Title: Koji ma Oshi
author: Sol 1056
rating: NC-17 for sex, violence, and dirty mouths
warning: BDSM, psychological issues, post-post-EW
pairings: 2x1, 3x5x3, 4xR
What's the best thing to do when you're twenty-seven, haven't had sex in six months, still mourn your best friend's death, work with the human equivalent of an ambiguous ice cube who may or may not be casually seeing another man, and are reeling from the notion that one of your oldest friends is about to be tied to his bed and fucked silly by his wife until he begs for mercy?
My thoughts exactly.
Duo, it was time to get laid.
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He was... cute. I knew I wasn't exactly the world's gift to mankind when it came to looks--no, I worked with the embodiment of that, so I knew it when I saw it--but at least I had grown out of that horrendous big-eyes, round-face phase. Still kinda heart-shaped, or so Hilde used to tease me, but at least now I had height, damn it. Although finding jeans when you've got a thirty-four inch inseam and and thirty-two inch waist is not a fuckin' piece of cake and don't let anyone tell you it is, no matter how remarkable it was that Dorothy could pinpoint the right size immediately. That woman scares me sometimes.
I'd gone out with the express purpose of finding someone else's hand, body, mouth--didn't matter--to get me off. By the time I got to a decent bar, I didn't wanna fuck anymore. A blowjob--even a handjob--would be enough. So I'm impulsive. But I've never been one for screwing strangers, mostly because I don't like taking someone back to my place--never have--and I'm not always keen on walking into new territory without a chance to scope it out. Old paranoia.
Plus, having sex means undressing, and undressing means the clatter of one, four, seven, nine knives hitting the floor at some point. And I'll do a lot of things that are pretty stupid, but I don't do them without some means of self-defense handy.
I think his name was Timothy. Tim. Some kind of everyday, normal name. Maybe Tom. Dark brown hair, kinda shaggy, a few inches shorter than me. Seemed like a cool guy, but I wasn't there for the conversation. He had a snorting kind of laugh, like he was sniffing something, with a little hiss at the end. His smile was too wide, too many teeth. His lips too full, eyes too round, shoulders just a little too broad and arms too slim, muscle not firm enough. But it wasn't like the looks mattered, I guess.
Enough time, enough maturity--or what passes for it, for me--and ya know what to look for. What to say. Where to stare, where to let the words hang, and the next thing ya know, you're in the back alley with someone's hands down your jeans, and you're doing the same thing to him.
It's a quick jerk, a rapid thing, completely animal, and yet... suddenly I pulled back. He wasn't a bad kisser, if had I liked 'em a bit slobbery. But it was like something just... wasn't there. So I leaned back, pulled my hand from his pants, and shoved my zipper down further. Then I smiled at him--sharp, fierce--and pushed down on his shoulders.
He got the hint. Down on his knees, in the trash, in the alley, the early summer heat of Bremen and the street lights not reaching into our shadow, and he sucked me like he'd been starving for months. He was working, as best he could, and I stared down at that dark head...
No. No.
Images flashed through my head, and I wondered: what else would he do, if I told him? What else could I do...
I forced myself to come. Jerked him off roughly, said the usual niceties, tucked myself away, zipped up my jeans, and walked the ten blocks home.
It just wasn't what I wanted.
But what I wanted...
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Relena met me for lunch, away from the fake travel agency office. She was flushed, with a heavy sated look across her features. As always, she'd dressed in conservative clothes, elegant; the string of pearls around her neck an expensive bauble--and probably as rare as the smug smile on her face. Relena did many things, but she rarely did smug.
"So," I drawled. "Anniversary last night?"
"Three days ago," she said. Blushed bright red, too, but just kept going as though she couldn't tell--or refused to admit, more likely--that she was doing her best imitation of a radish. "Quatre suggested we celebrate it all week."
"I see." I leered at her, and she laughed and reached across the table to swat at me. I blocked the hit with my forearm; she pretended to scowl. "So."
"Spit it out, Duo." Relena stabbed at a tomato, and pointed it at me. "You've taken long enough."
"You know about... Heero... "
"Yeah." She shrugged. "He's never said I couldn't tell anyone, though you know he's really private." She looked up at me through her eyelashes. "But he's yet to introduce me to this person. So I know it's quite casual. Plus, they met at some club. And Heero's never been the club type."
"Wait," I had to back up. "Heero's introduced you to... wait, there have been others?"
