Disclaimers: (sigh) Don't own any part of them--just enjoy watching what they do with each other from time to time.

Warnings: After the war, mention of 1x2x1, Heero POV.

Summary: Yet another quiet little exploration of the relationship between Heero and Duo. Number sixteen in a very loosely connected set.

The Little Things Arc
Part Sixteen: Sunday Afternoon
by D.C. Logan

It was a restful, quiet and lazy Sunday. Sort of. Perhaps a little too quiet--well, at least in Duo's opinion. Heero had brought work home again and the only sound worth noting was the light clicking chatter of his fingers on his computer keyboard. As was the case with most of Heero's roster of talents, he typed with an economy of motion and an intrinsic grace while never looking at his fingers. Many were the happy times that Duo had fallen asleep on bed, sofa, or floor to the pink noise of Heero working.

But not now, not this time. As comfortable as it was to stretch out across the lumpy acreage of his sofa, a recent technical thriller in hand with a plot that bored him senseless and dialog that had looked interesting on an initial scan but that was falling rather flat at the moment--it just wasn't doing anything for him. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't bored exactly--he just needed to move... Or something.

He stalled for time by watching Heero instead. His focus was on his work, his hands floating over the keys with a rapid cadence and pauses in a regular cycle. During the pauses, he would lift his head slightly and look up to the left. Since he was facing the window, Duo couldn't verify his expression--but he'd bet almost anything that he had one of those thoughtful long-distance stares on his face. The kind that would rack focus if he suddenly appeared in front of him. Keystrokes. Pause. And again.

It gave him an idea. A not altogether original one--but Heero hadn't complained when he'd done it last--so he had hopes of surviving a repeat of the experience.

Slowly, moving one fiber of his body at a time, he eased off of the sofa. He made sure to transfer his weight smoothly from the raised cushions onto the support of his braced hands on the floor and crawled, moving a hand or knee into position on the floor and slowly, incrementally, shifting a portion of his weight onto the limb. Each calculated move bringing him closer to his target. Sitting defenseless (well, never *really* defenseless) at his desk.

He moved into a crouch at the base of Heero's chair and reached up slowly, moving an inch and holding, moving and holding--allowing his target to acclimate to his presence one small motion at a time. And, when the target was in range, he lightly stroked the tip of his braid across the back of Heero's exposed neck.

Heero froze--completely transfixed by the unexpected sensation. That was part of the soldier still in him, he never started or jumped, he just shifted his awareness before his nerve synapses took over and his hands lowered of their own accord to rest on his thighs. His eyes, previously bright with intellectual intensity, glazed over and the lids slackened.

As Duo continued to lightly stroke just the extreme tip of his braid across one of Heero's most erogenous zones, he noted that Heero's lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly.

It fascinated him.

It was his only warning.

It was easy to forget, even with living side by side with him, how very fast Heero could move... especially when... properly inspired. Duo didn't see or hear the chair tipping and crashing to one side, didn't actually see Heero move at all truth to tell. But the next moment, he was on the floor with Heero pinning him there--and apparently parts of his body were rather pleased to make their mutual acquaintance. That was quick--and most welcome.

What *was* unsettling was the feral glint in Heero's eyes as he took in Duo's panting breaths and flushed face.


"Surprise this."

And Heero consumed him.


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