Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell ❯ Dramatis Personae ( Chapter 36 )

The Edulcoration of Duo Maxwell - 36/?

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Warnings: AU, yaoi, coarse language, violence, angst, cliffhangers, red herrings, mention of various vices, random bits of useless knowledge, occasionally explicit sex.

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: None for GW, and I'm now quite convinced almost nada for Pretty Woman.

Disclaimer: I don't really need to be Captain Obvious here, do I? No ownership, no money being made, yadda yadda. Written for fun, not profit.

Archived at:
http://www.atsui.org
http://www.gundam-wing-diaries.150m.com/gw /Mookie/gwmookie.htm

Edulcorate (verb) - To free from harshness (as of attitude); to soften

~~~~~

Chapter 36 - Dramatis Personae

Wufei opened his eyes and was stunned to see the sun streaming through the blinds.

He tried to turn around to see the clock, but Meiran was blocking his view. One of his arms was wedged between her body and the mattress, and his hand was completely numb. Flexing his fingers to increase the blood flow there sent pins and needles up his arm and he winced.

Then Meiran made a murmur of contentment, and he couldn't help smiling.

The minor discomfort was worth it, after last night. She rolled over, freeing his arm, and blinked up at him. He felt the edges of his lips twitch, and she returned the smile, then rested her head on his stomach, placing one hand against his hip, and closing her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin and he shivered.

Sex with Meiran was like...well, he really had nothing to compare it to. He and Meiran had lost their virginity to each other in college, at the end of their freshman year. Of course they'd gone to the same school. It had been inconceivable that they'd even consider attending colleges at opposite ends of the country.

He had been so excited and eager for 'it' to happen, the first time they'd tried, and he'd been so overwhelmed by the site of her naked body that he'd managed to embarrass himself as soon as she reached out a tentative hand to touch him.

He was certain she'd adopt the teasing attitude she had, and his face had flamed. It was one of the few times he'd felt like crying, the experience had been that humiliating.

She did tease him, but not in the way he'd expected. She'd simply continued to reach for him, seemingly unfazed, and cupped his wet, dripping, flaccid, completely useless member. Then she'd waited for him to look up and meet her gaze.

When he finally did, she'd leaned forward and kissed him gently, and he felt anything but pity in that simple joining of lips. It had been reassuring, true, but Meiran had seemed a bit bolder than usual. As if she'd discovered the power she had over him, but instead of using it against him, was channeling that energy into fueling her own awakening passion.

He'd been dumbfounded to see her bite her lip, struck with the desire to lick the tiny droplet of blood that action caused. Then she leaned back on the bed and gave him a sexy little smile, one that was more innocent than seductive, and would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. The whole time she managed to keep at least part of her hand in contact with his crotch. When she used the other one to touch herself, he'd lost his ability to breathe.

By the time she'd awkwardly managed to bring herself off, something that seemed to surprise her more than it had him, he was rock hard again, but they chose not to push their luck.

She just wiped her sticky hands on her bare thighs and brushed a lock of sweat damped hair from her forehead with the back of her hand, then smiled timidly and said, "I assume it was good for you?"

~~~~~

Heero could hear the voice plain as day in his head.

Took you long enough, Yuy. And here I'd always thought you were a smart guy. By the way, I think I should feel insulted for a variety of reasons.

He had realized from that first meeting at the Samurai that Milliardo Peacecraft had been in the armed forces, because there was just something about military personnel, in the way they walked, and in the tone of their voice, that never seemed to go away. Not if they'd been dedicated to their service. He'd suspected he saw traces of that many times when he and Quatre had been at the bar.

But those who had been in the special forces...there was a deeper underlying confidence to their posture, their carriage, and their mannerisms, that just didn't fade with time.

And now that he'd placed it, he was amazed that he'd not seen it sooner. Deep down he'd suspected that intercepting that instant message had been a portent of things to come, he grudgingly admitted, and yet allowed the onslaught, despite his feeble attempts at remaining incognito. Why else would he have approached Hitomi-san at Prada Men, wearing leather pants and a blond wig? His grandfather's associate was a hell of a lot more astute than Alvarez had been.

The structure of broken pencils was in danger of collapsing, but he'd known that for some time now.

"Heero?"

Duo's breath was in his face as the seated man turned to look up at him inquiringly.

Heero licked his lips and straightened, leaving the intimate cocoon of shared breath that had been far too tempting. The monarch butterfly wasn't yet ready to leave the chrysalis.