"Didn't you introduce anyone to Hilde?"
I made a face. "A few."
"And?"
"She never really liked any of them." I took another bite of sandwich to forestall having to keep talking.
"Heero dated some girl while he was getting his Master's degree, but... " Relena shook her head. "I thought she was sweet. Quatre just about died laughing after meeting her. Said Heero would eventually run her over--not many can keep up with his ambition. She was in the physics program, I think," she mused, then brightened. "But I won the bet. They lasted longer than eight months!"
"Really." I had a suspicion what was coming. "Just how long did they last?"
"Eight months, two days, seven hours," Relena rattled off, and grinned widely. "So are you going to invite Heero clubbing sometime?"
"Dunno. Doubt it."
She was quiet for a minute, picking at her salad, before she sighed deeply. Her smile was faint, and tinged with sadness.
"Duo," she whispered, then frowned, as if worried. "I think it's time someone said something to you."
"Hunh?" I had a sinking feeling in my gut. If it was about Heero's--
"It's been a year and three months," Relena said. "Maybe you--"
"Don't tell me I shouldn't still be missing her," I snapped. I couldn't help it. "I'm sick of people telling me that--"
"Who's told you that?" Relena cut in without qualm. "Who among your oldest friends has even remotely hinted at that? I'll kill him with my bare hands."
I blinked, staggered, and then she smiled sweetly.
"I would, Duo," she said, staring down at her plate. "I still miss my father, and it's been ten years. Quatre misses his father, too... when someone you love dies, you don't just eventually stop mourning. In some way, that person is going to be part of your thoughts for the rest of your life, I think."
"I'm not sure whether that's making me feel better," I grumbled. I was not going to get maudlin at lunch. I was not going to... oh, fuck it. "I miss her so much sometimes. She always knew what to say."
"In her absence, I'll say it, then," Relena told me. "And I hope you'll forgive me if it's presumptuous. But Hilde would be furious if she thought you'd put your life on hold. She'd never tolerate that."
"I didn't put my life on hold. I found a new purpose--"
"You're back in the war again," Relena muttered, and dropped her fork. It clattered loudly on the plate. "Live for the fight, and to hell with what comes afterwards--and you weren't even that bad, then... not from what I recall. Now, though, it's like you don't even notice the rest of us. You're on earth, finally, and--" She spoke rapidly, as if scared I'd tell her to shut up. "--Trowa and Wufei only see you at meetings, and you never socialize before or after I hear, and Quatre's talking about staging an intervention to get you out of the office. He was going to, too, until you called to make a lunch date... " Relena shook her head, then reached across the table and took my hand in hers. "Duo... it's a good thing, what you're doing. But it's not everything. Hilde wouldn't want it to be."
"It's not everything," I protested, but there wasn't a lot of conviction in my words. Maybe it was... but maybe that's what it had to be, for a little bit. Just a bit longer. Then? I didn't know. Maybe back to space, I guessed.
"Get out, every now and then. Besides," and she brightened, and I knew she was trying to get me to smile. "You've got a whole new wardrobe. Hilde would kick your ass if you didn't make use of it."
"Assuming I ever wear any of it in public," I grumbled. When Relena frowned, I glared at my sandwich. I think it wilted under the fire. "Relena, honestly. That shirt... it's a hole with sleeves. I'm not wearing that where other people can see."
"You wore it in the shop."
"That's different."
"Look what I bought!" Relena pouted.
"I don't see you walking down the street wearing it, either," I shot right back.
"That's different," she protested. "I'm a political figure."
"And I'm a former Gundam pilot," I replied. "I've got a reputation--"
"You've got something but it's not a reputation." Relena leaned back and crossed her arms. "You've got... body modesty."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"With your body?" Relena waved her arms, as though looking for the right word or just flailing in general. With her usual composure, it made me almost laugh, except for the aggravated look on her face. "It's a bad thing! Trust me, it's a very bad thing!"
"I agree," I mumbled. I thought of Heero's chest, the planes of muscles rippling under that tight blue shirt, and grimaced. Yeah, me, in a shirt like that, in public. Not good. I'll stick to loose and dark, even if that does mean some short chick from the leather shop will hunt me down and kick me in the shins. "If it weren't, maybe... "
"Maybe?"
"Nothing," I said, and changed the subject.
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I emailed Zorya that night.
