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Author: FancyFigures
True Colours + Part 4 It was the following night, around seven pm, and the first car was arriving at the gallery; there were cabs hooting their way across the crowded road, as other early guests were looking for parking spaces, or friends to meet up with. Malia Trent stood at the door, a tray of drinks beside her. Her pale face was unusually flushed - and there were unfamiliar creases at the side of her mouth, as if she'd been smiling too much lately. Her whole body vibrated suppressed excitement, even through her cream silk suit and strappy heels.Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell stood at the back of the open gallery. Duo had dressed more formally for the night than his usual casual wear. He had Trowa to thank for it - he'd found Duo a pair of hip-hugging black satin pants, and a matching Nehru jacket. It allowed him to wear one of his glaringly coloured vests - tonight it was a vibrant orange - but the suit was meant to make him look respectable enough for an opening. Trowa had approved of the look - well, he'd stepped back when Duo had gotten changed and faced him, and a low whistle had escaped him. He could have been joking, Duo thought cynically. But he'd been absurdly pleased at the time - he didn't often bother about his looks nowadays. He wanted to make the effort for the show, though - and he expected Heero to feel appropriately grateful. Heero was feeling many things, all of which were far from gratitude, though he had in fact registered Duo's new look. He should button up the damned jacket! he thought. He was trying to talk to the other man without gazing at the sheer fabric of the vest, but it was difficult. The colour didn't bother him, for it was just another shade of green-grey as far as he was concerned. But what the hell was it made of? It looked almost transparent - he thought he'd glimpsed a flash of Duo's nipple underneath, when the jacket shifted on his shoulders. He felt that nausea again. It was suspiciously like physical stimulation. Duo gazed back, in challenge. Heero wore one of his usual, perfectly cut business suits. His hair had been trimmed recently, but he'd just run a hand through it, and it had somehow developed an interest in lying awkwardly across his head. It was such thick, dark hair - Duo couldn't help but look at the mismatched parting. He knew it'd be soft, if he ran his own hand through it. He swallowed the unwelcome feelings, feeling like a tramp in the face of Heero's elegance. The other man's shirt was immaculately pressed and buttoned up tight to his throat; he wore a deep purple silk tie, which inexplicably drew Duo's eye. Or maybe it wasn't the tie - maybe it was the slim, elegant throat. Maybe, thought Duo fiercely, it was time to stop drooling over his boss's physical attributes and concentrate on what may be the most important night of his life! Quatre Winner arrived at the same time as the first flurry of guests, a little earlier than he'd planned. Maybe he thought his friend might need a little moral support! As he wriggled his way in, there were some flashes from cameras; some loud greetings. Then the first guests entered the gallery - a pack of normally boisterous press representatives - and a sudden hush fell over the room. Quatre wheeled around where he stood, temporarily pressed against the doorway, and he looked appraisingly down along the length of the gallery. What he saw made him catch his breath with amazement. Then he ignored the mewling voices and grunts of surprise, and his eyes sought out Heero himself. He saw them at the end of the room - Heero and another young man. Heero was staring at the man; it was obviously Duo Maxwell. Quatre's eyes ran over him appreciatively - he'd have known that was Duo, even before he saw the braid and the glare in the bright blue eyes! They looked close together - might have been friends. Or something more. Quatre felt a warmth that confused him slightly. Then he looked more closely, and sighed aloud. It looked a damned sight more like an argument! + "But what possessed you to think you could fit this many pictures in such a space - with all the guests as well?" snapped Heero. "I passed the selections to you to choose the best - not to hang the whole damned lot!" "You're pissed with it - you change it!" hissed Duo. "Either I'm the artistic director, or you are! What's it to be?" "Shit..." groaned Heero. He looked back up along the gallery, towards the entrance to the building, watching the faces of the first guests as they arrived. He could see only snatches of them, around the mis-matched multitude of exhibits. He had never seen such a display! Duo had re-commissioned the ceiling hangings, and had managed to hang twice the number of pictures that Heero had intended. The presentation wall was filled, with a trail of paintings whose connection Heero couldn't fathom at all. There was