Teenage Dirtbag Sequel
I groan myself awake the next morning. There's a hand around my dick and I know it's not mine. My body jerks reflexively and I blink my eyes open.
"S-sorry, I should have asked," a scratchy voice says next to my ear, the owner obviously just having woken up too. I fumble sleepily and manage to catch Duo's hand before it withdraws completely.
"Don't need to ask," I croak. I release his hand and it goes right back to where it was, massaging my partial erection. I close my eyes again as he settles even closer against my back. As if I would protest this, I was just startled. Duo absolutely does not have to ask. I don't think I have the mental capacity to explain this to him at the moment, however. My mind is fuzzy from sleep and still trying to cope with the sudden switch from unconsciousness to pleasure.
My body is warm from sleep and his hand feels cool compared, but it's not uncomfortable. I hum involuntarily as he rubs the inside of my thighs and cups my balls. He pushes my knees apart to gain better access. His touch is firm and strong, like it has a purpose. I feel him kissing my shoulder and barely make out my name murmured by his lips.
He gets me fully hard and I start to pant and move into his hand. His free arm pushes underneath me and then wraps around my chest, pulling me back against him. I'm a bit more energetic than I should be at this time in the morning. My hips keep time with his rhythm until he forces his knee between my legs and holds me pretty much immobilized. Completely at his mercy, all I can do is clutch at his arms.
I gasp when he bites my ear and follow it with some kind of noise that I will probably be embarrassed about later. His teeth tug and nip roughly at the lobe and up the rim, making sure to pull at any earrings along the way. I desperately fight against him, but he holds me still against his body. He licks down my ear, soothing all the places he just abused. His teeth graze the skin just below and behind my ear and I groan, whole body shuddering violently in his restraint as I come.
My body goes completely limp, allowing him to squeeze me to his chest with both arms. He wipes his hands on the sheet and then rubs his palms all over my skin, up my stomach and chest and across my shoulders. He hums against my neck before inhaling deeply.
"Mmmmm, Heero, that was hot," he says without removing his mouth from my skin. Isn't that supposed to be my line? Embarrassment forces me out of my nice post-orgasmic stupor. I have a pretty high sex-drive but that was a bit much, even for me.
"But it doesn't beat that time I sucked you off in the bathroom and then we went straight to the bedroom," I reply. "You were incredible."
He doesn't respond, just nuzzles me again. That's when it strikes me that something is wrong here. I don't feel anything behind me. I break his hold and roll over. I pull the sheet away and find... well, not much going on.
He laughs and blushes a little. "I'm spent after last night!" he jokes, "I got nothin'!"
I give him a disbelieving look.
"Well," he says with a slightly affronted huff, "I was the one who did all the work. You just kind of... flailed."
"Hey!" I exclaim, heat rising to my cheeks again.
He chuckles at me and sits up. "Aw, I gotta remember not to tease you so much," he says with a smile that turns into a grin. "If it makes you feel better, you're the best flailer I've ever met, Heero, no question."
"Gee thanks," I say dryly before turning the tables. "I don't just flail, you know."
"Yup. In fact, I could probably," I say, eagerly rubbing my palm up his thigh, "help you out right now."
"And I would probably," he mimics me as he removes my hand, "miss my plane."
"What? No?" I say in utter confusion.
"Nah," he shrugs and looks at the clock. "We should get going, the alarm's about to go off." I ignore the pun, intentional or not.
"But," I start to say.
He chuckles again. "It's not a big deal or anything, don't worry about it," he says easily. "I know you wanna do something for me, but that kind of was for me."
I give him a skeptical look.
"Geez," he mutters, "make me admit how much I like getting you off, why doncha?"
This earns him a look that is more skeptical and carries a hint of disbelief.
"Making a deposit to the Spank Bank, so to speak," he says and clears his throat.
"Spank bank?" I laugh despite myself.
He breaks out into a grin. "Oh yeah! I can guarantee you I'll be thinking about that later."
I realize there's not an encounter with him yet that I won't be "thinking about later," but I want one more too.
"Well that's not fair," I stay, still lobbying for my turn.
