Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Dawn -- Revised ❯ 8 ( Chapter 9 )
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.13.2005 | Updated On: 11.13.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 8.5K | Visits: 680 | Status: Work In Progress
Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Part Eight
Milliardo cursed as his umbrella snapped inside out. Hunching against the wind, he tossed the umbrella, now mangled into a travesty of cloth and broken spines into a nearby trash can. Water gushed by in the drains and swirled in little gullies about his feet. He was soaked to the skin but Milliardo was barely aware of the weight of his waterlogged coat and jeans as he hurried up the steps to the administration building. It was a little after six and all the offices were closed except the one he was looking for, its light gleaming at the end of the hall. Milliardo checked his watch. Still plenty of time before the library closed, but he had better move quickly. Jed wouldn't wait forever and the last thing either of them needed was to be discovered. Milliardo trotted toward the records office, leaving puddles of water in his wake.
"Jed?" Milliardo peered around the door.
"Yeah, man, I'm here." The redhead beckoned to him and Milliardo scrambled inside. "You're lucky I owe you a favor--and I like you," his face split into a grin, "this is some serious shit. Sharing student records is a big no, no."
"I know, Jed, I know. I swear, I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't important." Milliardo shrugged out of his coat. " I know if anyone found out, this could cost you your job so I really appreciate your doing this for me."
He and Jed met during their undergraduate days and though they had taken different paths, Jed abandoning the writing track for law, they never lost touch. They were not the best of friends, but they could depend on each other. That, and they had been lovers once. It hadn't lasted, but Jed had been fantastic in bed. Enthusiastic, Milliardo recalled with a grin and quite vocal too. A few years ago he had lent the redhead a sizeable portion of money to help him get over a rough patch and though Milliardo would never dream of accepting the money, Jed had insisted that Milliardo at least allow him to pay him back in any other way that he could. Milliardo agreed, never thinking he would need to call in the favor one day.
"No problem, Mil. What's the name of the kid you're looking for?"
"Yuy. Heero Yuy." Milliardo shoved his hands into his pockets as he moved closer to the computer screen.
"Hmm, let's see here. Yuy ... Yuy..." Jed raised an eyebrow, suddenly hesitant. "And you're sure this is all to the good?"
Milliardo made an exasperated sound. "Would I lie to you? Of course it is! Besides, it's not like I'm asking you for his social security number. I just want to know who his next of kin is."
"All right, man, all right," Jed spread his hands in a placating gesture, "I just gotta check, you know?"
"I'm sorry, I know. It's just this is important to me and I guess I'm a little uptight at the moment."
Jed laughed. "It's okay, Mil. I saw the kid's picture. I think I get it now."
Milliardo flushed. "That is..."
"Hey," Jed reached over the printer to retrieve the paper. He handed it to Milliardo, "I'm not making any judgements. If you say this is kosher then I believe you. I just hope the kid is worth it."
Milliardo's fingers closed around the printed sheet.
"He is, Jed. He is."
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< p>The machine whirred as Milliardo loaded another microfilm onto the reel and began scrolling. He had spent the afternoon hunting down everything he could find on one Jeremiah Yuy. Once he had Heero's father's name in hand, he had been unable to uncover a surprising wealth of information in the library archives. He had begun with a simple web search and that had turned up Jeremiah's name linked with a company called Gem Electric, specializing in micro-chip technolgy, particularly for industrial use. Jeremiah had founded the company sometime in the eighties, but Milliardo could not find much about his past other than he had come from humble a background. Jeremiah was not from the area and had moved to their town shortly after starting up Gem Electric.
Milliardo leaned back in his chair and whistled. It seemed their university's computer science and information systems departments had received a sizeable sum from Jeremiah when stock in Gem Electric was at its most profitable. No wonder Heero had turned to programming. He had had little choice in the matter. Milliardo scrolled through more articles about Gem Electric's meteoric rise and interviews with it's CEO, Jeremiah, who by all accounts was a cold and unsettling presence. His answers to reporters were always to the point and faintly derisive. Milliardo grimaced. There was no doubt he was an expert in his field, but he shuddered to think of the man as a parent. In all of his pictures, Jeremiah Yuy wore the same charcoal suit. He was perfectly pressed, to the point of rigidity, and stood stiffly with his legs apart. The only unconventional part of him was his hair, which he kept uncharacteristically long. It lent him an almost ferocious appearance and even years later, his pictures held an unsettling intensity.