no pattern to the size of canvas or frame anywhere - the largest abstract paintings were mixed in with the smaller portraits. Guests were going to have to bend and lean around everything - they were going to have to be looking all ways at once, including up at the ceiling. To him, it all looked an impossible, awkward, unattractive mess! "Why didn't you tell me you were going to do this?" "Why do you think?" growled Duo. His heart was beating very fast. He didn't know if it was just his anger - or whether it was some kind of fear. "'Cos you'd go apeshit, and want to stop me. Just like you are now -" "But now it's too late to stop you! You think I shouldn't be upset at this? You're uncontrollable! And untrustworthy, self-destructive, and damned secretive -" "Yeah? And you're an anally repressed freak who wouldn't know great art if it grew a dick and poked it in your colour-blind eye! So just get your head out of your painfully tight ass and let's speak our minds, OK?" Quatre was suddenly at Heero's elbow, and so was his hand, restraining his friend. His voice was low, and sounded teasing - but Heero heard the steel in the soft tone. Quatre very rarely used it. "Hon, there are some damned high-profile people just arriving who ain't gonna have much of an interest in dirty linen, y'know? You guys need to keep your voices down a notch or two - or take this conversation someplace else. Mr Maxwell - isn't it? - I just wanted to congratulate you before the rank and file sweep you away from me on their shoulders! It's a splendid display - it's a damned bold one, too! Not that this town ain't ready to be shaken from its cultural complacency..." Heero stared at his friend. "What are you talking about, Quatre?" "Stand back, Heero," the blond man said, simply. "I wouldn't have thought you'd have any problem with that." Heero flushed. "You mean I can't see the colours -" "I know you can't see them all," murmured Quatre. He still held Heero's arm - he wanted him to understand. "You won't appreciate, perhaps, the theme of gold, green and amber that runs the whole length of that damned fine wall, carrying through the most astonishing combination of art - modern portraiture, and more traditional scenes, and just plain simple abstract experimentation - all reflecting and enhancing each other through the colours. I'm talking about the effect, though, hon - and I know you can see that! I know that you can appreciate that. The depth and the width of art - the stepped effect of the paintings on both floor and ceiling - the emotional and sensual hurricane that's running through what might have been more like a sterile doctor's waiting room if it'd been left to your minimalist taste..." Heero stared, as if petrified. Even Duo's mouth had dropped slightly open, and his angry words dried up. "See the effect, Heero. Stand back..." Quatre turned his friend gently, turning his body so that he looked back down the gallery with - hopefully - a fresh eye. Then Quatre turned his gaze back to Duo - and winked at him. "Am I right, then, Mr Maxwell? Is that your vision?" "Duo. Call me Duo," said Duo, his voice flat with some shock. Like - he didn't put many of his more instinctive feelings into words, did he? The blond guy had looked such a waste of time, but then he'd put his finger so scarily on the whole mess of feelings inside Duo, setting the whole show up - "That phrase, man - that 'emotional and sensual hurricane' -" "Yeah - rather good, eh?" nodded Quatre. "I may just go and murmur that into the ear of that cute little assistant editor from Art and Artists, and that's as good a chat up line as I can find, eh? Haven't had a taste o' that sweet little ass since -" "Quatre!" said Heero, sharply. But his eyes were on the gallery. On the length and breadth of the paintings - on the erratic, yet stimulating arrangements of wood and canvas and paint. Quatre was right, he couldn't see the shades of colour, but now that he stood back and freed his heart and head from his anger and disappointment - he could see the skill, and the controlled chaos in the room. He could see creativity and talent here - he could see how Duo's mind may have worked. He looked at some of the guests, carefully. There was shock there - there was initial scorn. But there was interest, too. "You're wrong - I haven't used all the pictures you offered," came Duo's low voice beside him. "Just the most effective. Those that fit with the theme of the show. It's called - Revolution. Guess it's as good a name as any; if you don't think it's a better description of me than the show..." Quatre was moving away from them now, looking from one to the other. "Nice to meet you, artist boy. I see the likeness to your brother, of course -" Duo grimaced. "And yet I don't see it in this show, y'know?" continued Quatre. "You're no Solo Maxwell, sweetheart - and that, from me, is a compliment. Keep this up - and you're gonna be a great success. Whether or