"Do you miss her?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Hilde?" Duo sounded surprised. "No. Yes. I don't know. Maybe, a little."

Well, what else had he expected? Duo had said that he'd been involved with the woman for three years, on and off.

And he hadn't been the one to break things off.

Hilde had dumped Duo the night Heero had met him.

How's that for a kick in the pants, Yuy? You have to admit, the irony is rather amusing.

Shut up, he groused at the familiar voice in his head. See if I ever give you a back rub again.

You will and you know it, no matter how mad you think you are, it taunted.

"Try me," he muttered under his breath.

And damned if that voice didn't full out laugh at him while Duo looked at him in confusion.

~~~~~

The second time Wufei and Meiran had decided to explore their emerging sexuality after that first disastrous attempt, they'd limited their experimentation to touches only, which was enough to alleviate their mounting frustration without adding undue pressure.

By their second semester, they'd both worked their way through various techniques that Meiran had picked up from girls in her dorm and one or two that Wufei was sure his roommate was making up when he'd bragged about them to another boy on their floor. Neither of them had been surprised at how much more Meiran gleaned from her gender than Wufei ever did from his. Girls had no compunction about consulting magazines or comparing notes or gushing about who they did or where they did it, competing for shock value in an effort to appear worldly and sophisticated, but achieving the exact opposite. At least that was true in Meiran's opinion, although she was rather grateful for the tips.

The last day of school, when Wufei and Meiran were both packed up and ready to go back home, they'd decided to take advantage of the fact that Meiran's roommate had finished all her exams and left the campus two days earlier.

Wufei had snuck into the girl's dorm, just like countless generations of eager freshmen had before him, and they'd made love for the first time.

It had been clumsy, and had taken several tries, and fumbling with three different condoms first, and in the end, Meiran had been left unsatisfied physically, but he'd known, even at nineteen, that he'd never want for another woman again.

Now here they were, years later, married, and the sex was hotter than ever.

How could he have denied himself Meiran's touch so many nights, simply because he was too busy devising a plan of attack against this company, or investigating the background of that one?

"What are you thinking about?" Meiran's sleepy voice asked, her lips moving against his abdomen.

"You."

"Mmmm. Anything good?"

"Very."

"I love how loquacious you get after a night of mind-blowing sex," she said, her voice muffled.

"And I love you."

She fell silent. Wufei's words made her want to start crying, but she didn't want to ruin this perfect moment by adopting the reaction of a silly pulp fiction heroine.

It was like he'd come back to her. Her wonderfully noble, stubborn, sexy, pigheaded-as-all-hell, passionate, protective spouse, her Wufei, was back.

She wasn't letting him get away from her this time. She'd follow him to the gates of hell if she had to, and drag him back by his ear, just like Mrs. Chang had when she'd caught him out past sundown when they were five.

"Wufei."

"Meiran."

She propped herself up on one elbow, then ran a single fingernail along his hipbone, up his side, all the way to his armpit until his body registered that it tickled and he jerked away from that teasing touch.

He grabbed the offending hand and rolled on top of her, pressing the back of her hand to the mattress.

"You're playing with fire, woman," he growled, and she loved the way her insides turned to mush at the husky tone of his voice.

"Burn, baby, burn," she breathed.

Just as he leaned in to kiss her, she put her free hand in front of her face, catching his lips in the palm of her hand and pushing his head back.

"Wufei."

"What?" his impatience was obvious, but she didn't dare laugh. Not just yet, or things could get rather embarrassing.

"Get off me," she ordered.

"Why?"

"I need to use the bathroom first."

~~~~~

Relena Peacecraft was practically wringing her hands, waiting for her brother to leave.

She trusted that he wouldn't change his mind and enter into a binding contract with Romefeller without further investigation, but she also knew that he was eager to make a decision, and might be inclined to be a bit hasty as a result. The last thing they needed was to end up in a worse situation than the one posed by Duke Dermail and his granddaughter.

Milliardo despised indecision. His theory was that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission, something he'd practiced without abandon since she could remember.

She was going to follow that same maxim. She knew he'd forgive her eventually, but if he knew what she was going to do today, he'd have the phone service in the house cut off, and would have Pagan breathing down her neck if she went anywhere other than the bathroom.

If she knew her brother, he was going to be rather preoccupied today, doing his damnedest to figure out the best option for the future of Peacecraft Corp. Or, if not the best, at least one he felt he could live with.