The rain rattled the windows, coming down with greater furor and Milliardo shivered. His clothes hung oppressively on him now that he was no longer moving, and the damp wool of his sweater itched his neck. He kept scrolling through the reels, but nothing he came across was what he wanted. While Jeremiah's business profile was certainly pertinent, the articles told him nothing of Heero, who was Milliardo's greatest concern. Milliardo sighed and rubbed his eyes, which had begun to burn from staring at the tiny print for so long. The vibrating of his cell phone told him he had one message but Milliardo did not bother to check it. He had far more important things to worry about at the moment. He was beginning to become discouraged, but Miiliardo promised himself that he would search through two more reels before giving up. If he found nothing then so be it. In truth, he had begun to question the soundness of his plan and was somewhat relieved that his search was proving fruitless. Milliardo secured the penultimate microfilm onto the spindle. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that his actions were all to the good, he was troubled. He could not get Heero's tormented features out of his head.
Milliardo yawned as the pages flashed black and white before him, the clicking and humming of the machine loud in the stillness. Outside the window, a streak of lightning flashed--so bright and so jagged it seemed to rend the sky in a million tiny fragments. The weather was poor enough that he was one among only a few overzealous students left. Milliardo remembered the first day he stumbled onto Heero and smiled. He really should be getting home and out of these wet clothes. Why had he come here, again? Milliardo became increasingly convinced of his mistake. He should be home where it was warm, comfortable and dry. Milliardo had run into Trowa on the way to the administration building. Weren't he and Quatre hosting that movie night tomorrow? If Milliardo were lucky he would get Heero to come with him. That was what he should be doing--earning Heero's trust through the simple things--not sitting here in the library courting deception. No matter how frustrated Milliardo was, or how deeply he longed for Heero to open his heat to him, Milliardo realized now that he must wait. It was the only way he could ensure happiness for either of them. What if he went through with this and Heero found out? Any hope for love between them would be shattered. No, he would prove to Heero that all trust was not misplaced. Milliardo would go home, shower and then call Heero, invite him to the movie, ask him about his day--whisper sweet things to him. He would not bother with the last reel of film.
Milliardo put the machine on autoscroll and returned the unused microfilm to its box as his cell phone vibrated again. Must be Treize, he thought with a twinge of guilt, remembering the first call he left unanswered. Taking one eye off the screen, Milliardo reached across the desk and froze as something caught the edges of his vision. Was it? It couldn't be.... He jammed the scroll button to a stop, his hands trembling. The light on his cell phone continued to flash and the whir of the microfilm machine was suddenly deafening.
There, on the screen, as if by some eerie tranferrence, Heero had escaped Milliardo's thoughts and was staring back at him.
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&nbs p;
"So, what are you going to wear?" Hilde grinned at him.
Heero did not mean to mention the movie night, but now the woman would not stop pestering him. He had only been looking for the laundry detergent so he could wash some clothes for the next day. All through dinner, Heero had taken note of Treize's and Wufei's neatly pressed shirts and comfortable slacks, and he quickly determined he had nothing suitable to wear to the movie night. It was all right to go to classes as he was, but Heero could not define the feeling that came upon him at the thought of Milliardo seeing him in the same faded clothes again.
He knew it was out of the question to get anything stylish, but he had some small savings and after leaving Wufei and Treize, Heero stopped by the local thrift store. All items were fifty percent off on the last Thursday of the month, and Heero was determined to take advantage of the savings. He would have stopped there in any case to get clothes and other household items for himself and J, but Trowa's invitation made his visit all the more timely. Heero found some well-cared for slacks, a new pair of jeans (which he badly needed) and some shirts. He also bought sweaters for himself and was proudest of the fine serge jacket he spotted at the last minute. Heero even found some sturdy leather boots that would serve him well through fall and winter. Even after his purchases for J, the items had totalled to just under thirty-five dollars. Heero was sure he could not have been more efficient.
When he got home, he decided to do the laundry right away so he could determine which of his new purchases he would wear the next day. That was when Hilde had walked in, complimenting him on the new outfits. Of course she wanted to know why Heero had bought them. Heero tried to explain to her that he always made some purchases when items were discounted and had only touched upon Trowa's invitation in passing, but Hilde latched on to the little detail with the tenacity of a virus attacking a motherboard, and Heero had not heard the last of it since. She wanted to know if Heero was excited about going, if he knew Trowa very long--if the good-looking blond would be joining them. To this last question, Heero politely replied that though Wufei had described Quatre to him, he could make no other judgements about the man's appearance.