"Heero, it's really ok," he says, shaking his head in amusement as the alarm starts to beep.
I grumble some more under my breath and look over to glare at the clock before snatching it up and shutting off the alarm.
"Hey," he says softly, getting my attention. I look back at him. "Next time?" he asks. The end of the sentence breaks off a little as he clams up and looks at me with those eyes again, the wide eyes that appear when he's not sure if he's said the wrong thing.
"Yeah," I say, liking the sound of that. "Next time. But I'm holding you to that."
"I'm not likely to forget," he says as he gets up. "I'll be hounding you for that handjob for the rest of your life." I lie comfortably in bed and watch as he stands and stretches his arms above his head.
"How do you know it was going to be a handjob? Could have been something else," I say lazily as he's pulling on his boxer shorts. He stops mid-pull and looks at me, mouth gaping a little. I smirk back at him.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that," he says as he gets the shorts all the way up and lets the waistband snap. "Thanks for letting me borrow your clothes, by the way," he says as he digs through his bag.
"No problem," I yawn.
"Hey, lazy ass," he jokes from the door, "don't you have somewhere to be this morning?"
"Yeah, so hurry up, bathroom hog," I retort, refusing to admit that, yes, I am trying to drag this out. He's a little flighty himself this morning, throwing out lots of jokes and grinning a little too much. I knew it was going to be hard to see him go, but there was no way for me to prepare myself. Yesterday, neither of us could really talk about it; I don't expect we'll do much better today.
I take my turn in the bathroom when he's done and then we get ourselves some breakfast. He's quiet now. I don't know what to say either, really. We've established that there will be a next time, but when?
He disappears for a bit and comes back with his bag. I look at the clock and go to the door. Time to go so he catches the right bus. I reach to unlock the door but hear his bag thump to the floor. I turn around. Now empty, his arms hang at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.
"Gotta get a proper good-bye," he says with a weak smile and moves towards me. I meet him more than half way and swallow the lump in my throat before catching him in my arms and kissing him. He's right, we probably won't kiss at the bus stop. I enjoy the feeling of his lips one last time, knowing that it can't last for long.
When we part, he looks down and turns to get his things. When he straightens up, there's a smile in his face and for some reason it makes me feel better. We leave and I lock the door behind us.
In the car, I keep my eyes fixed on the road, unable to look at him. I ask him if he has his tickets and ID, and some cash and all those stupid things you do when someone is leaving, because that's just what you do. He searches his pockets and bag and confirms, that yes he has everything he needs. I park briefly in the No Parking zone of the bus stop and unlock the doors. I look at him and he looks at me and then he throws his arms around me and I nearly get squeezed to death.
"Ok," he says as we awkwardly disentangle arms and seatbelts. He looks sheepish as he unbuckles himself, so I smile at him to tell him that I didn't mind one bit.
He opens the car door, gets out and turns around, and I think, this is it.
"Bye, Heero," he says, pushing his bangs out of his face.
"Be safe," I tell him, because that's just what you say when someone's leaving.
"I will," he promises and straightens up. Then he ducks his head in one more time. "Bye," he says.
"Bye," I say back but I'm not sure he heard me, it was so soft.
He closes the door and I watch him join the other people waiting at the stop. As soon as I shift the car into gear, I put myself in Repress Mode. I was already half way there anyway.
Once at work, I immerse myself completely and don't surface again until Dr. Fenway drops in and leaves me with a new applicant and a new set of specs. The young man is another recent graduate named Todd. He's short and has closely-cropped blond hair. We shake hands and at first he impresses me because he is already familiar with the shorthand, but it becomes increasingly clear that he's pompous and overly-competitive. If I suggest something, he'll "improve" it by making it twice as complex. His reasoning for this is esoteric and his explanations are abstract at best. He's obviously just trying to one-up me, which makes no sense whatsoever being that I am already employed here and he should be trying to impress me more than anything else.
I decide it's going to be much too easy, and probably much too fun, to make Todd look bad. I give him absolutely outlandish ideas just to see what he'll do with them. We wrap up in four hours and when he leaves, I'm damned happy I don't have to go in front of the board and defend that thing. He's going to have one hell of time.
