by Makishef

Forty Days of Deprivation

Day One: He gave sex up for Lent. Bastard.

Day Two: I can handle this, honest, I can. I respect his beliefs, and I love him, and I have plenty of self-control. I certainly don't need sex to be happy with him. Not at all.

Day Three: He bent over in front of me today. Bastard.

Day Four: Thirty-six days and counting.

Day Five: He's not really Catholic; maybe Lent will only last a week...
Day Five (later): I asked. Forty days.

Day Six: Went grocery shopping; found self ogling everything with a braid. Thirty-four days to go.

Day Seven: He bent over again. Must be doing it on purpose. Bastard.

Day Eight: Jerked off twice today. Bastard is definitely doing it on purpose.

Day Nine: A mission. Thank God. Now he can't torment me every day.
Day Nine (later): ...Mission took two hours. Bastards.

Day Ten: Have taken to sleeping on couch, as cock can no longer tolerate sharing a bed.

Day Eleven: Bastard called in on mission. Much relief.

Day Twelve: Bastard returned. Bent over, too. Damn him.

Day Thirteen: Unusually warm weather. Usual taunting from shirtless bastard. Twenty-seven days.

Day Fourteen: Bought larger bottle of lotion, as the other ran out rather quickly.

Day Fifteen: Have taken to sleeping in closet, as cock can no longer tolerate waking up to freshly showered, dripping, slick, mouth-wateri-- Damn it, not again. Bastard.

Day Sixteen: Must sleep on couch again. Perplexed look when he sees me come out of closet in the morning is much too tempting.

Day Seventeen: Twenty-three days left. Will never make it.

Day Eighteen: Filed paperwork today. He cut his finger, sucked on it. I had to escape to bathroom. Bastard.

Day Nineteen: He ate a banana. Bastard.

Day Twenty: Halfway there and jerking it thrice daily.

Day Twenty-one: Saw woman with long braid today on sidewalk. Humped public mailbox.

Day Twenty-two: Stole a pair of his boxers. Have hidden them under couch cushion.

Day Twenty-three: Broke a cup today. His fault for bending over to see into refrigerator. Bastard.

Day Twenty-four: Snuck in a grope during movie. Bastard was indignant.

Day Twenty-five: Attempted to grope him again. Have been banished back to closet. Cock now weeps with pity.

Day Twenty-six: Have stashed food in closet. Only leave to use restroom facilities. Minimizes chances of losing control.

Day Twenty-seven: Brought in chamber pot.

Day Twenty-eight: Have decided living in closet is foul and doing me no better. Will return to everyday routine, save sleeping in there. Chamber pot has been disposed of.

Day Twenty-nine: Retrieved boxers from under couch cushion.

Day Thirty: Bastard bent over again today to tie shoe. Watched intently. Fought instinct to bury face in round, firm, beautiful-- Christ on a cracker. Where did the lotion go?

Day Thirty-one: Nine days, nine days, nine, nine, nine. Can make it. Out of lotion, though.
Day Thirty-one (later): Bought more. Am relieved.

Day Thirty-two: Ruined stolen boxers. Have hidden them in depths of closet.

Day Thirty-three: Bastard guzzled milk today. It ran down his throat. Tried to lick it up. Bastard became indignant again.

Day Thirty-four: Have been put into time out for insinuating leg between his. Bastard.

Day Thirty-five: Tried to stroke delectable rear. Bastard asked if he needed to spank me. Nearly came in my pants. Realized belatedly bastard was joking.

Day Thirty-six: Have been sentenced to time out again. Also tortured with pictures of Relena in her swimsuit. Bastard.

Day Thirty-seven: Bastard did not believe that I was only helping him clean his tonsils. Not amused by my reaction to promise of punishment. Hands now wrinkly from scrubbing kitchen floor.

Day Thirty-eight: Bastard found stolen boxers. Bastard was not pleased. Took away lotion. Am feeling chafed.

Day Thirty-nine: Grocery shopping again. Steered clear of lotions for fear of bastard's wrath. One more day. Perhaps I'll survive.

Day Forty: Bastard out for the day. Have spent it rooting through his underwear drawer and finding safe alternatives to the usual lotion. Not quite sated when I retire to closet, though.


Duo turned off the shower. He narrowed his eyes. "Heero," he snapped, "I can hear you drooling. What the hell do you want?"

The shower curtain was flung aside and Heero, still mostly dressed, growled back, "Lent should be outlawed."

"Mmph!" Duo rather agreed as he melted against the wet tiles, Heero's mouth devouring his own.


Day Forty-one: Got bastard in shower, first. Then bed, sofa, kitchen floor, and bed again. Best day I've had in weeks.

end ^_~

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