Hilde scowled. "You know I'm not talking about this Quatre guy. I mean your friend--the tall, blond god of a man who came to meet you here. "
Heero measured the detergent into a cup. "I think you are referring to Milliardo."
"Yes, Milliardo! And what a princely name to suit a very princely specimen." Hilde beamed at Heero.
"Is it not time for you to leave yet?"
"It's raining."
That meant there would be no getting rid of her. Heero turned to the washer without a word. Dipping into the laundry basket, he sorted the clothes by color, beginning with the whites because most of the sheets and J's clothes were of that color.
"So are you going alone?" Hilde hemmed him in, completely oblivious to Heero's attempts at ignoring her and Heero grimaced.
"I do not understand why you need such details."
"Come on, don't be shy."
Shy? Heero started. He was merely being logical. He frowned at Hilde across the table. Frankly, Heero found the woman incomprehensible. Because Heero often came in so late in the evenings, over the weeks, they had begun eating dinner together. At first, Heero tried to dissuade Hilde from joining him. He knew the inconsistency of his meals and was uncomfortable with her witnessing the incongruity of his fare. Heero knew the importance of nutrition and well-balanced meals, but he had not yet devised a strategy that would allow him to purchase nutritionally sound meals while staying within budget. Most nights, he ate hot dogs with pork and beans or he munched on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Other times, he dined on hastily microwaved dinners. No matter how he tried to chase Hilde away, though, the woman was adamant. Whenever he came home, he would find her bustling about the kitchen, the table already set with Heero's mismatched dinnerware--though Hilde did not seem to notice. She drank and ate heartily from the battered cups and plates as though they were the finest cookware. The woman had so insinuated herself into his schedule that when Heero was invited to have dinner with Treize and Wufei, he had felt obligated to call the house to let Hilde know he would not be joining her. No wonder he was having trouble getting rid of her!
What puzzled Heero most, however, was the fact that Hilde claimed to enjoy his company. Heero knew himself to be neither talkative nor socially adept. Indeed it was rare for him to speak more than a few words during his and Hilde's "conversations". After careful consideration of the matter, Heero had determined that more than fifty percent of his contribution to their dinnertime discussions consisted of directives such as "pass the salt" or "hand me the butter". A variation on the theme was "be quiet" but this was the request least likely to be granted so Heero had abandoned it for others that were more productive.
Heero frowned now, contemplating Hilde again as he put the last of the clothes in the washer. Completely illogical behavior--truly incomprehensible...
"So?"
"You are asking a question."
"Are you going out with him or aren't you?"
"Milliardo ... has also been invited."
"Aha!" Hilde crowed. "So that's why you bought these."
"I do not see what you mean." Heero murmured, watching as suds dispersed and coalesced on the washer's glass door. He had heard there was a new product one could add to the wash so that sorting was unnecessary. Dye Catcher, or something similar, it was called [1]. He would have to investigate it further.
"Come on, Heero," Hilde prodded. "You're not fooling me with this nonchalant act. Don't you want to look nice for him?"
For some reason, Heero's face grew hot at those words. "I am only interested in being presentable."
"Well, the rain looks like it's stopping, so I have to leave in a bit, but if you want, I can help you pick something out for your date. You've got some good stuff here, and with the right combination we can make it even more fabulous." Hilde pointed to the new clothes resting on top of the basket to be included in the next wash. "Don't look so worried. Trust me; I have an eye for these things."
Heero hesitated. Hilde's close-cropped haircut was indeed very stylish and once or twice he had seen her change to her street clothes directly from work, and she always looked attractive. Heero could not see the harm in seeking her advice. Not that it had anything to do with Milliardo by any means. He just wanted to be appropriate. J always told him there was a time and a place for everything and only a fool bumbled in unaware of his environment.
"Well..." Heero began.
"Come on." Hilde winked, already laying the clothes across the table. "We'll knock his socks off."
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Milliardo had only the articles to judge by, but his impression was so unsettling and so strong Milliardo could hardly deny it. Here was the last man on earth Milliardo would put a child in the arms of, yet Heero had been given to Jeremiah to the grins and nods of the public. Everywhere, there was excited commentary on the idea of Jeremiah as a father, but no one had remembered the child himself. The picture captured outside the agency was the last photograph Heero had appeared in. What had happened in that interim? Heero's eyes would not tell him.