Fenway calls me into his office later to hear my opinion and chide me for letting things get out of hand. At least he gives me a chance to explain myself. I stay at work as long as I can because I know when I go home today, the apartment will be empty and quiet. And if that isn't bad enough, the beer is gone.
Finally after everyone else has left, I turn off my computer and say goodnight to the janitor on the way out. My apartment is indeed quiet and empty when I get home. There are no shoes that aren't mine by the door and nobody on my couch and suddenly I don't think I can stand to wait all week for the decision. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to go like: find Duo, get him to interview, hope it works out. I'm too invested, I've complicated things.
I still don't know what to do if he doesn't get the job. I try not to think about it as I root through the fridge for food. I close the door and then open it again, hoping something edible will have magically appeared. It's never worked in the past and it doesn't work this time. Ramen it is, then. I really need to learn how to cook. I manage to keep myself busy for the evening but it's hard to keep my mind off Duo as I lie in the dark alone. Next time, he said. I wonder when that will be.
The next day's candidate gives me more confidence that I'll be seeing Duo again sooner rather than later. If Todd has a complete opposite in this world, it's Chris, the guy dropped at my cube by Dr. Fenway. Chris looks dull, he talks dull, he thinks dull. Dull dull dull. He's got plenty of technical skills but suffers a tragic lack of imagination. I sit back and let him do the whole thing and he comes up with something predictably dull that will most definitely underwhelm the board. Fenway doesn't even call me in later to get my thoughts.
In the evening, I find myself glancing at the phone a lot. Duo only left yesterday, calling him would be excessive. I'm not going to call him. It would be weird anyway. I don't really do phone conversations. Never have. Too many long pauses. I'm not going to call him. I get up and go to the living room so I stop staring at my phone where it sits on the counter. I mean, what would we talk about? I can't tell him anything about the interviews and I'm sure he'd want to know. Decisions should be made by next week. I can wait a week.
I sit down at my computer. He hasn't emailed again. He emailed me yesterday to say that he got back just fine. He made some joke about morning wood and reminded me not to torture the other applicants too much, these two subjects having nothing to do with each other of course. Almost as an afterthought, he added that if a better candidate should come along, I shouldn't hesitate to hire them instead. I already emailed him back saying that there was not going to be better candidate than him, and since he hasn't emailed back, I just read his message over again.
I really want to call him. I won't let myself do it, though. I'm not some kind of needy freak. I don't have to talk to him every day. I can wait. Maybe I could call Friday, just too see how his week went. Yeah, Friday.
The phone rings, startling me slightly. I get up to answer it and notice that it's an out of state number before flipping the phone open.
"Heero? It's Duo."
"Duo," I say, trying to hide my surprise, "hey."
There is a pause then, and I don't know what he's thinking, but I sit there struggling to keep the inner teenager that I never was from screaming, "Oh my god he called me, he called me!"
"So, how are... things?" he finally asks.
"I'm sorry, Duo, but I really can't tell you anything about the interviews," I say regretfully.
"Oh! Oh, I didn't call about that," he says rapidly and then falters, "I just, uh, called to, um, talk to you and – ok this was a bad idea, I need to go now. And maybe throw this phone out the window because I'm a retard who should never speak again and ok bye."
I laugh at how quickly all that just poured out. "No, don't go!" I chuckle, "I was just sitting here thinking about calling you, actually."
There is a silence and then he snorts, "Liar."
"I was!" I insist.
"What ever you say, pal."
I give up trying to convince him. "So, how has your week been so far?"
"Pretty routine," he says and then chuckles, "I'm getting a lot of shit from the guys about the interview. They all think it's hysterical to call me ‘NASA' now."
"That's the good part about living down here," I tell him, "everybody works for NASA."
"Yeah," he says. There's a pause and I try to think of something to say.
"So, keeping busy?" I ask. I have to give myself points for that, it was pretty good if you ask me.
"We've got another race on Friday, so it's keeping my mind off other things for the time being," he tells me. "How about you?"