not I land that assistant editor, and have a hand in drafting the copy for next issue's 'Show of the Month'!" He shook Duo's unresisting hand, even as a knot of people was drifting towards them, programmes waving. Then he turned to Heero and laughed. "Great tie, cute boy! Didn't I say the purple was the way to go? Since I picked it out for you! I got unimpeachable taste, right? Gotta go, kinder..." As he wheeled away from them, picking out his next prey in the crowd of press and publishers, he caught sight of another early visitor, but one who didn't seem to be with any particular faction. He was a tall, slim, brown-haired man, who nursed his glass like he barely noticed it, and whose eyes had been fixed to the back of the gallery whilst the three of them were talking. There was the flush of something on his cheekbones - very attractive cheekbones, Quatre noticed. The guy had a mature, confident style in his clothes, though they weren't this season's by any means. He was good-looking in a very careless, understated way. He's with Maxwell, thought Quatre. He's here for the boy's opening. I wonder what their relationship is? + It was a late, tired, and exhilarated eleven thirty pm. The last few visitors were dawdling their way back out to their transport; the post-show party would begin soon at a prestigious local club. Duo turned and reached for a long-awaited glass of champagne; and from the other side of the table, so did Heero. The same glass. They snatched their respective hands back - they started to apologise. Then laughed. Heero saw the high, excited flush on Duo's face; the vibrancy in his dancing eyes. Duo saw Heero's relaxed smile; the smart jacket discarded, and the tie loosened slightly. It exposed a further band of smooth, dark skin at his neck - just tantalising enough to draw Duo's exhausted but elated gaze again. Duo wondered at the frisson of electricity in his fingers - just from the unexpected touch of Heero Yuy's hand. "So, Heero -" he muttered. They'd barely exchanged a word all night, having been surrounded by their own particular fans and pursuers at all times. "This colour-blind thing - what does it actually mean?" Heero bit at his lip. He didn't usually talk about it - it was hardly relevant to his life, except in regards to art. Trust Maxwell to blunder in with his questions like that! "It's far more common than people think - about 8% of all men are colour blind in some capacity. Mine is mild - I have the red/green variety, where I can't distinguish all the shades between red and green. The shades all appear paler to me than to other people - they all tend towards the same colour, that is green." "Damn!" Duo looked somewhat impressed. "Kinda awkward with traffic lights, right?" Heero bit back a smile. "I often have a driver. And I've learnt the position of lights, rather than their colours. It's more troublesome when I have to cook, to tell if meat is done well enough -" "Gonna mix up the oranges and lemons?" grinned Duo. "The ketchup and the mustard?" Heero smiled, genuinely amused. He wasn't going to confess that it had happened a few times. "And - so my shirt -?" Duo's grin grew wider, if that were possible. "The outrageous orange, as Quatre called it, is wasted on you?" They were both looking down at Duo's chest. The jacket had long been thrown aside in the heat of the gallery. Heero flushed slightly, and Duo wasn't sure why, but the dark head nodded in agreement. "And so you were never gonna get the theme of the show," continued Duo, a little wonderingly. "The feeling of seasons passing - the swing from the sharp spring green, to the late summer gold, to the burnt autumn ochre..." Heero listened to him speaking as a painter. It was fascinating - Duo's face was bright and animated as he sketched the colours in the air with his supple hands. Then he caught Heero's glance, and dropped his arms, self-consciously. "No," said Heero, a little more thoughtfully. "I would have to rely on the emotion displayed, instead. The feelings; the themes shown within the paintings, rather than their colours. But that's of no interest to you - you must develop the exhibition as you see fit. That's what I assumed you would do." Duo's next words were meant to be as casual - but they sounded almost strangled to his unforgiving ears. "That Winner guy - is he with you?" "With me?" said Heero, bemused. Another of his blunt questions? Can't ask you if you're fucking him, can I? growled Duo's conscience. "Thought he was probably your lover, or somethin'. He seems kinda close with you -" Heero's face grew a little tight. Maybe he blushed, too. "No, he's just my oldest friend." "Didn't mean to be rude, y'know -" blustered Duo. He groaned at how crass he sounded. Like he should be used to apologies, the way he'd fucked up his life in the last few years! "I mean, obviously you can see whoever you like, girls - guys - supermodels -" "Thanks," said Heero, dryly. "- and he was great, said all the right things, introduced me to that publisher guy, and then setting up the interview with the Journal..." gabbled Duo. "He's enjoying the controversy - he thrives on it! And he liked meeting you. It's all been a great success, Duo," said Heero, slowly. "I'm sorry I doubted it at first. I'm sorry if I doubted you." "So you fucking should be," replied Duo. Then he grinned, and the abrupt change startled Heero. "Thanks Heero Yuy! Thanks for the job, and thanks for the freedom you gave me. Guess I wasn't sure at one stage whether Revolution was gonna work -" "It was good," said Heero, firmly. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear Duo's own doubts. He felt emotionally weak, and he wasn't quite sure why. It was enough that his gallery was launched, and very successfully, and that it was something to build on. "But -" "Ain't there always one of them?" muttered Duo. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his satin pants, and his head dropped down - he struck a rather confrontational pose. "No, nothing bad," sighed Heero. "It's just - there were none of your paintings out today. I offered the two I have in my collection, plus you must have some of your own left, or access to them at least. Quatre tells me that the colour scheme of at least one of them would have complemented your theme." He felt Duo's sharp gaze lift back up; the man just stared at him, as if he were trying to prise something out of Heero's expression. Heero waited for another argument. He wished he understood more about Duo Maxwell. He wished he understood what he might have to do to get those wide, soft lips pressing against his own, and the slender, dextrous hands inside his shirt, palms flat against his chest... Heero thought he might be going a little mad. He blamed the strain of the opening. He even forgot what he'd been asking Duo, until the chestnut-haired man replied to him. "This is your show, Heero. Yeah, it's my job, but it's your gallery. You don't need my shit in your world. It doesn't fit." He turned away slightly - picked up a discarded programme, and flicked aimlessly at the corners. He was restless for some reason. "Doesn't fit. Y'know?" + Heero knew it had been a long day. He knew the tension had been incredible, and then the euphoria of the show, and the exhaustion of talking to everyone he needed to - and plenty he didn't. He knew that he hated parties, even when they were on behalf of his own celebration and success. But none of that explained the depression he felt. There'd been that little scene at the post-show party, when Quatre and Remy got into some kind of fight. There'd been shouting, and actually some physical violence - or rather Remy had tried to slap Quatre, and he'd caught her arm with a grip better suited for a grown man, twisting her wrist painfully. Neither of them would tell Heero what they'd been arguing about, and Heero had asked Quatre to go home. He was more weary than angry with them. He knew that his friend despised the girl, and the world she stood for - but Remy was a product of her upbringing, and a victim of her incredibly gorgeous looks. Quatre should know about both of those, to some extent. And she was harmless enough - just wanted to be with Heero. Though afterwards, she went on and on about the altercation, and what a beast Quatre Winner was, and how he was so fond of his pretty boys that he obviously hated women, and how she only wanted to see Heero's pictures again, and why weren't they all on display at the gallery, had that Duo Maxwell guy held some back for a reason, didn't he understand how important Heero Yuy actually was -? In the end, Heero asked Remy to go home, too. He wasn't going to be in any hurry to call her tomorrow, either. Of course, if he'd been honest with himself, he would have known why he felt depressed. Duo Maxwell hadn't bothered to follow him on to the party. They'd parted at the gallery, with Duo refusing the offer of a lift in Heero's limo, and saying he needed to clear up a couple of things first. Then he never turned up. Heero was annoyed, because he'd invited a couple of media promoters from other organisations who might have wanted to talk plans for future events at the gallery. He'd wanted them to meet Duo, and discuss it with him as well. Heero was personally disappointed, as well. He'd thought he might find a different side to Duo in a more social setting. Heero Yuy thought he might well be making a fool of himself as regards to Duo Maxwell. But he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. + The next week had begun quietly and rather anti-climactically. Duo was damned pleased about that! He was back to his slightly calmer, solitary days; a routine of leisurely breakfast at the café down the block; some gallery work, such as a quick re-measure of the walls and the clearing away of some of the remnants of the show displays; then jobs round the apartment, like a clean