She looked at the clock for the sixth time in as many minutes, hoping he was planning on leaving soon. With the time difference, she only had a few hours when she could make the call and be reasonably sure of reaching her ally.

~~~~~

Duo couldn't see his lips move, so it was hard to tell what Heero had just said, but it sounded almost like "buy me." That didn't make any sense, though, even taken out of context. Not the buying part, because he'd already done that.

No, that wasn't right. It was true that he'd purchased Heero's services for the week, but his money couldn't buy him Heero.

And there's a difference?

There was a world of difference. It was the difference between the way he'd been able to tell Hilde he'd loved her when only in the throes of orgasm, but never wanted her to hang around afterwards for cuddling.

It was the difference between how he'd promised fidelity, although not in so many words, and yet insisted on wearing a condom whenever they were intimate, even though she was on the pill, and had been for years. She'd assumed he was fucking everything in a skirt, and was using protection to avoid accidentally passing on anything he might have picked up from one of his other conquests. They'd had quite a row about that.

It was the difference between flirting with Meiran in front of Wufei and being practically groped by Rita Landry right under her husband's nose.

"Can I ask you a question, Heero?" he asked, standing up to put enough space between them that he could think straight.

"You just did."

He frowned slightly. "A personal one." He walked over to the armchair, and as he expected, Heero followed, assuming his usual place on the loveseat.

Duo would swear that those amazingly beautiful eyes, dazzlingly blue without the ubiquitous contact lenses in place, held a hint of mischief as Heero replied, "you are welcome to exercise your first amendment rights." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "just as I am welcome to exercise my fifth."

"Ever see the movie Silence of the Lambs, Heero?"

That wasn't a question Heero had expected.

"Yes, I have."

Duo actually laughed. "And here I thought you'd tell me you read the book."

"I did."

"Ah, Hannibal Lechter," Duo said. "Quite a guy, wouldn't you say. Know my favorite line in the entire movie?"

"Something about fava beans and a nice chianti," Heero guessed, warmed by the surprised laughter that response evoked.

"You never cease to surprise me, Heero, but you're incorrect. My favorite line is the essence of the story, to me. The price Clarice had to pay for every precious drop of knowledge she squeezed from Hannibal."

That was all he needed to say.

Quid pro quo.

This for that. What for what. Something for something. Tit for tat.

Heero was well acquainted with the term. He was sure Duo must have entered in several quid pro quo agreements that benefited his company, but perhaps didn't offer an equitable trade in return. Survival of the fittest, when the tit wasn't on par with the tat.

Quid pro quo. Three words in succession that Heero hated with a passion, when used in other contexts. Political favors. Grants of immunity.

Quid pro quo. A necessary evil at times, as he damn well knew.

"What do you want to know, Doctor Lechter?"

~~~~~

After giving up on the pretzels, a rather pathetic means of distraction from his jumbled thoughts, Quatre hastily made his excuses and left Trowa and Cathy at the bar, then had wandered up and down Hollywood Boulevard. He actually managed to convince a young, rather disheveled looking, gentleman in a wrinkled business suit that he needed Quatre to take his mind off his troubles, and he easily negotiated a price far more than he'd normally charge.

It didn't take long to find out that the man had lost his job the day before, but Quatre didn't feel the least bit guilty for overcharging. A suitable distraction was what he wanted, although he adamantly insisted that applied to the stranger and not to himself. You couldn't get what you wanted without paying the price for it.

However, with his mind preoccupied as it was, he found himself in a situation that quickly turned ugly. The man wanted to do more than talk. It was rare for Quatre to so thoroughly misread someone's intentions, but not only did this man want a physical release, it was clear he wanted it rough, and he wanted Quatre to be uke.

The man had obviously spent the night, and probably a good portion of the previous evening as well, dulling his senses via the 40 ounce bottle of Camo he'd been stubbornly clinging to when Quatre found him. From the way he smelled, it hadn't been his first, perhaps not even his fifth. If not for that slight advantage, Quatre suspected he might have ended up in a position he'd refused everyone with the exception of Heero.

He almost hated Heero for that. He'd saved it, like some schoolgirl holding out for the captain of the football team, and had been ready to hand it over to Heero on a silver platter. It was a virginity of sorts, and yet it hadn't been good enough for his roommate.

He was being unfair, but he resented the fact that at least Heero had gotten to experience it as something to be enjoyed, something that was more than 'just sex.' Quatre resented that he'd been the one who had given that to Heero before he'd turned around and made it clear that he still planned on turning tricks, sullying the memory of what they shared and making it seem like something shameful.