How was it possible for so many people to be so blind? Milliardo scanned the papers agitatedly. How? Of course he knew how. Money talked. Though at six Heero could hardly have been the oldest candidate for adoption, he was already less then ideal--even more so, Milliardo imagined, with him being such a sober child. No doubt they'd assumed it was better to be adopted by an eccentric mogul than for Heero to find no home at all. Milliardo leaned back, more upset than he had expected. Maybe it was the pain he had sensed, buried so deeply in Heero that even the younger man was unable to acknowledge it. He had been hoping for a miracle, but everything Milliardo had seen today only reinforced his fears.
Milliardo skimmed the later issues to the collapse of Gem Electric in the last three years. There was mention of it being absorbed by one company and then another but Milliardo had stopped reading closely by then. Whatever ideas he had come with, Milliardo knew enough now to be sure that Heero needed him as much as he needed his troubled new friend. "Heero, can I talk to you for a second?"
Heero looked up from his soup to find Milliardo at his elbow. He was having lunch with Trowa and Wufei again and they were discussing the finer points of race cars. Trowa was surprisingly knowledgeable on the subject and Heero was just trying to press the other man for details about Quatre's latest purchase, when Milliardo interrupted them. Heero excused himself to join the older man, his heart thumping in his chest. "I will return shortly," he told his friends.
"No problem, Heero." Wufei smiled and Trowa nodded. "We'll wait for you."
Heero gave a stiff nod as he followed Milliardo out. The older man's expression was so grim as he led Heero across the room that Heero began to wonder if he should be concerned. They stopped just outside the little-used west entrance, shielded from the thoroughfare of traffic that usually marched past the dining hall. Milliardo was staring off at the parking lot with a faraway expression that was at odds with his agitated body language and the compulsive tick in his jaw. Heero could not think of a reason for the nervous movement, or why Milliardo had called him away from lunch. He remained silent, waiting for Milliardo to speak.
"Heero--" Milliardo whirled to face him. "Heero, we're friends, right? What I mean to say is, we're ... we're together aren't we?"
"Together?" Heero mulled the word over. He was not sure what he felt for Milliardo, though Heero could not shake the feeling they were being inexorably pulled towards something unnamable. What stood on the other side, however, Heero could not say. His instincts told him that whatever it was, he could not escape it. He had learned long ago that some battles could not be won and Heero knew this would be one of them. Held in the grip of the invisible current propelling them forward, Heero knew he must go along with it or be broken on the rocks--and dashed he eventually would be, regardless of whether he struggled or not. The pain would come soon enough, of that Heero was certain. It was the one constant in his life. Why invite it prematurely?
Together. The word echoed in Heero's thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak--to try to explain his feelings--but Milliardo was already rushing over him.
"Or I would like us to be," the older man was continuing hastily. "Will you consider it?" Milliardo rested his forehead against Heero's, took Heero's hands in his own. "Will you come with me to the movie night this evening?" he asked and Heero frowned, his gaze sliding away from Milliardo's. His legs felt suddenly and dangerously unstable, and Heero wondered whether he had pushed himself too hard at his daily exercises.
"I have accepted Quatre's invitation." Heero said and Milliardo's expression told him that it was the incorrect response.
"No." Milliardo raised Heero's chin with one finger. "I mean as my date," he explained. "I would love to have you by my side."
Heero tried to process this distinction. Was this the same "date" Hilde had been speaking of? She too had spoken of him and Milliardo as being "together". Of course, Heero watched movies, and observing his classmates he had an idea of how these things worked, but no one had ever taken an interest in him before, and for all Hilde's gushing about the night ahead, she had taken his date with Milliardo as a given. How one behaved on a date--or even how one knew he was one a date--this important data she had witheld. Heero always thought that numerous dates were required before two people officially declared themselves a couple, but this was not true in Heero's and Milliardo's case. Or was it? He and Milliardo had done many things together in the weeks since they'd met. Were those dates too? Heero wondered. Surely they must have been if he and Milliardo were now "together". Heero was not averse to the idea, but he was not sure he understood all the details correctly. "What is the difference?" he asked Milliardo slowly.
"The difference," Milliardo rumbled, "Is that I want to have you to myself all evening." His thumbs caressed the pulse throbbing in Heero's neck and Heero swallowed convulsively. "To hold you--" Milliardo kissed the point in question, tongue stealing out to hotly trace warm skin. "To kiss you," he finished, tracing the sensitive rim of Heero's lips before releasing him.
