see part 1 for warnings, notes, disclaimers
[ ] = Duo's direct thought
Last Beautiful Girl
+ Part 3
"Hey Heero, you want another
brew?" I yelled over the reverb. Friday night and Dick's was rocking,
the noise level high enough to blow out your eardrums, no problem.
Heero shook his head at me, not even attempting to out-shout Mick Jagger.
He looked a question at his date, a pretty thing with long brown hair
and huge pansy eyes, and she nodded, smiling at both of us.
This wasn't the first time we'd double-dated, but Pretty Pansy was the
first chick I'd seen more than once. I think she was some kind of EE for
one of the firms he contracted with. She was a sweetheart and I would
have been half in love with her myself (or as much as I could be with
a woman), if I hadn't been so jealous I couldn't see straight.
With every casual touch, every brush of her hair against his shoulder,
all I could think was minemineminedon'tyoufuckingtouchhimMINE!!!
Heh. You all know what a possessive sonnofabitch I am, right? No? Let
me refresh your memory. Braid. Cross. You touch, you die. Messily. I'd
just recently discovered that, somewhere along the way, I'd added Heero
to my short list of 'things not to put yer stinkin' hands on'.
And speaking of hands.
"Duo, honey, we've been here an hour and you haven't even kissed me hello."
Esteban, my piece-of-ass du jour, pressed against me from behind and slid
his perfectly manicured fingers over my chest. I caught the laughter in
Heero's eyes and rolled my own in response. Jeeze, I really needed to
ditch this one. He was getting clingy.
Pulling my lover off me, I gave him the patented Maxwell grin.
"Sure, baby, just a minute. It's my round... want another Maker's on the
"Umm, yeah," he purred, then suctioned onto my lips like a Hoover.
Aaack! Definitely time for a new flavor. Or maybe I'd just take a break
from the dating scene, altogether. Twinks are cute, but they get annoying
real quick, and there hadn't been anything solid on my menu since I'd
split with Kevin two years ago. SoCal tends to offer fluff, fluff and
Besides, I had Heero, and who's gonna match up to my best friend? 'Nuff
We didn't stay at Dick's much longer, and Heero drove us downtown to the
Gaslamp district. We drifted from club to club for a while, dancing some,
laughing a lot, having a pretty good time. Around midnight we ended up
at this dark techno place with awesome lighting that made everyone look
half-dead. A remake of New Order's 'Blue Monday' pounded through the room...
and suddenly I was face to face with Heero.
The floor was packed and I couldn't see either of our dates; hell, I could
barely see him and he was right in front of me. The rapid flashing
of weird blue lights did strange things to his face, turned his eyes into
black pools within the pallor of his face. We were separated by mere inches,
but our bodies never touched. He leaned in and his voice whispered across
my ear, sending shivers all through me.
"Dance with me."
Do you really think I was gonna say no? I may act like a brainless
pretty-boy sometimes -- typically for my own nefarious purposes
- but a moron I am not.
We moved together like we'd done this a few hundred times before. Occasionally
his jeans would brush against my leather pants... the slick silk of my
tank would slide over his tight black Tee.
If anyone had told me, back during the war, that Heero Yuy could dance,
I would have laughed in their face. Our Friday nights out quickly taught
me that not only could he dance, he was damn good at it. Damn good.
I can't tell you how many times I watched him with girl number whatever
and wished it was me.
This, though... what we were doing tonight... this was nothing like what
he'd done with those girls. This was a slow, hot tease... coming close
enough to touch, then backing away... feeling each other's breath against
sweat-slick skin... burning up in the heat we generated. We fucked without
touching... ate each other alive with our eyes.
And then it was over. Pansy-girl appeared beside him and Esteban slid
his arms around my waist. I might have thought I'd imagined the whole
thing... except for the white-hot cobalt gaze that followed me, tactile
as a long-fingered, callused hand. And of course, there were my hormones,
which had kicked in with a vengeance and now commenced to demand satisfaction.
Somewhere in the back of my skull, a snide little voice decided to put
its two credits in.
/He's just messing with your mind, Maxwell. Don't even go there./
[Oh, shut-up,] I told it, and got out of there as fast as I could. Maybe
some fresh air would help. Somehow, though, I didn't really think so.
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