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Three days later. We were two weeks into the surveillance collection stage, and I was in the middle of trying to translate colloquial Russian when I realized the time.
"Shit," I said, jumping to my feet. "I'm gonna be late."
"Late?" Heero looked up from his laptop, puzzled. "For what?"
"Uh, meeting. No, not downtown," I added, forestalling his response. "Lunch date."
"You had one last week," he pointed out. There was a fine line between his brows.
"Yeah. I do that. Y'know, go out to lunch with people."
"Different people?" His fingers were still on the keyboard, which meant I had his undivided attention. I wondered why; we'd barely spoken except as related to work.
"Yes, Heero. I can do that. I'm a big boy." I checked my pockets for everything, sorted out what I'd been doing, and marked my place in the notes. "I'll be back in an hour. Don't wait up."
"But--"
I closed the door on his response. I really didn't know what it'd be, but I didn't want to hear it, anyway. I thought about that all the way to the ground floor, and out on the sidewalk past the hot dog vendor and the newsstand and the guy on the corner selling roses. Heero was seeing someone... but casually. He went clubbing. He... no, he wasn't the Heero I knew.
It dawned on me that once upon a time, I'd had no problem chattering around him because it hadn't occurred to me to be intimidated. Grossed out by watching him set a broken bone--okay, so that was a little intimidating--but it wasn't like I looked at him and thought, this is someone head and shoulders above the rest of humanity. Was I doing that now, ten years later?
Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it was just because we were different, now. I kicked at a can on the sidewalk, watching it rattle away and into the gutter. Maybe I'd rather remember him as the best friend I once had, than keep tripping over the fact that now it wasn't the same. Staring me in the face: this is what you lost. I didn't know this person, I didn't know what made him tick. Hell, sometimes when I'd wake up in the middle of the night with my hands down my sweatpants and my breathing ragged, I couldn't even figure out what made me fucking tick.
Zorya was waiting for me at the food court, looking quite normal. When she stood up to shake my hand, I laughed.
"You've shrunk," I told her.
"No, you just need to cut back on those vitamins," she teased. "Please, sit. Have you eaten? I've not ordered anything yet."
"I'm not really that hungry." It was true; somewhere between Heero's odd interrogation and my few moments of pondering, I'd lost my appetite. That, and I had no idea what sort of conversation we'd have.
When the waitress came around, I ordered a soda, while Zorya asked for a steak. I raised my eyebrows, and she rolled her eyes at me.
"I'm not doing that salad stuff," she informed me. "Life's too short to starve myself of the good things."
"Healthy attitude," I replied.
"I try." She checked her watch, then clasped her hands and leaned forward. The motion made her breasts squeeze together, and I could see that lovely line of curve just along the edge of her delicate blue blouse. Zorya smiled. "You're interested in trying the scene, then."
"Uh... yeah. I think so."
"So what interests you?"
"I'm not sure." I frowned, thinking about it. "I think it's the... " How should I put it? "The... control issues."
"Giving it up, or having it?"
I had to work to keep from squirming. I settled for scrunching up my face at her. "I don't know. Sometimes I think about both."
"You said you'd find being tied up and in an enclosed space... I think your word was... boring?" Zorya seemed amused. "Ever been blindfolded?"
"Not that I recall." I shrugged. "Unless you count playing pin the tail on the donkey as a kid."
"I do."
"Oh. Well, that was disorienting, but I have a good enough memory. I didn't get confused by being spun around." I grinned. "I won. Someone else said I'd cheated." Harry Felston, I think it was. Little snot.
"And?"
"I decked him." When she chuckled, I did, too. "I was rather feisty as a kid."
"And now?"
"Maybe a little."
"Feisty can be good," she said, and her demeanor was suddenly quite serious, green eyes boring into mine. "If we're... say, being dominant and submissive at a party, and we're in those roles for the duration of the party, then we follow set rules of behavior. We've agreed upon those. What do you expect would happen if they were broken?"
I swallowed hard, not sure where she was headed. "From the pages I've read, that would mean punishment of some kind, agreed-upon beforehand."
"Yes. Including punishments that could potentially be quite embarrassing. Let's say... " She glanced over me, her gaze resting on my blue button-up shirt, and black jeans. "You do something that's against our agreed rules. And I tell you... " Zorya leaned forward, and that soft, sweet voice became lilting steel. "Strip."