So that was what he expected. Heero's eyes were shut, his breathing harsh as he fought to control the emotions tumbling through him. They reopened to find Milliardo's face hovering before his. Heero imagined a night spent in the older man's company, the awkwardness of appearing as a couple, Milliardo's constant, unnerving presence at his side--the kisses and caresses that turned Heero's knees to butter… It should have cautioned him, but more and more Heero was beginning to see his relationship with Milliardo as a learning experience--a test of his will as J could never have imagined it. He would be singed, but Heero never minded the scars. Even if it was for only a moment, he wanted to step into the light just once.
Heero nodded. "Then, I will accompany you," he said. "Okay, I'm putting the DVD in!" Quatre announced, waving the slim case in the air as he moved toward the player. The kitchen-dining area was adjacent to the den and the rest of the group was milling around the table, grabbing drinks and slices of pizza. Heero was the first to return with his plate and Quatre settled next to him as the previews began rolling by. The blond was both more and less than Heero had imagined. Less, because Quatre was petite, his features sweet and boyish. More, because Quatre's eyes seemed to see things even Heero did not want to reveal to himself.
"Oh, you got the hawaiian," Quatre smiled as he glanced at Heero's plate. "You're a man after my own heart, Heero. That's my favorite too," he said and Heero grunted, knowing a moment of panic as he searched for a suitable response. He knew he should say something equally pleasant and innocuous, but he could think of nothing to greet Quatre's expectant smile.
"I've got you, Quatre," Trowa called, saving Heero from having to answer, as he picked his way across to Quatre, two plates held high. He offered one plate to Quatre, who accepted it gratefully.
"Thanks, Tro."
"No problem, Love." Trowa settled on Quatre's other side, feet crossed comfortably before him. With his lover so close by, Heero expected all Quatre's attention to be focused on Trowa, but the blond continued to talk to Heero as he munched on his pizza.
"It's really a pleasure to meet you, Heero," he was saying. "Tro and Wufei have both had such wonderful things to say about you--and Milliardo of course." Quatre added, beaming. "I've really been looking forward to having you over."
"Thank you." Heero cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the praise. It was difficult to find it deserving when he was not sure what he had done to earn it. He knew that he and Wufei had become friends and that he was rapidly growing used to Trowa's easy presence, but the how of it, Heero still could not pin down.
Treize and Wufei wandered in, followed closely by Milliardo, who was cradling a slice of pizza in one hand and nursing a beer with the other. Heero had seen the alcohol but deliberately avoided it, mindful that he must be in full rein of his faculties this evening, when he was so out of his depth. "Mystic Blade?" Milliardo murmured. "I don't think I've ever heard of that one."
"I have, " Wufei said from the loveseat, where he was resting against Treize. "It came out just last year, I think. I've heard it's quite good," he offered, his eyes glued to the screen. They all turned to the television as the movie started, Wufei pointing out one or two familiar actors whose work he had seen before, while Milliardo questioned him about their plots and whether there were any special effects worth seeing.
Quatre was susprisingly rowdy, rising from his seat more than once to cheer the hero on, while Trowa watched him in amusement. At some point, though, Treize and Wufei abandoned the movie to whisper to each other. Treize wrapped his arm around Wufei and was murmuring something in the younger man's ear. Whatever it was, Wufei seemed to agree with it, for the conversation ended with the two men kissing tenderly. Their kisses were quite chaste, but Heero could not help studying them. Treize and Wufei were a couple. Together, in the fullest sense. Surely Heero was to learn from them if he and Milliardo were to be an item?
Embraced as Wufei was by Treize, the movement was mostly shielded by Treize's body, but Heero was so intent upon the couple that he saw Treize's hand slip beneath Wufei's shirt. It moved upward to Wufei's chest and once there, proceeded to do something that made Wufei shiver like a chill had suddenly swept the room. Treize kissed Wufei's forehead and as quickly as he stole the caress, he withdrew, the two men returning to their previous postions as if the moment had never been.
Heero quickly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring, but his thoughts were awhirl with questions. An inexplicable heat had found its way under his collar as he watched his two friends, and Heero excused himself to the bathroom to splash water on his face and neck. In the mirror, the edges of Heero's hair were dark with water and his skin was flushed. There was a fire in his blood and Heero was hepless to say whether its source had come from without or within. Heero was stunning tonight. Milliardo could not take his eyes off him. The movie was almost finished and he could not say the slightest thing about it. All the while he pretended to be engrossed, Milliardo had been watching Heero over his drink. He wished they were sitting close together and he could pull Heero in his arms the way Treize was now holding Wufei. It was too soon of course for such open displays of affection, but Milliardo yearned for the day when Heero would be comfortable enough with him to allow it.
