Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Don't Mind (A.K.A. Duo Does His Taxes) ❯ One-Shot

Title: I Don't Mind (A.K.A Duo Does His Taxes)

Author: hostilecrayon

Pairing: 1=2

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Implied smut, flustered Duo, sappy as all hell Heero, slice of life-ish, Heero POV

Disclaimer: I don't even own the sweatshirt I am currently wearing. How sad. Gundam Wing is owned by Hajime Yatate and Yoshiyuki Tomino.

Word Count: 1,680

Notes: Plot bunnies must be multiplying at lightning speeds, since plots seem to be throwing themselves at my feet. This is for the lovely aikonamika, who had evil tax frustrations. (Boo, taxes.) Also because she's awesomely agreed to pick up the proverbial red pen for me again for MoR. Yay! This was supposed to be a drabble, became a ficlet, and I suppose is a full fic now, seeing how long it is. But it's still all one scene! Also for anyone who has ever wanted to bash their heads into the wall because of tax season! I give you… Heero watching Duo do his taxes? Hee.

 

 

I Don't Mind (A.K.A. Duo Does His Taxes)

 

 

For the most part, my life with Duo is fairly calm. We take turns with the chores, work in the same office and don't have much trouble relationship-wise. We have our routines, but not to the point of monotony. Living with Duo ensures a fair amount of excitement, and April 15th is a prime example.

 

This year is no different.

 

So though I've long since received my tax return, Duo is alternating between sifting through an impressively large pile of papers and entering information on the computer. I'd tell him that his W2 has most of the information he needs, but I know better. He wants to do it on his own, so I hide a smile behind the novel I'm not reading and wait.

 

He doesn't trust the numbers and has to add them up himself, getting tripped up more than a few times by the shambles his paperwork had become. The sun is slowly setting, and he thrusts his fingers into his already abused hair. Even in his frustrated state, he makes for a beautiful picture. He's wearing my dark blue tank top and in his distraction, he doesn't bother to fix it when the material has slipped off his left shoulder and hangs against his arm.

 

My smile turns into a smirk. It won't be long now, and when he's done, I'll offer him a way to take out his frustrations that will leave us both satisfied.

 

But not quite yet. There's more shuffling of papers and an exasperated sigh before he's punching keys almost violently.

 

"Is our gym membership considered a work related expense?"

 

I hold back the snort and try not to sound amused. "Technically."

 

He makes a noise that's somehow both skeptical and grateful at the same time, but he doesn't say anything else as he forgets about me again to enter the information.

 

I can tell by the way he's breathing that he's double-checking the information. It's just a hair away from that relieved breath he'll take when it's finished, and I find I'm holding my own breath in anticipation.

 

"You think they make people do this shit every year for their own entertainment? I mean, it's not like they couldn't just get the numbers from the companies themselves."

 

He's talking more to himself than to me, but I respond anyway, lifting a brow he can't see. "Too lazy, I think."

 

He takes a second to throw his hands up before going right back to his task. "So they push it off on the little guys and have the nerve to threaten us with penalties in the process..." He sort of drops of and I let the banter fall flat. His left index finger is marking something on paper while his right hovers over the screen. His head is tilted enough for me to see his eyes flick back and forth between the two.

 

A click of the mouse has me putting my unread book to the side, no longer bothering to hide my smile. A few more key strokes, another click of the mouse and I'm up, stretching muscles that haven't moved since he started hours ago. I walk the few paces from my recliner to his computer chair, and it's difficult, but I manage an air of nonchalance as I lean in over his exposed shoulder to peer at the screen.

 

He turns his face towards mine, and I can't help the slight hitch in my breathing when his heavy exhale ruffles my bangs. Even after five years of intimacy, his slightest move can make me feel like the lusty teenager I was when we first started dating. He'd held out on me for quite some time, making sure we would go the distance before getting too physical, and it had made me want him even more. Our first time was nothing short of explosive.

 

Then again, when he's like this, that hasn't changed much.

 

He's biting his lip in a way that makes my knees weak, and I murmur, "Looks good," in an attempt to ease his mind.

 

It's well past dusk now and he's just about out of time, but he still tilts the glow of his desk lamp towards his paperwork and sucks his lip a little further into his mouth. A few moments pass with me leaning over him, so close I can feel the heat of his skin. Then, very quietly, he hedges, "You think?"

