’t need to do anything,” Wufei objected. “Trowa knows it’s not his fault. I appreciate what he’s doing: helping someone who needs him. Automatic forgiveness.”
“But I’m going to make it up to you anyways,” Quatre said, smiling. “Let’s say we go out to eat. I know a place.”
“Um…” Wufei said, “I get the feeling you’ll insist.”
“Naturally,” Quatre replied coolly, before asking earnestly, “What time do you get off work?”
“Six forty-five, same as you,” Wufei said blankly, a little baffled. “You know that already.”
“Ssh,” Quatre said, “We’re doing this right.” Speaking at normal volume, he said, “Great, so do I. I’ll pick you up, then. Say, seven-thirty?”
“O…kay,” Wufei replied, eyebrows furrowed. What was Quatre talking about? Was he…?
“Great!” Quatre repeated, smiling cheerily. “Seven-thirty it is.”
“I’ll…be ready,” Wufei said, unsure of what else he could say at a time such as this. Quatre smiled, however, so it must have been an acceptable statement. Wufei smiled back, the worried crease in his forehead smoothed out momentarily by the genuineness of the expression. But not for long. “Then it’s a date,” Quatre said, his voice strange again. Lower. Smoother. Wufei caught that funny something in the blonde’s eyes as their gazes locked for a long moment. Then Quatre smiled again, and with a hastened, “Bye, ‘Fei!” he was off, as if none of it had happened…Wufei watched the Arabian’s retreating back, eyes traveling from blonde locks down the sharp, high collar of the black uniform, down Quatre’s spine, down to the young man’s hips, which swayed a little, as if he were stalking off to hunt something else for a while…Quatre looked over his shoulder at Wufei, who bit his tongue inside his mouth, knowing he was caught staring at one set of curves he shouldn’t appreciate as much. The blonde, however, only bit down on a grin, tilting his head a little, as if to challenge him, before he continued off in the direction of his own desk, on the other side of Heero‘s and five away, the creamy folder of the file he had brought with him to Wufei sharp against the black of his side.
Was it a date? Wufei wondered. ’And if it is,’ he thought, before cutting himself off. ’No, Chang Wufei,’ the Chinese man thought, ’It is not a date. Not a real date. You would not be so lucky.’
As he watched Quatre take his seat, Wufei bit his lip, wishing fervently that, despite the consequences, he would be, for once, wrong.
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