Author: Flamika
Category: Romance Warnings: shounen ai, some potty words
Pairings: 2+1
Beta: Fafnir
Notes: This fic is craaaaaaaaaaap! It didn't turn out anything like I wanted it to, so I just want to warn you that it has no plot whatsoever. It's just a simple look into the life of Heero and Duo. But hey, mundane is good...sometimes.
Dedicated to Ivy, who won one of my counter fic prizes way back when and requested that I write another DB fic. Here it is...a bit late, but at least it's here. ^_^ And, as always, to Fafnir, for lighting fire underneath my tail

Black Tie Affair

I always relish watching Heero fuss over himself in the mirror.

Of course, he insists that he doesn't "fuss"; he just "looks." Yeah right, and eagles are gonna fly out of my ass. I know fussing when I see it, and I was seeing it that nice, normal night as I stood outside the bathroom door, looking in on my sexy roommate and grinning like a dufus. He was so busy fussing - excuse me, not fussing - over himself that he hadn't even noticed my presence yet. Either that or he was getting deaf in his old age.

Heero was looking nice and good enough to eat, having ditched his typical jeans and tank top for a pair of black slacks and white dress shirt that went perfectly with his light golden skin and blue eyes. A plain, dark tie draped loosely around his neck, suddenly reminding me of a little kid with his pet snake. Just the most adorable thing you've ever seen, and the fact that he was virtually making faces at himself in the mirror just upped the cuteness factor.

I honestly don't know what it is with Heero and mirrors, but I think he has some kind of self-esteem complex. Hey, I'm not claiming to be Dr. Duo the Great Shrink for the Terminally Depressed or anything, but I've noticed that Heero abhors looking at himself in the mirror, and when he does, he has this totally pissed-off look on his face, like he can't stand what looks back at him. It's sort of funny because I just can't understand what he finds so displeasing. The guy's sexy as hell, and I know that I'm not the only one who shares this sentiment. (Die, Lars, die.)

Even though I pitied Heero and his little self-esteem complex, I had to grin to myself when he lifted his hand and started messing with his bangs. "They're beyond help, baby," I wanted to say, but I've gotten pretty good at self-restraint these days (otherwise a certain man-slut would have been six feet under by now). Besides, Heero's floppy bangs are about as uncooperative as Dorothy on PMS. I think he only fights with them because he doesn't like his eyebrows and wants his hair to hide the foul things from view. Another pointless effort. I think his eyebrows are cute. Nice and...bushy.

Okay, if I had to pick something not so pretty about Heero, his eyebrows would probably rank up there with his hyperactive trigger finger.

But anyhow, the reason for Heero spiffing himself up was because he had to play bodyguard at a boring ol' banquet.

Fortunately, I didn't have to attend said banquet because I had suddenly developed a chronic back pain early this morning, which sadly caused Lady Une to relieve me of my guard duty that night. Goody for me.

After all, I really didn't want to spend my entire evening standing around trying to look intimidating. I'm fucking five feet five inches tall with hair down to my ass and big, dopey sometimes-purple-sometimes-blue eyes. I suck at looking scary and mean. The last time I pretended to be Bruno the Buff Bodyguard, some little old lady came up and pinched my cheek and told me how "adorable" I was. What was I supposed to say in return? "Gee whiz, thanks Grandma, but you should see me when I'm pissed"? Nope, banquets are not my forte.

But if I had known Heero would be called in to work at the banquet, I'm sure my back would have made a speedy recovery. He probably got called in my place. Serves my lazy ass right, I guess. It doesn't pay to be a bum.

Heero suddenly stiffened and straightened, and I realized that I was discovered and my plans for spying on him were foiled. Oh well. It wasn't the first time.

"Well, well, someone's looking mighty fine tonight," I joked.

"Save it, Duo," he grumbled, turning his back to the mirror and fiddling with his tie, trying to knot it without looking. Something only the Hee-meister can do with any hope of success. Without the aid of a mirror, clumsy people like me just end up creating peculiar abstract designs that tangle beyond all hope. Some of my knots were so damn "abstract" that Heero had to cut the tie off my neck with a pair of scissors. They were all gifts anyways. No one gives me ties anymore.