of his meagre bathroom. And at the end of the day he could sit in the studio, curled on a deep, soft-cushioned couch, facing the wide window - admiring the view of the encroaching evening. The couch was a new present from Trowa - second-hand, but good quality, and deliciously comfortable. Tonight was such a night; he had an open sketchpad on his lap, and a soft pencil behind his ear. He was aware of his visitor, even before he announced himself. He felt the breath of air as the door behind him swung further open. He heard it knock against the couple of canvases stacked against the wall. He wished he'd bothered to use the lock on the door to the apartment. He wished he'd had time to hide the sketchpad. Then, of course - why the fuck should he? This was his home! But he said none of it aloud. "Duo? I'm sorry just to come up - didn't mean to intrude. I needed to see you - I couldn't get a reply on your cell." Duo hadn't seen his cell phone for months. He suspected he'd sold it to someone, during one of his binges. When he needed to call someone, like Trowa, he just went out to a booth. And if he needed to talk to Heero Yuy - or Heero to him - well, the guy just came over and let himself in, didn't he? "The door was open," said Heero, defensively, as if he'd read Duo's mind. "Sure," replied Duo, with a sigh. "I got nothing to hide from my landlord, have I?" "You never came to the party on Saturday." "No, I didn't," said Duo, bluntly. Let the guy work for conversation, if it mattered so much to him! He thought he heard Heero sigh. He hadn't even turned round in the chair to face him. "Duo - it's just part of the job, you know. There were guys there that wanted to talk about future shows; artists who wanted to show at the gallery; some agents who wanted to know if you were painting again." He saw the tension in Duo's shoulders; it was all he could see, except for the back of his head. "So -" growled Duo. "I'm sorry, OK? I guess I ain't used to this job business. I'll make sure I'm - available - for all these guys next time you want me to see them. But I told you - I ain't painting again." "So what are these?" asked Heero. His foot had caught on one of the canvases behind the door. And then Duo rose from his couch, and turned to face Heero. He saw his landlord and boss dressed more casually than he'd ever seen him; still in smart pants, but with a loose linen shirt hanging down from straight shoulders, creasing interestingly across his abdomen, reflecting the well-honed muscles that must be under there. A thin silver band round his neck; hair a little less controlled than at work. Still the dark, multi-hued eyes; still the promise of power in every movement of his strong body. Heero, however, saw Duo in a state of half-dress - he felt his stomach clench, and his heart begin to race. Duo wore the casual sweat shorts that Heero had seen before - the ones with the loose waistband that now dipped alarmingly at one side, exposing a stretch of paler hip. There was the smallest smudge of something dark above his hipbone - Heero realised it was probably a tattoo, and his mouth grew drier for some unimagined reason. Duo's legs and feet were bare; he wore nothing on his chest. Heero tried desperately not to stare, but his eyes gazed almost longingly at the large, pink-brown nipples nestling on Duo's brown skin. He saw the full stretch of Duo's shoulders and chest - the taut muscles on his stomach. Duo's hair was down, with half of it twisted and dragged forward over one shoulder. The ends brushed against his navel, and tangled slightly in his armpit. Duo was staring back at him, with some confusion in his eyes - but his voice was angry. "You wanna see 'em, Heero? The crap I painted after - well, the last stuff I did? I keep 'em to remind me what I've lost - how I've fucked up everything. Look behind that door, if you like! Hope you're gonna keep your supper in place, y'know?" Heero wanted to refuse - to apologise. But he also wanted to see. So he crouched down, and pulled out the three canvases there, and spread them against the wall. He was silent for a while. They were, indeed, shocking. Perhaps more so to someone who would have appreciated the total bleeding of colour from them - someone who would have seen the vivid contrast between the bleak, sharp greys and blacks, slashed across the background like angry blows, and Duo Maxwell's fiercely colourful paintings of earlier, happier days. Heero didn't see the loss of colour - but he saw the gain of misery and fury and confusion; he saw the emergence of pain. They were powerful paintings - but desperately uncomfortable to face. He drew a deep breath before he rose to his feet again; before he turned to face the artist. They stared at each other, silent. Duo's chest was rising and falling rather quickly. Heero's face had paled. Then Heero's eyes glanced down to the pad that Duo gripped in his hand, and his eyes widened. "But you are