He didn't care that he'd been the one to plant the idea of prostitution in Heero's head in the first place, albeit unintentionally. It still hurt. The fact that he hadn't thrown Heero out of the apartment after that should have been proof enough that Quatre loved him.

He stared at the slumped form of the erstwhile businessman in a state of shock. He had actually done it - applied pressure to the carotid artery long enough to render the man unconscious. Trowa and Heero had been debating the practicality and effectiveness of such a technique one night when Quatre had returned from the restroom, fifty dollars wealthier than when he'd left the two of them.

He wouldn't have believed it would work, but he'd run out of options, as the man was certainly in no mood to listen to any of Quatre's persuasive arguments.

After that near rape, he'd avoided returning to the apartment right away with all its reminders of Heero. He'd tried window-shopping to kill time, but all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him. When had he let himself become nothing more than a sex toy? Sure, he didn't let anyone penetrate him anally, but that was only one aspect of sex.

He had set out to spite his father, to flaunt in his face that he was proud of his sexual orientation, that he was determined to be what he wanted to be, not some cookie cutter figure who only got his job because Daddy owned the company. Instead he'd slunk away in the night like an embezzler in danger of getting caught, without leaving so much as a note. Way to wave the gay pride banner, Quatre.

He was the youngest in the family, with eight older sisters. Iria was closest to his age, but even she was so much older that they'd never really played together or done whatever manner of childhood activities he assumed other siblings enjoyed.

It was almost amazing that the two of them had managed to become as close as they had. The age difference between the others and himself was so vast, they seemed more like schoolmarms or stepmothers to him than sisters. It seemed as if he could never do anything right, either. Stop smiling like that, Quatre; you look like a cretin. Wipe your face off, Quatre; you should eat your ice cream, not wear it. Sit up straight before you embarrass us in public. Stop fidgeting, Quatre. People will doubt Father's ability to manage the business if it looks like he can't even control his children.

Tie your shoelace before you fall, Quatre, and then I promise that I'll push you on the swing. That had been Iria.

OK. So Iria had indeed played with him, not caring that she should have been pursuing interests more becoming a young woman of good breeding. She'd been protective of him, in stubborn defiance of their older siblings, but more importantly, she'd let him be himself. She'd been the one to give him hugs instead of disapproving frowns and a clucking of teeth.

It was the reason he knew he'd give in and go home if he allowed himself to hear her voice.

When the neighboring state of California had passed the bill enabling same-sex couples to register for domestic partnership, obtaining some of the legal rights taken for granted by married couples, his oldest sister, Almira, had made some comment that left no question as to her opinion of homosexuals. And his father hadn't seemed at all fazed by her sudden entry into a rather colorful, inappropriate, and disrespectful monologue.

Quatre, who had just started to accept that the wet dreams he had, and the images that he pictured when he masturbated, were less a typical adolescent exploration of sexuality and more a sign of his orientation, had been devastated by Almira's verbal assault.

After graduation, he'd taken his place like a good little son. It had been no trouble at all to separate his sexuality from his professional image. Heterosexuals did it all the time.

No one could hold down a job if they were focused on an aspect of their personal lives to the exclusion of all else. You didn't see professional athletes fumbling interceptions or failing to reach the safety of home plate simply because they were too busy ogling the buns on the other team to recognize that there was a time and place for everything.

It had been all well and good until his father asked him to head up a committee responsible for some groundbreaking relations with a potential partner.

One who was vocally, vehemently homophobic. Since Quatre didn't project the stereotype of a pansy faggot that the man expected was the image of all gay men, he had no idea of Quatre's internal struggle to remain quiet. He wanted to haul off and punch the man across the face, then ask how it felt to have his clock cleaned by a queer, but instead he'd listened to the snide comments all through the meeting. Although Quatre maintained his professionalism, it appeared that the older, more experienced businessman did not need to accord him the same respect.

Most likely, there was some recent incident in the man's life that had brought his antagonism toward homosexuals to the forefront of his mind, but that was no excuse for his conduct. At the end of the day Quatre had gone home and scrubbed himself raw, so disgusted had he felt that he'd just let the man's reprehensible behavior slide as he made those horribly inaccurate, hurtful, and inappropriate comments. Why hadn't he said anything? It wasn't like he'd needed to stand on a table and announce his sexual orientation, but he could have at least reminded the man that this was not the forum for such topics. He'd gone out of his way to pretend it didn't bother him, going along with the preconceived image of a clean-cut, wholesome, 100% straight American boy in order to win over a man who possessed far less class than half the custodial staff.

