Heero didn’t answer right away; more than a week of careful thought had brought him no closer to an answer than when Trowa had asked him the same question. He had told Trowa the absolute truth; somehow he didn’t think that Duo would take ‘I don’t know,’ for an answer. Instead, he chose to sidestep the question, avoiding it entirely. “Because it’s tangled,” he answered, “and it needs brushing.”
A thin hand reached up and wrapped around the comb, halting its path; somehow, the wasted fingers avoided coming in contact with Heero’s own steel-calloused hands. Without releasing the comb, Duo struggled to turn on the bed so that he could look at Heero. Fear glimmered in his eyes. “What do you want from me?” he demanded hoarsely.
Heero easily pulled the comb out of his grasp, then stopped to think about the question, studying the battered, beautiful figure in front of him. What did he want? Duo had nothing in the world that Heero didn’t choose to give to him; he had nothing to give, except himself. The image of pale thin hands against dark fabric flashed through his mind, accompanied by the rich soft cascade of mahogany hair. Was that what he wanted? To touch Duo? And have him shrink away, feel him flinch under his hands? No. He remembered the joy he had felt last night when Duo broke his silence, and again this morning when Duo said his name. But that voice could scream as easily as whisper in that soft, beautiful timbre. No.
He remembered Duo’s smile.
Somehow that smile, the voice, his eyes, added up to something more. He didn’t have a name for it, not yet, but a glimpse of it had showed itself to him the first time he had seen Duo crouching in the mud. Heero felt a rare smile creeping across his face, no more than a tiny smirk by anyone’s standards. His left hand reached up and cupped Duo’s chin, thumb brushing across his cheek. “I want you to be well,” he answered finally, absolute certainty in his voice.
Duo stared, and disbelief crept into his eyes; he shook his head, just a tiny shake, against Heero’s touch. Heero kept his smile, though, as he reached up and took hold of Duo’s shoulders, turning him so that he had access to the wealth of Duo’s hair. It was too soon, yet, for Duo to trust in promises. But Heero would show him, just how serious he was.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:24 pm (UTC)“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.
Heero didn’t answer right away; more than a week of careful thought had brought him no closer to an answer than when Trowa had asked him the same question. He had told Trowa the absolute truth; somehow he didn’t think that Duo would take ‘I don’t know,’ for an answer. Instead, he chose to sidestep the question, avoiding it entirely. “Because it’s tangled,” he answered, “and it needs brushing.”
A thin hand reached up and wrapped around the comb, halting its path; somehow, the wasted fingers avoided coming in contact with Heero’s own steel-calloused hands. Without releasing the comb, Duo struggled to turn on the bed so that he could look at Heero. Fear glimmered in his eyes. “What do you want from me?” he demanded hoarsely.
Heero easily pulled the comb out of his grasp, then stopped to think about the question, studying the battered, beautiful figure in front of him. What did he want? Duo had nothing in the world that Heero didn’t choose to give to him; he had nothing to give, except himself. The image of pale thin hands against dark fabric flashed through his mind, accompanied by the rich soft cascade of mahogany hair. Was that what he wanted? To touch Duo? And have him shrink away, feel him flinch under his hands? No. He remembered the joy he had felt last night when Duo broke his silence, and again this morning when Duo said his name. But that voice could scream as easily as whisper in that soft, beautiful timbre. No.
He remembered Duo’s smile.
Somehow that smile, the voice, his eyes, added up to something more. He didn’t have a name for it, not yet, but a glimpse of it had showed itself to him the first time he had seen Duo crouching in the mud. Heero felt a rare smile creeping across his face, no more than a tiny smirk by anyone’s standards. His left hand reached up and cupped Duo’s chin, thumb brushing across his cheek. “I want you to be well,” he answered finally, absolute certainty in his voice.
Duo stared, and disbelief crept into his eyes; he shook his head, just a tiny shake, against Heero’s touch. Heero kept his smile, though, as he reached up and took hold of Duo’s shoulders, turning him so that he had access to the wealth of Duo’s hair. It was too soon, yet, for Duo to trust in promises. But Heero would show him, just how serious he was.