"I'm serious, man," I insisted, leaning against the doorframe. "You look really sexy." And he did.

He just glared at me out of the corner of his eye as he finished knotting his tie, smoothing his hand down the length of it. I pressed myself against the doorway to let him move past me out of the bathroom, but as his passage caused disturbances in the air, I noticed something.

"Hold on," I said, grabbing him by the wrist.

He looked down at my hand as if it were the caca-roachie I squashed on the carpet earlier today. (It left a big stain too, in case you wanted to know.) I held up my other hand in an authoritative gesture.

"Don't move," I ordered firmly, using my best "bodyguard" voice. Of course, my voice is about as threatening as my appearance so I wasn't brutally disappointed when Heero didn't wet his pants. I put my face close to Heero's neck and sniffed. "What cologne are you wearing?"

"The Koché," he replied.

"Is that the one Meiran dropped in the toilet last week?"

"No," Heero said, striding over to his bed, where his shoulder holster lay ready and waiting for him. I watched as Heero shrugged into the mass of straps that I like to call Gunmen-Bras. "Which one is it then?"

He stared at me. "You should know, Duo. The whole apartment reeked of it last week when you tried one of those tricks you saw on the home improvement channel."

"Shut up," I grumbled. "I'll have you know the home improvement channel is interesting to watch."

Heero just gave me one of those looks that says, 'You're an idiot, and I'm not going to argue with you because it's not worth my precious time.' Well, he could stare all he damn well wanted because I knew my home improvement ideas were fucking ingenious. This particular trick that Heero was so made about involved spraying Kleenex tissues with one of Heero's colognes and sucking them up with Da Hoover so when I vacuumed, the whole apartment was filled with the wonderful aroma of Heero.

And it was wonderful. For about an hour or so. Then the odoriferous stench started giving me a headache. Then Heero came home and demanded to know why I couldn't do more productive things instead of sitting on my lazy ass and stinking up our apartment. We ended up having to sleep with all the windows open to vent the musky smell out of our happy home. Oh well. It's not like one of my ideas hasn't backfired before. The home improvement channels sucks. Especially since now Da Hoover always coughs up the super strong smell of Heero's cologne every time we turn it on.

"Duo, where's my jacket?" Heero asked as he slipped his Beretta into the holster.

"On the kitchen table," I replied with a grin. "I ironed it without burning a hole in it this time."

"Hn," he grunted, the sound just reeking of gratitude for all the painstaking effort I had made for him. Maybe I should flash him the finger I had burnt while ironing his dumb old jacket. Three guesses on which finger it was.

Still adjusting the straps of his shoulder holster, Heero walked out into the hall with me following close behind him, admiring the way his ass looked in those black slacks. Jeans are a lot more flattering on him, but black just made him seem damn elegant. Besides, whether he wears jeans, slacks, or a potato sack, Heero's goodies are Heero's goodies, and I do love oogling them.

Heero grabbed the jacket off the kitchen table and dusted it off once (trying to get my cooties off of it, I guess) before slipping his arms through the sleeves. As for me, I just stared shamelessly at the way his shoulder blades moved underneath the thin white shirt until the suit jacket swooped up to cover my view.

I reached out to adjust a particular area where the collar had flipped the wrong way while Heero asked,

"Where are the car keys?"

"Cars keys as in...?"

"The kind you start cars with." Heero stepped away from me.

I rolled my eyes. "Can the funny stuff, Heero. Do you want the keys to SUV or the shitmobile?"

The SUV is Heero's car. The SUV is our "good" car. The shitmobile is our - you guessed it - shitty car. And of course, the shitmobile is - you're right again - Duo's car. It got the name "shitmobile" because one time Hilde's golden retriever Sniggles took a dump in the backseat. Thus, it's Da Shitmobile. That and the fact that it's a POS with wheels.

"The SUV," Heero replied, looking at me like his answer was supposed to be obvious.

I dug into the pockets of my jeans and only managed to conjure up some lint, a stick of gum, and an elastic hairtie. No car keys. Crud.

"Duo..." Heero growled warningly.