As the movie ended, Trowa put on some music. Joining hands, he and Quatre swayed to the rhythm. When a slower beat came on, they dimmed the lights and pushed the dining table and chairs far to the side, creating a makeshift ballroom. Treize and Wufei hesitated, but after a moment, they too rose and embraced. Milliardo turned expectantly to Heero, his heart pounding in his chest.
"What about you, Heero? Do you dance?"
Heero's dark brows drew together as he regarded Milliardo. "No."
"And why not?" Milliardo asked with a tender look. "Don't you find it enjoyable?"
Heero's frown deepened. "I don't know how to," he admitted, "but I still fail to see its appeal. The proximity of the dancers seems oppressive and more apt to hinder movement than promote it. It is not something I would like," Heero finished matter-of-factly, his tone daring Milliardo to convince him otherwise.
"Perhaps you simply haven't found the right partner." Milliardo drew Heero's attention to the dance floor. "Look," he said, indicating first Quatre and Trowa and then Treize and Wufei, "don't they seem like they're enjoying themselves?" Heero nodded reluctantly and Milliardo smiled at the younger man's wariness.
"The closeness is what makes it special." Milliardo took Heero's hand in his. He stroked the sensitive webbing between Heero's thumb and forefinger then gently turned Heero's palm over to trace the faint slash of his heart line. "I think you would make an excellent dance partner, Heero."
Heero began to shake his head, but Milliardo soothed him. "Would you let me hold you in my arms--just for a little while? Please trust me; it's nothing to be suspicious of."
Heero's expressions were so inscrutable, his moods as unpredictable as the wind. Milliardo could not begin to guess what the younger man was thinking. He waited, praying that this time they would be in his favor.
"What do you say, Heero? Will you dance with me?"
"Close your eyes, Love."
Heero hesitated but obeyed. The tension in his frame slowly unwound and he leaned into Milliardo, allowing Milliardo's guiding hands on his hips. It was not long before they were moving together and then Heero was scarcely aware of the music. Milliardo surrounded him-- his heat, his scent, the steady throb of his heart beneath Heero's ear. Milliardo's thigh slid between Heero's, bringing heat against heat, and the languid rubbing of the older man's hips against Heero's sent warmth rushing through his veins. Heero was dizzy from the throb of arousal and the hazy pleasure radiating from their joined bodies, even as Milliardo's hands seemed everywhere at once, caressing Heero's face, his back, his hips..... Heero didn't realize that his eyes were still closed or that he had completely melted into Milliardo's embrace. It just seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean up and press a kiss against Milliardo's parted lips.
There was a pause, a gasp fanning Heero's lips, and then Milliardo was shuddering as his mouth slanted over Heero's, returning the sweet pressure. His fingers tangled in Heero's hair, massaging his scalp and trailing down to the nape of Heero's neck, making him shiver. Their tongues mated and a tortured groan rose from Milliardo, even as he pulled their bodies closer. Milliardo's mouth was soft, his body warm and surprisingly yielding. Though Heero tried to maintain his composure, he found himself pressing closer, drwan irresistably to that heat and strength.
Milliardo's hands roamed Heero's body, stroking through the barrier of clothing and Heero knew a want he could not name. His breath came fast, his fingers clenching and and unclenching in Milliardo's shirt. It suddenly occurred to him that this was insufficient, that he wanted to lie with Milliardo as he had done that day on the grass and feel Milliardo's skin, hotter than the warmth of the sun, next to his. Heero shifted in Milliardo's arms thrumming with a frustrated and confused desire. He knew what he wanted, but not how to achieve it. They were not lying in the grass, they were not alone and Heero could not think how to alter the situation so that he could touch Milliardo as he wanted. Heero slid his hands down to Milliardo's hips, intending to copy the sensual hold Milliardo had on him, but once there, Heero could not stop. As of their own accord they reached round the older man and squeezed his firm buttocks. For a horrified second, Heero froze, realizing what he had done. He began to offer a gruff apology, but the words died on Heero's lips. He stared, fascinated as Milliardo threw his head back and groaned
Heero remembered the hot, shivery feeling that came over him whenever Milliardo touched him, as though a net of fire were cast in his veins. Heero stared at Milliardo's slack features and wondered if it was possible for the older man to be ensnared by Heero's touch. He moved closer. Heero cupped Milliardo again and Milliardo moaned ... shuddered.
