Author: Caroline
Pairing: I'd really rather not say right at the beginning of the fic, but if you really want to know, please scroll down to the very end of the fic to see.
Rating: R-ish.
Warnings: Small limey bit. I'm placing all of the blame for this on Kwycksylver. And now for something completely different...


Heero stared at the ceiling, idly running his fingers through the long strands of silk-soft hair draped across his chest. He sighed softly as he felt his companion's - lover's? - lips on his stomach, a warm tongue darting out to taste sweat-soaked skin.

He turned his gaze downward, to watch the other man move his mouth slowly across the hardened planes of Heero's abdomen. He shivered slightly and sighed again.

The man looked up, then crawled up Heero's body, settling between Heero's legs as if he belonged there, as if this wasn't their first time together, as if they'd already moved past the initial awkward stages and found an easy intimacy.

Perhaps they had.

They'd been meeting once a week for well over a year. The wars were long over and Heero had settled into a routine, working intelligence for Preventer, simply existing with no set purpose in life, other than maintaining the peace.

When his companion had sought him out, asked him to dinner, wishing to talk, Heero had been a little suspicious and, if he was to be honest with himself, a tad uneasy. He'd wondered about the other's motive. There was no reason for him to seek Heero out. His companion had spent the years after the war in relative seclusion, and yet there he had been, on that rainy afternoon, in Heero's office, asking him to dinner.

Heero had almost said no. They had nothing in common and had spent the better part of their association at odds with one another.

But something had stopped him from rejecting the other man outright. Perhaps he had recognized the same haunted expression in the other man's eyes. Whatever it was, he'd said yes.

He had thought that initial meeting would be awkward. After all, the man had tried to kill him in the past. But as the evening wore on, he discovered in amazement that despite their differences, they had much in common.

They talked. That was all. About their lives, their childhoods (or lack thereof), their hopes and dreams. They talked about politics and current events. Books, movies, music. Food. Wine. Anything and everything.

He wasn't surprised when he accepted an invitation to dinner for the following week. He was surprised when he found himself looking forward to it. After their fourth meeting, he realized why. He'd found a compatriot, someone who understood him almost better than he understood himself. It was ... comforting, in its way.

The weeks turned into months. The venues for their meetings changed from restaurants to parks to dark corners of jazz clubs to their own apartments. They talked, laughed, hurt and comforted each other. Their journey together was not always smooth, but they never missed a week; one of them always seeking out the other.

When their relationship changed from comrades to something more, Heero did not know. This last time - tonight - he'd followed his companion home, agreeing to partake of a glass of wine, not expecting anything, not even aware tonight might be different.

And judging from the surprised look in his companion's eyes when it had happened, neither had he.

Heero had red wine. His companion had white. Heero normally didn't drink. He didn't like the taste, truth be told. He only drank on occasion, and always socially. But tonight, with the chill of winter pressing around them as they'd walked to his companion's apartment, he had decided to accept the glass offered.

The wine had warmed him, loosened his tongue, lowered his inhibitions. He was not drunk, but he was more at ease than he had been in a long time. He'd had three glasses, in an effort to maintain the feeling.

He'd watched his companion's long fingers play with his own glass. Watched his hair catch the light as it slid over his shoulders. He felt warm, almost light-headed, skin flush from the wine, and maybe something more.

He still was unsure who made the first move. He remembered watching the way the wine had sloshed in his companion's glass as he sipped his own, wondering what red and white mingled would taste like - and then his companion's mouth was on his own and he'd found out.

Bitter. Sweet.

They had ended up in the middle of his companion's large bed, skin moving against skin, a touch here bringing a sigh, there calling forth a gasp. They'd moved slowly at first, building the heat that began with the warm flush from the wine into a slow, steady blaze, sending them to heights previously unknown before plunging them down into an abyss of white hot light, leaving them to drift slowly back to earth on warm, thermal currents.

For a long while the only sound in the room was their harsh breathing and skin moving restlessly against the sheets. Minutes, hours later, Heero felt soft lips shift across his skin as his own fingers sought out the strands of hair which slid teasingly over his chest.

They lay together for another long while, again not speaking, resting in easy silence. Heero sighed. His companion moved. Piercing half-hooded blue eyes captured his gaze and a small Mona Lisa smile graced his face.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Heero smiled back, a little. "I'm not sure they're worth that much."

The other man's face grew serious, and long fingers reached up to run through the dark wet strands of Heero's hair. "Tell me anyway?"

Heero twirled a shining lock around his finger. "Just... this is not like me."

"Not like you? To give in?"

Heero shook his head. "No, to want to give in." He shifted underneath the other slightly, but made no effort to remove himself.

Another soft kiss ghosted his shoulder. "Is it so bad then, to want to give in?"

Heero thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Sometimes. This is not one of those times."

His companion, now lover, lay his head on Heero's chest, arms curled under Heero's shoulders. "Regrets?"

Heero thought again. "No."

"Ah. Good."

Heero closed his eyes, feeling warm and content, though the wine had long since lost its effects. His fingers still danced through the hair spread across his lover's back, marveling at the contrast of platinum white against olive bronze. Different, yet complimentary.

The silence stretched like a long, thin ribbon, each man lost in his own thoughts. Heero wondered what the other was thinking, wondered about the future, wondered where to go from here.

Zechs, it seemed, was wondering the same thing. "Heero, where do we go from here?"

Heero breathed. "I think... we will continue as we were."

He felt Zechs nod against his chest. "If that's what you wish."

Heero pulled on the hair, bringing Zechs' face up to look at him. "But I think, perhaps, we should start meeting more than once a week." It warmed him again to see that slow smile spread across the other's face. "If you would not be adverse to a change in our arrangement?"

Zechs shook his head. "No. Not at all."

They had begun with words. They sealed it with a kiss.

Pairing: 6x1

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