"Oh, they keep me busy," I lie. Well, I guess it's not a lie because they do keep me busy, but it's not enough to keep my mind off him all the time.
We go back and forth in a little bit of light chitchat. This is very much not like me. On one hand, you could take into consideration that this is a person I like and have been at least physically intimate with, but I'd rather be more proud of this small-talk achievement. No one brings up Next Time or moving arrangements or anything like that. After a bit, he says he has to go and we quit while we're ahead. Talking to him leaves me suspiciously and inexplicably warm inside, and I am going to kill that inner teenager brat if I ever manage to get my hands on him.
Of course it has to be the very next day when I meet the candidate who actually gets me a little worried. Call me old fashioned, but I just can't bring myself to try and ruin a woman, and this is the first candidate who isn't capable of doing it for me by ruining herself. Her name is Rebecca and she is deposited at my cube right on time Thursday morning. Right away she seems friendly, professional, and bright. I suppose I could try and flirt with her outrageously to see if I can fluster her, but somehow I don't think that would work, and I have a bit too much male pride to bring myself to do that.
So, I'm stuck being nice to her. And the worst part is I begin to actually like her somewhat. Maybe because they've just been feeding me morons the last couple of days. I do remember to keep my critical side engaged throughout the process, of course. She's enthusiastic and contributes frequently, but I don't think she contradicts me enough. It's odd, but I'd never exactly wanted anyone to contradict me until after working with Duo and seeing the results. When we wrap up, I look back over our sketch and realize that most of the big ideas were mine and she helped mostly in the polishing and tweaking. She's also compiled a nice list along the side of different applications for pieces of our design.
The whole time she is gone, I wait for Fenway's telephone call and nervously think about what I'm going to say about her.
"She's definitely a good second choice," I sum up after my little speech in Fenway's office after he poses the question.
He is silent for a moment as he considers what I've said. "You're biased, though, Yuy. Don't try to deny it," he challenges me.
I frown because it's true, but I tell him something else that's true. "I may be biased," I say, "but I'm also very selfish. I'm looking for someone who is going to make my work easier and the results better. As far as I have seen, Maxwell is still it."
He looks annoyed, which makes me think he agrees with me about Duo. "We've already passed on her application anyway," he says and digs into a desk drawer to retrieve some papers.
They passed on her? Just like that? "Wait, sir," I blurt out.
"Are you still here?" he asks, looking up.
"She was a really good candidate, though," I say lamely.
Fenway looks at me like I'm an idiot and the folds his hands over the papers on his desk. "You come barging in here insisting that Maxwell is still number one, yet you don't want to see McLeod let go. Ok, Yuy, let's pretend some idiot put you in charge, what would you do?" he asks.
"I was thinking she might be perfect for another department. For everything we put together this afternoon, she came up with three of four different uses. I would recommend her to Technical Applications," I reply, trying to sound like I know what I'm talking about.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. She's very smart, she just isn't the engineer we're looking for."
Fenway looks at me long and hard. He really knows how to make me sweat. I know he likes me, though. He did hand-pick me after all. I didn't have to go through any of this interview torture. He crosses his arms and looks like he's about to berate me.
"If she had three or four different applications when you were working with her, she had about six by the time she got in here. Meyers from Tech App is on the board and snatched her up already. She's gone from internship candidate to entry-level job offer. When I said we'd passed on her paperwork, I meant we'd passed it on, not passed on it," he explains.
I wonder if I look as relieved as I feel. Now Fenway is making that odd face at me, like he might praise me but is thinking better of it. "Now that we have The Intern's approval," he says with mild sarcasm, "I suppose we can go ahead with it."
I smirk at him insolently.
"You just remember," he says gruffly, "that you can't always have your cake and eat it too. Part of moving up in the world is learning how to make decisions, even if it means cutting people off at the knees."
Then he wags a finger at me. "You know," he says, "when I was an intern, we weren't allowed to have opinions."
He loves to pull this ‘back in the day' shit on me, but I know better. "That's interesting," I say dryly, "because I know for a fact you were never an intern here."
"Damn it! Who told you that?"