 

 

My lips twitch upwards, but he misses it, looking at the screen, still uncertain. I nod with enough motion to draw his tired eyes back to me, and I steal the briefest of kisses from him, a mere grazing of lips, before he turns away to stare at the numbers on the screen.

 

I've done enough waiting though, and the numbers look good enough to me, so I will put an end to his suffering myself, even if he's still not sure. It only takes the smallest of motions to press my lips against the strip of bare skin that has had my attention for too long now, and I'm well past the point of holding back. I swipe my tongue across the top of his shoulder to taste him and he shivers, but he lets out a little warning growl, "Heero..." To his dismay, his tone betrays him and I smirk against his skin. It only takes a teasing pressure of my teeth to make his eyes close and his own teeth bite at his lip for a much better reason than before, giving me the opening I knew it would. It's a simple thing to slide my hand across the desk to the mouse that has been temporarily abandoned.

 

The house is dead silent, so his eyes pop open immediately at the resounding click, but it's too late to stop it. The screen is already changing, loading the confirmation page and advising him to print a copy for his records. He's still staring in disbelief as I do just that; the printer roaring to life, making both of us wince.

 

"You- I- What-" He's doing what he likes to call his 'deer in headlights' routine, and I finally let myself laugh outright at his consternation. His eyes narrow and I can tell he's trying to work up to a steady level of pissed off, but the printer is done, and before he knows it I'm out of his personal space and standing a few steps away, gathering up his copy of this year's taxes.

 

He's wafting between coming after me and checking the numbers he's checked too many times already, and he doesn't quite manage the appropriate amount of anger when he hisses, "Un-fucking-believable."

 

"The numbers look fine," I say with an indifference that makes him glare at me.

 

"How can you be sure?" He snipes, and I know it won't be long before his mounting frustrations are being taken out on my body in a way I greatly approve of.

 

"They're almost identical to mine. Since we hold the same position and all..." I drawl, tucking the printed pages into his folder.

 

He deflates a bit, glancing at the clock. "Well, it is almost midnight." I nod even though it's only ten and he contemplates this, unable to help looking at the screen one last time. Then he's powering down the computer and he finally lets out the sigh of relief I've been waiting all night for. He stands, reaching for the sky in a stretch that makes his thin frame seem taller than it is. His back pops several times, eliciting a groan that goes straight to my groin.

 

Then he turns to face me, and I smirk. It's a good thing I've already put the folder down because he's suddenly pressed against me, whispering, "Damn you," against my lips before he violently claims them as his own, and my hands are delightfully free to clutch at any part of him they can reach. He tugs the front of my jeans so hard the button pops clean off, clinking when it hits the desk.

 

I idly wonder if we'll make it to the bed. Then my shirt is hanging from the printer's paper tray and I know we won't. I don't care; when he's like this, he's my walking wet dream.

 

Tomorrow, he'll apologize for putting me through his last minute panic. He'll sheepishly duck his head and tell me he'll try to do better next year. And I'll know that despite his good intentions, next April 15th will find us in the same place we are now.

 

I'll just smile where he can't see it and tell him I don't mind.

 

Like I said, for the most part, my life with Duo is fairly calm, and every moment is something I treasure. He doesn't know that I have a particular fondness for his strange excitement over the littlest things. I've never told him that his ability to make something small seem earth shaking is one of my favorite things about him. He's made me see countless things with perspectives I hadn't, nor even could have considered because of the serious nature of my upbringing, all without even realizing it. And that's how it should be. Telling him would only serve to cheapen the gift; would make him think about every display of emotion before he made it.

 

The exuberant emotion that has us tumbling towards - and missing - the couch is what made me love him. So even if he wouldn't thank me for it, I look forward to April 15th as much, if not more than all of the days in between.

 

Tomorrow he'll apologize, but tonight he's busy reminding me of all the reasons why I love him. And when I tell him tomorrow that I don't mind, he won't understand why, but that's okay. I'll be hiding a knowing smile with enough understanding for the both of us.

 

And if I happen to get rug burn tonight because we didn't even manage to make it to the couch, well, that's okay, too.