"Keep your panties on," I snapped, racing to where I had dropped my bag by the front door after work. I unzipped it and rifled through the miscellaneous junk in there two seconds before thinking "screw it" and dumping all the contents onto the carpet. I crouched and feverishly searched for the keys, finally finding them hidden underneath an old McDonald's bag. Keys in hand, I turned to find Heero fussing with his bangs again in this sort of sneaky, "Gee, I hope Duo doesn't see me doing this" fashion. Of course, the second he felt my eyes on him, he hastily dropped his hand back to his side.

"Heero," I said with a sigh as I rose to my feet. "Don't mess with your bangs. They're fine just the way they are. And if your eyebrows bother you that much, I'll call Hilde and she can tweeze them for you or something."

Heero's eyes narrowed, and I knew he was contemplating punching me or kicking me or doing something that would put me in intense agony before he went along his merry way. Instead, he held out his hand and tersely said, "Keys."

I tossed him the keys, and while he caught them, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his slacks and pulled him closer to me, ignoring the displeased look on his face.

I ran my fingers through his floppy bangs, trying to rearrange them to no avail. Heero stiffened and stopped considering whether or not to hit me. No, I think right then, he was pondering if it would be more painful to knee me in the groin or punch me in the stomach. Living with Heero is like dancing with Death on a daily basis.

"I don't know what is about you and your appearance," I told him seriously, cupping his face with my hands. "Most of the time you don't seem to give a shit, but the rest of the time, it seems to matter a lot to you."

"Mind your own business," he grumped.

I adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket. "But really, Heero, you have nothing to worry about. You're a hottie."

He rolled his eyes, but I felt the anger draining out of him. "Duo, I need to go the banquet."

I grinned and wet my thumb with some saliva before smoothing the digit down the length of his eyebrow, trying to calm some of the bushiness. It didn't work, but at least I tried. Unfortunately, I also got my slobber all over Heero's eyebrow.

"Duo!" Heero exclaimed, the closest I had ever heard him come to sounding indignant.

"You look sexy," I told him truthfully. "If I were at that banquet, I'd want to take you home and screw you silly," my mind voiced itself unconsciously.

Heero blinked at me, and I stared silently back at him, trying hard not to appear as mortally embarrassed as I felt inside. How daring is too daring? Well, I think what had just fallen from my flapping lips was WAY TOO daring. Me and my big fucking mouth. Now the questions was my method execution by Heero.

He just looked away, frowning, though a slight hint of color graced his cheeks. It could have just been the lighting, of course. "Hn. Thanks," he mumbled.

I gave him a quick hug and pressed what I hoped was a furtive kiss to the curve of his ear. Ever since Heero kissed my forehead [1] in the kitchen a couple of weeks ago, I've become a little more bold in my advances, but of course, the more daring I get, the more Heero doesn't (or pretends he doesn't) notice. Oh well, if he wanted to write all this off as nothing, that was fine with me. I hate losing control of my motor mouth anyways.

"Here, take this with you," I suggested to break the tension, reaching down to scoop up a package of M&Ms that had fallen from my bag. Whether you need a breath mint or a rocket launcher, just check in my bag, and I'm pretty sure it will be in there.

Heero looked at the candies dubiously. "How long have those been in your bag?"

"Oh, just take them with you!" I exclaimed, stuffing them into the pocket of his suit. "Eat them if you get hungry, or flick them at people if you get bored. Preferably from the balcony, though, so no one knows its you."

"I'll remember that," Heero said, undoing all the locks on the front door and stepping out into the hallway. "I will return late so don't wait up for me."

I grinned and swatted him on the backside. "Whatever you say, hot stuff."

He returned my grin with a begrudging smile of his own and walked down hall, his shiny dress shoes making no sound on the well-trodden carpet. I lounged against the threshold of the door and watched as he punched the little down arrow next to the elevator doors at the end of the corridor. The doors slid open with a half-hearted chime. Heero strode in and leaned against the back wall, folding his arms across his chest. His blue eyes met mine, and I waved to him. The last thing I saw before the doors whispered shut was a small smile curving his lips and his fingers lifted in a quasi-wave.

I stared at the closed elevator doors for a second more before going back inside the apartment to watch the home improvement channel and wait up for Heero. Hey, I never was good at taking orders anyways.

~fin

[1] This occurred in "Green." And I know Heero kissed Duo's brow, but "forehead" sounded a whole lot better.

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