I struggle to keep a straight face. "I'm sworn not to reveal my sources," I reply.
"I was Suzanna, wasn't it? I guess we don't pay her enough to keep her mouth shut," he says of the department secretary.
I head for the door but he calls after me. "Oh, and in case you were wondering what our official verdict was on her, it was that she is not the engineer we're looking for," he says, using my words exactly, "She had difficulty explaining the more intricate mechanics, just like you said. You have good instincts about people, like your uncle did."
I turn around fully. "You knew Jay?" I ask, trying to cover my total surprise.
"Hm?" he grunts, looking up from some papers, "Oh, yes. Didn't I tell you that already? Oh well, it's inconsequential. I'm sure you have work to be doing?"
I just stand there stupidly for a moment before thinking to close my gaping mouth. He looks at me sternly over his glasses. "And before you have any thoughts, Yuy, this had nothing to do with your recruitment. I didn't find out about your relation until recently. Now get back to work."
I struggle for words. "How?" I blubber incoherently.
"I'm sworn not to reveal my sources," he says with a smug little smile.
I return to my cube and just sit there for a couple minutes. This week has not been scoring very high on the productivity scale. That was a close one. Just one more day, one more interview. I'm still very sure no one is going to be better working with me than Duo, but the board has to agree. Only one more.
When I get home, I want to talk to him again but we just talked yesterday, so calling is out of the question. Maybe I'll call him on the weekend. I'm out of even ramen, so I make a trip to the grocery store. I return and fix myself something to eat. I keep myself busy for the evening and then clean up the kitchen and go to bed early, mostly because I start thinking about Duo and when he's not here, thinking about Duo usually ends up with me masturbating. This morning in the shower, I thought about having him there, and now I'm in bed so I think about having him here. I think about that morning before he left because I can imagine that my hand is his and remember what it felt like to have his mouth on my ear and neck, and maybe because he said he'd be thinking about it too.
The following day finds me back in my tiny cube, sitting in silence next to the last applicant, looking over the project for today. He's Chinese and his name's Lao. He's nice enough, but it takes just a couple of frustrating minutes to establish that our communication is not going to be stellar. I can't imagine how his interview went. When we're done reading over the specs, we have a couple of stilted attempts at planning and sharing ideas. Finally, he just takes the sheet and the drafting paper and gets to work.
I get the distinct impression that this happened to him a lot in undergrad and he always ended up as the workhorse guy in all his groups. I feel bad for him, but I don't especially appreciate being treated like some jock in his intro physics lab. I wait, hiding my irritation admirably in my opinion, and finally he pushes the sheet over for my approval. We go back and forth a few times like that and manage to get something worked out, but the system isn't what I would call efficient.
The design we come up with is sound and he could probably do the job, but I don't feel guilty not giving my recommendation to Fenway. Collaboration and flexibility are a big part of this job after all, especially at the intern level. I don't get a clear idea of what the Board thought, which leaves me wondering. There are always some politics involved in hiring, it's unavoidable for institutions funded by the federal government.
I spend Friday night in a daze of relief that the week is over. I call Duo on Saturday and unfortunately he hasn't heard anything.
I hover around Fenway's office on Monday morning, but he's too busy to see me. I grit my teeth for the morning and am happy to be pulled for a project the rest of the day. A project which keeps me away from my desk, where at 11:30 my mobile phone rings and a message is left for me. But I don't notice any of this until I get home. I guess I was assuming that, out of courtesy, Fenway would have told me when the decision was made. I nearly drop the phone when I discover Duo's message, which is simply, "Call me."
"Hey," he says when he answers his phone.
"You sound happy, did they give you a yes yet?" I ask.
"You don't know?" he asks, baffled.
"No!" I cry, "so would you mind filling me in here?"
He laughs. "I got it! God, I can't believe they didn't tell you! They called me this morning!"
I fall heavily onto the couch. That was cruel. I will find a way to get even with Fenway if it's the last thing I do. But at least Duo and I are free to talk about moving plans and apartments now. This is really, actually going to happen... I can hardly let myself believe it. I guess it's not strange for me to feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'm dangerously close to giddy again.