Heero also groaned. He knew he had discovered something important--something sweet and heady that was almost more pleasurable to Heero than the fever that seized him when Milliardo caressed him. Heero tucked the shining fragment away in his memory for later, when he was at leisure to analyze it. For now, the music still throbbed sensouously and Heero could only think that for all he had deemed this dancing such a clumsy, awkward ritual, he did not want the music to end.
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"Milliardo! Finally, I catch you alone." Treize hurried over to Milliardo's side. "My goodness, you're a hard man to get a hold of these days. Mil, I have some wonderful news to share. Wufei and I--"
"I'm really sorry, Treize, can we talk about it later?" Milliardo interrupted, his expression contrite as he began moving to rejoin Heero on the balcony. After the dancing he and Heero had gone into the gardens for a walk, parting only for a moment while Milliardo went to get them drinks. Heero was more easy with Milliardo tonight than he had ever been and Milliardo was desperate to preserve the languid mood that had blossomed between them.
Treize touched him on the arm. "I know you're a bit preoccupied at the moment but I think you'll want to hear this," he said with a smile.
Milliardo glanced impatiently over his best friend's shoulder to where Heero was waiting. Of all the times for Treize to want to chat! It was quite inconvenient. Milliardo hoped Heero was not getting impatient waiting. He couldn't afford to lose that connection they'd forged toinght! Milliardo shrugged off Treize's touch with a grin. "Look, Khush, I hate to do it but I really have to pop off; Heero's waiting for me. I swear to god we'll catch up first thing, tomorrow. I'll drop by early in the morning and we can catch up on everything we've missed."
Treize nodded stiffly. "All right then, MIlliardo, I won't keep you here with my trivia. We'll catch up tomorrow I suppose. Now, if you'll excuse me...."
Milliardo saw the tense line of Treize's shoulders as he turned to join Wufei and he swore. Damn it! He had hurt Treize's feelings. Milliardo opened his mouth to call out to his best friend but just then he saw Heero peer around the door as if looking for him. Milliardo hesitated, looking from Treize to Heero--torn between his potential lover and the different kind of love he held for his best friend. What should he do? Milliardo's gaze darted between the two men again. Careful not to spill the drinks, he hurried toward the balcony. He and Treize would catch up tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he and Treize would sit and talk like old times and Milliardo would repair the damage done tonight. This was Treize, his best friend after all. Surely whatever it was, they would work past it.
Milliardo found Heero staring broodily over the balustrade. He smiled as he offered the younger man a drink. "Were you waiting long?"
Heero turned to him, his eyes luminous in the moonlight. "No."
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Heero pushed aside the stack of bills on the kitchen table so that Milliardo could sit down. As unglamorous as the kitchen was, Heero was not prepared to bring the older man to the living room with its old-fashioned TV, threadbare rug and faded, lumpy sofa. He knew Milliardo had seen it the first morning he came to meet Heero and Hilde had shown him in, but Heero was not about to reinforce the memory--not after he had seen Milliardo's home and the life of comfort he led. Heero still was not sure why he had brought the older man here, and he knew Hilde would pester him tomorrow for answers. As he propelled her out the door, Heero had seen a particular gleam in her eye that did not bode well for Heero, but how could he respond to Hilde's badgering when even he could not explain the feeling in his chest? Heero only knew that after the dancing and the quiet conversation shared with Milliardo, there was a deep questing within him. He wanted to get to the root of it and Milliardo seemed to be the only means. Everyday, he lost more of his focus, was pullled further and further away from his mission--both mentally in his constant thoughts about the older man, and physically in the time he took away from his studies, the time he took away from his discipline to be with Milliardo. Heero missed the order of his life before Milliardo, when he knew his duties and never had to worry about all these confusing emotions now battering him from every side. He had gone astray and whatever hold Milliardo had over him, Heero was convinced the only way to remove it was to get to its source.
Shaking himself from his musings, Heero found Milliardo studying him. The quality of the other man's gaze was enough to make Heero's breath catch and his stomach flutter oddly. Heero frowned. "I'll put on some tea."
"Thanks."