drawing! I mean - sorry, I didn't mean to pry -!" But, surprisingly, Duo seemed to have relaxed a little since Heero had seen his abortive paintings. Did he think the guy would be shrivelled up by the Wrath of God, just from looking on the disaster that was Duo Maxwell's life? Did he care? he thought, and then he was disturbed by the unexpected answer to that question, so he ignored it. He looked down at the pad as if it surprised him as well. "Yeah. Looks like it. An expensive education sure taught you a thing or two, Heero Yuy..." Heero ignored the rude sarcasm, as he so often had before. "Why? I mean, what's inspired you to start again?" Duo wondered why the hell Heero wouldn't go away and leave him alone to wallow. Wondered why his face was burning with some kinda embarrassment. Wondered why he felt the need to answer his unexpected visitor - and with honesty. "I dunno, really. Just picked up the pencil, and - drew. Only started a day or so ago... Just felt that I needed to; that I wanted to." "Was it the show?" Why does he care? thought Duo, staring into those dark pools of eyes. Why did he ever have anything to do with me in the first place? "Maybe," he replied. Perhaps that was the truth, actually. The show had been great - he'd enjoyed sketching the plans and the elevations, and mocking up the presentation wall... the pens had felt good in his hands again. It had meant an exposure to art again - the glory and attraction of all the other paintings had seeped in under his defences. Yeah, the show had given him an excitement that he hadn't known for months; that he'd almost forgotten existed. And it had been a success, as well - "It was a success," said Heero, in another uncanny echo of Duo's thoughts. "It was excellent work. I've come to ask you to take on another, in a few months' time, if you think you can create the same excitement in such a short timeframe - demonstrate that innovation again. It's important that we keep up the interest - build on the initial impact of that first show." Duo didn't answer directly, but his eyes seemed to sink away a little, hooded under his lids. Heero thought he might be pleased with the praise - proud of his work. He hoped that was true. "So you're happy, Mr Yuy. With success." "Yes - of course," said Heero. He wondered if Duo would ask him to sit down, though there was only a stool in the room, apart from the wide, soft couch. He wondered if he would sit next to him. Whether they'd ever do anything more than snarl at each other. "Yes, I am. I've always been honest with you about that." He paused for a second - his voice gentled, though it wasn't contrived. "Will you show me your work, Duo?" Duo was caught wrong-footed. He couldn't think of a caustic enough reply. He held out the pad, and together they looked at the brief lines that he'd sketched out. Heero caught a sudden breath. He stared more closely, until Duo was embarrassed, and pulled the pad back towards him. "Like - it's only rough templates. It never was my medium, really. It's a little too like my brother's style - though never so good. Dammit, I'll probably trash the lot -" "Don't!" cried Heero. Even as Duo's hand ripped the pages out of the pad, and folded around them, starting to crumple the paper inside, Heero's hand came down fiercely on top of his fist. "Leave it! It's good, for God's sake -" Duo stared down at the slim, strong fingers on top of his. He compared the two skin tones - saw the living flesh against the stark white sketch paper. Both of them seemed frozen there - Duo thought he could feel the gentle pulse of Heero's palm on his. "Sorry," said Heero, softly. Duo cleared his throat loudly, and slid his hand away. "You wanna drink, Heero?" Heero looked startled. "Not really. I just thought I might drop in for a few minutes, and run over some of the plans for the next show..." "I'm - guess I 'm busy, -" mumbled Duo. Heero shrugged. "But you can still keep sketching." "Huh?" "I can talk - you can work at the same time. Or can't you do that? With someone else around?" "Dunno," said Duo, a little bemused. "Never tried. No-one ever wanted to be with me when I painted - or drew. Guess I wasn't much company then. I guess it's OK - for a while." He watched Heero settle himself on the stool. Cross his legs - uncross his legs. And wriggle a bit. There was no way the smart Mr Yuy was remotely comfortable on that piece of shitty plastic! Duo sighed - so it looked like he was gonna be disturbed for a while longer tonight. He glanced at Heero's gorgeous eyes and the determination in them, and as the other man crossed his arms, a ripple of muscle in them distracted him. For the first time, Duo realised how little clothing he had on, himself. His nipples felt tight and erect on his chest - his sweats were shifting a little uncomfortably around his groin. He went to put on a vest, and to fetch the spare chair from his bedroom. [part 3] [part 5] [back to FancyFigures' fic] |