Clickity Clack

”Clickity Clack”
By: Camui
Pairing(s): 1x2x1
Warnings: Language… and to be honest I’m not sure if this idea has been done before. It’s been forever since I lurked the Gundam fandom.

Duo vs Laptop

~*~

Clickity clack. Clickity clack.

You think that the damn racket would keep me up all hours of the night. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. And when it does keep me up it’s not because it’s annoying. No, it’s because… well to be honest I have no idea why it keeps me up, or why even sometimes I find myself drifting into a comfortable lull, a silly grin on my face while I relax on the pillow. It’s rhythmic, the tapping. His fingers never seem to pause, even when the average person would have at least slowed down to think. He’s like a machine. I wonder if he’ll have arthritis in his fingers, carpal tunnel in his wrists when he’s older?

Fuck, I wonder if he’ll get older.

Heero is perfection in every aspect.

Even right now as I lay on the cot in our make-shift base, my hands behind my head to cushion it from the grossness of the sad excuse of a bed I’m laying on, Heero is perfect. My amethyst eyes drift over to his form, never hunched, but perfectly poised over his laptop which seems to permanently warm his lap. The machine doesn’t even hum, a vision of perfection for the perfectionist, as his fingers fly over the dimly lit keyboard. His cobalt eyes are hooded slightly as he processes the data I know is rolling over the screen.

I don’t even know what the fuck that shit means. It’s numbers and random letters all in a sequence that was explained to me once but forgotten just as quick.

Clickity clack. Clickity clack. Tap tap tap. Click. Clack.

I let my eyes drift back to the ceiling of our tent and smile lightly, thinking of the day’s events. Heero and I were on a private mission, one that wasn’t entirely dangerous, more involving us lurking around and spying rather than getting in and killing people. Which was, of course, bothering Mr. Stick In My Ass, who was obviously itching to get his hands on his glock. I, on the other hand, was perfectly fine with a chill mission. Maxin’ and relaxin’… well okay, I didn’t exactly get to do that with Heero. Who can relax with the guy around?

That didn’t stop me from grabbing a beer at every chance, though. That annoyed him. I could tell with every twitch of his lips in the downward position (which is odd, considering as they never twist upwards, therefore they’re permanently in a frown…). Oh I know he wanted to pull out his glock in a heartbeat, and lemme tell you it was not because he just wanted to look at it.

Even pitching our base, this stupid, shaggy wall tent, was like a class A mission to Yuy. It amused me, really. Every time he perfectly erected a pole and attached the flap to it, I would walk by, beer in hand with a shit-eating grin on my face, and unhook the material, causing the rest of the tent to fall down. This went on for about ten minutes, Heero gritting his teeth and putting the tent back together. Of course he wasn’t going to mumble about my not helping – if he had his way I wouldn’t even be present. Fuck, Mr. Perfect Soldier Yuy never needed a partner. He knew it. I knew it. Even fucking Dr. J knew it. But what happens all the time? Someone, some poor unfortunate soul, gets stuck tagging along with the suicide bomber.

I chortle lightly and hear Heero’s typing falter.

Click. Click. Pause. Clack. Clickity.

Raising a brow, I glance over, peering at the other pilot through my chocolate bangs. To the average person it would look like he hadn’t changed positions at all. And I suppose he hasn’t. But I, my friend, the ever-watching, ever-knowing Duo Maxwell knows that Heero’s senses are alert. My chuckle had apparently broken his train of thought.

See, it’s like this. Whenever he’s typing away at his poor piece of technology, I spend my time doing one of two things. A) I sit there and complain loudly about how much this mission fucking blows, where Heero can shove his data and logistics, and about how much I needed alcohol, sex, and weed; or B) Lay quietly and eventually fall asleep. Usually when I lay down with the intent of passing out I’m completely silent – even the urge to cough is suppressed; sneeze, scratch, anything. Nope. Just sleep. Because I know that any sudden move might make Mr. Wind-Up Soldier snap and I would become all-too-friendly with his favorite 9 millimeter.

The fact that I was doing something other than complaining or ignoring him must have startled the pilot. Odd… Heero Yuy never startles.

Pursing my lips in thought, I smile lightly, my tongue running over the upper row of my teeth with intrigue.

“Oi, Yuy.”

Clickity clack. Clack. Click. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap click.

Ah, I have his attention. I must have had it all night… and only just realized it.

“Oi.”

“Hn.” Click click tap clickity.

“… Whatcha dooooooooin’?”

Heero’s fingers stopped completely, resting lightly on the keyboard. His eyes close and his brows twitch slightly, and I can only imagine he’s counting backwards from one hundred. Letting out the slightest hint of a breath, he resumed typing. I sat up on my cot, the bars digging into my ass uncomfortably, and leaned forward a bit as if to peer at what he’s working on.

With the size of the tent, and us arranged as we were, if I leaned any closer my chin would be on his shoulder.

…

Leaning a bit further, I rested my chin on his shoulder and stared at the screen. I only caught a glimpse – lots of words and numbers and a picture, but the window was minimized as soon as Heero realized I was peeking. I pouted, feeling Heero’s stiff bones beneath my soft chin, and turned a bit to glare at the pilot.

“Hey, can’t I see?”

My voice was gentle but whiny, my breath ghosting over the skin of his neck, and the lobe of his ear. He didn’t move, twitch, or even give an outward sign that my hot breath affected him at all – then I felt the goosebumps rise. I smirked and draped my arms around his neck, nuzzling it lightly with my cheek. His skin is a lot softer than it looks.

“You should take a break and get some rest.”

This was a useless argument that Quatre tried on the Perfect Soldier a million and one times… an argument that was never resolved. Heero wouldn’t sleep and Quatre would end up going to bed with a worried frown on his innocent features.

Clickity clack. Clack. Tap tap. Clickity.

Again with the damn typing. I’m thankful that he doesn’t have a clunker of a laptop, the kind where if you lightly tap a key it sounds like you’re beating it with a mallet. My eyes narrow in irritation, but with the new screen he’s brought up – ah, a mission report – I quickly lose my interest in whatever he’s doing. Sitting back I lay on my cot once again, pulling the scratchy blanket up to my chin and rolling over, away from Yuy. Closing my eyes and relaxing as best as I can on the uncomfortably abomination, my features smooth and I find myself drifting off.

I hate that damn laptop.

Even if it is the only thing that can get me to sleep on these long nights.