Heero rummaged through the cupboard for the tea bags and put the water on. All the while he could feel Milliardo's gaze on him like a caress. It was quite disconcerting and Heero nearly burned himself as he poured the hot water into the mugs. He stared at the scald in dismay. He was becoming too careless....
"Are you all right?" Milliardo asked, and before Heero could stop him, Milliardo was already rising out his chair to stand next to Heero, his expression tinged with concern. Carefully, unwrapping Heero's fingers from around the kettle, he lifted Heero's hand to examine the reddened skin. "Hmm, it doesn't look too bad. You should be a bit more careful, though," Milliardo murmured huskily. "That could have been quite serious."
Heero's breath rushed out. "It...it's nothing," he stammered, hating how shaky his voice sounded.
"Humph." Milliardo blew gently on the irritated flesh. "Better?"
Heero's heart thumped at the sight of Milliardo's lips so close to his hand. No matter how much he tried to steel himself, his thoughts scattered. His skin felt hot in a way that had nothing to do with the tiny burn and his breath was coming fast. He had to take control of the situation quickly. "Milliardo, what about the tea?"
"Ah, yes, let me help you with that." When they were seated at the table, Milliardo smiled. "I had a really good time tonight, Heero."
Heero swallowed a gulp of tea too quickly, and was grateful for the way the the discomfort reminded him of his resolve. "Thank you."
"No, it was really my pleasure. You're a wonderful person--and a wonderful dancer, Heero. I hope you'll do me the honor again."
Heero remembered the way it felt to be cradled in Milliardo's arms and his lips twisted ruefully. "It was an interesting experience. I did not think such a thing could be enjoyable."
"Ah, you don't know what it means to hear you say that, Heero," Milliardo murmured. The older man hesitated. "Heero ... Heero ... would it be possible to have one final dance?"
"But there is no music." Heero frowned at the tablecloth as Milliardo stood at his side, his palm extended. Milliardo was so close, the heat of his body like a siren call to Heero, already foundering on the rocks of desire. He intended to remain seated, but his body had ideas of its own. As if in a dream, Heero saw himself put down his mug and put his hand in Milliardo's, allowing the older man to pull him up until he was folded into the warmth of those strong arms.
"It's okay, we don't need any music," Milliardo whispered, holding Heero close. "Just close your eyes and let your body find the rhythm inside you."
"There is no--"
"Hush ... hush ... trust me, Heero." Milliardo's hands tightened about Heero's waist. Their feet tangled at first, but soon they righted themselves, swaying together to the invisible beat Milliardo had conjured between them. Heero tried to hold the other man's stare, but Milliardo's eyes were too bright, his gaze hinting at something Heero was not yet ready to acknowledge, so instead, he rested his head against Milliardo's shoulder, letting his eyelids flutter shut as they shuffled about the room. Heero did not know how long they embraced like that, with only the howling of the wind outside and the groaning of the house as it shifted on its foundations as their backdrop. They danced and danced and danced, moving by some strange synchronicity until they twirled out of the kitchen and found themselves at the foot of the stairs.
Heero clutched Milliardo's shoulders. The yearning within him was a palpable thing, and he could feel the ridge of Milliardo's desire pressed hard against his belly. When he looked up, the fierceness of Milliardo's expression took his breath away. Heero thought of the party ... the way the music seemed to thrum in time to the pulse in his veins ... the way when Heero had caressed him, Milliardo seemed to mold to Heero's touch. And finally, Heero remembered the way Milliardo's mouth had descended on his with such heat, such pressure.... It was a gamble, but hadn't he wanted to get to the source of all his pain? What if the answer lay right here?
Heero stared into Milliardo's too bright--too dangerous eyes. Without a word, he took his hand and led him up the stairs.
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"So what are we watching?" Milliardo asked, collapsing onto the chair next to Heero's . When he leaned forward to grab the DVD case, their knees brushed and it was as if electricity crackled between them. Sensation zinged from that warm point up Heero's thigh, leaving his skin charged and hypersensitive even through the rough cloth of his jeans. Heero shifted away, struggling to catch his breath, but Milliardo appeared completely unaffected as he studied the small text printed on the DVD jacket.
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Milliardo led Heero towards the dance floor. His arms slid around Heero, smoothly guiding him, pressing their bodies close. Heero knew his movements were awkward, but he was new to this and he could not seem to find the rhythm. Milliardo's hands stroked down his back, caressing the tense muscles along his spine then moving downwards to settle on Heero's hips. He bent close to whisper in Heero's ear.