After his shower, he'd dressed in a pair of loose pants and gone to bed, even though it was still early. In the middle of the night he woke up, feeling a sense of emptiness, and had gone to the music room. He hadn't played the piano since his freshman year in high school, but that night he forgot that he'd given it up in some misguided attempt to be more macho, and had given in to the siren call of the black and ivory keys.

His hands quickly cramped after several years of neglecting the craft, but he kept on, plodding through his mistakes until his fingers managed to remember the notes, and he ignored the pain as his speed picked up. It hurt, but it also felt damn good, this acceptance of the piano as a part of who he was.

All the melodies he coaxed from the instrument were melancholy, but he infused them with an underlying tone of determination and defiance. He played a medley of styles that he persuaded to work together, as if the notes were sentient beings, including a few unfinished pieces he'd written before denying himself the simple joy of playing. The transitions between each part were seamless, and he lost himself in the music.

He finished with a discordant clash of his fists on the keyboard as the last note still hung in the air. He bowed his head as if in prayer, feeling the sweat drip from the tip of his nose to his clenched hands, and beads of perspiration run down the length of his back before slipping beneath the drawstring waist of his pants. It didn't take long for his senses to register that he wasn't alone, and probably hadn't been for some time.

His father stood in the doorway, the rising sun behind him, casting his face into shadow. Quatre got up and managed to say two words, words that sounded hoarse, as though his voice had been getting the same kind of workout that his hands had.

"I quit."

The older man made no move to stop him, and the next day Quatre had complained of a seasonal bug to avoid explaining to his sisters why he was not going in to work that morning. Maybe Almira should be the one to ensure the man's interest in Winner Industries. If he hadn't told his father he wanted out, he'd have refused to allow the company to even consider entering into partnership with that low-life poor excuse for a human being.

While everyone was otherwise occupied that day, leaving Quatre alone in the house, he'd grabbed the cash from his wallet, then withdrawn a significant amount of money from various accounts using several ATM cards. Then he broke the cards in half and disposed of them.

He knew it was insane to carry that much cash on his person, but no more insane than staying in Henderson, pretending to be what he was not. In retrospect, staying and taking a stand would have been far more productive, but he'd been young and impulsive. Not much had changed since then, it seemed.

When he'd stumbled into the bar shortly after his arrival in Hollywood, not realizing at first that it was, in fact, a bar, he'd asked to use the phone. When the quiet young bartender peered at him from beneath incredibly long mahogany colored bangs and nodded, he'd called Iria to let her know he was OK. He dialed her work number with shaking fingers, giving the phone number of the bar as a place she could reach him, even though he knew it wasn't likely he'd manage to gain admittance to the establishment a second time. The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and Quatre had a tiny flare of hope that perhaps his sister might be able to reach him here after all.

He'd been surprised that Trowa kept letting him come back, and had never once asked to see any ID.

Which was just as well, because Quatre had deliberately left it back home.

tbc

~~~~~

Dramatis personae - cast of characters

Homosexuality and adolescent development - I don't know where the stats come from, or how accurate they are, but approximately 10% of adolescents (13 to 19 years of age) experience homosexual behavior of some sort, primarily with a peer. This experimentation, which includes mutual masturbation and manual stimulation of each other, is not necessarily indicative of future sexual orientation.

Camo High Gravity Lager - a clear malt liquor containing 8.5% alcohol. I don't think it's made anymore, but it was popular due to the rapid effects of the alcohol in the bloodstream. Many people found themselves sufficiently impaired after a single 40-ounce bottle.

California does indeed offer some legal rights to couples in committed same-sex (and heterosexual) relationships, provided they register as domestic partners with the state. The registered status can also be terminated, just like a marriage can. You can check out some of the information here at the California Secretary of State's web site: http://www.ss.ca.gov/dpregistry/

A note on ensure vs. insure - I vacillated between the two spellings, as I tend to use the spelling "insure" which is a synonym for "ensure." Ensure, insure, and assure all indicate the making certain a particular outcome, but insure stresses the taking of necessary measures beforehand, and since Almira was uninvolved with the prospective partner prior to Quatre's defection, I went with ensure. That, and that it just really irks me when people assume I've misspelled the word if I use "insure" instead.