"I... " Okay, throat, find words, find breath. "I... "
"I noticed you tend to wear long sleeves, even in this city's weather," Zorya purred. "And you only have one button undone. So. What would you do?"
Somehow, I rallied. "I don't see what this has to do with being feisty."
"I would expect some rebellion, but in the end, what would win?" She tapped a finger against her lower lip in a gesture reminiscent of Relena, when thinking hard. "Would being ordered be the permission you'd need? Being forced? Would that turn you on? To know that others are watching you submit?"
I very studiously did not shift in my spot. Nor did I even roll my hips. I had nothing to adjust, damn it--nothing the table wouldn't hide. "I don't know," I finally said.
"Next question, then: if our positions were reversed, could you do that? Demand a potentially humiliating behavior, as a means of punishment? Even if there were an audience around?"
"Absolutely," I said, without even thinking twice.
Zorya hummed, deep in her throat, and leaned back. I realized belatedly her lunch was being served. I sipped my soda and waited while she took a few bites, apparently unhurried and not bothered in the least by me watching her so closely. She rested her knife and fork against the plate rim, and smiled at me.
"What about pain?"
"Had enough of it in my life." I shrugged. "I don't have phenomenal pain threshold, but I can grit my teeth and bear the worst of it."
"Back to the question of being ordered to do something you don't want to do... "
"Probably would only make me dig in my heels, to be honest."
"Being forced?"
I thought back over my life. "Same, I'd guess. I don't know." I gave her a dubious look. "I'm not sure you could force me."
She shook her head, dismissing the comment. "What do you want to do, that you'd never actually do on your own?"
...Kiss Heero.
Shut up, brain.
I breathed through my nose, and tried to think about it. "I... I don't know. I really never looked at any of that stuff on the pages and thought about me in them."
"Then you've read the lists? What are your turn-offs?"
She seemed to be jumping from topic to topic, and I was starting to feel a bit off-balance; perhaps that's what she intended. I chewed my lower lip and pondered her question as best I could, given the slight distraction of each piece of meat going between those red lips, and being chewed, then swallowed. I thought of Heero's adam's apple, bobbing as he swallowed a drink, and damn if I didn't have to take another deep breath. I was going to end up giddy by the end of our lunch date if I wasn't careful, but it'd be solely from oxygen deprivation.
"None of that pissing stuff. Or age play. I'm an adult, not a baby. No role playing. I did my time wearing a tie for boarding school, and nurses are sadistic, not sexy. I don't like the cutting stuff. Or the electro-shock... and hair-pulling just makes me mad." I stopped, then shook my head. "Limited hair-pulling. Sometimes... "
"Sometimes it feels good," she murmured.
"Maybe," I hedged, not sure.
"What's wrong?"
"I... " I chuckled, embarrassed. "It feels like if I say the wrong thing, it's giving you ammunition to use against me."
"Not against you, but with you, and yes, you would be." Zorya shrugged. "And even when you don't realize it, you are. Ever been called names?"
"Names?" I scowled. "If you've not placed the face with the name, I'm a former Gundam pilot. I've had my share of names, thanks."
"I doubt they're the same as what I mean." She laughed, and leaned forward, resting her chin on a fist. "Cocksucker," she whispered, then a little louder, "greedy slut... "
"Ah... " I leaned away, then realized she'd only raised her voice to make sure I heard her. But at the same time, she was loud enough the other tables around us could probably hear, if they were listening...
"Bitch, whore... "
I swallowed hard, and she leaned back, an eyebrow arched. So that's a dominant in public, some idle part of my brain commented. Someone willing to stake their claim, exert their dominance, and push a person just a little farther... but was it that much of a problem? Did it really bother me, or was it just... strange... to hear words I'd associated with insults--yet the way she spoke, she could've been whispering the greatest of compliments.
Somehow I managed to find my voice, and dig a smile out of a back pocket. It was a lazy one, self-confident, assured. I kept my voice steady. "So what are your turn-offs?"
Zorya grinned, outright, and it startled me again. "I don't like age-play. I've got a six-year old, so it's hard to consider diapers and temper tantrums sexy after you've lived through the terrible twos."
"You've got a kid?" I asked it, casual-like, but inside... fuck, was this woman capable of uttering even a single sentence that didn't throw me?
"Yes," she said, picking up her knife and fork again. "You really should try some of this. It's delicious. Do you eat meat?"
"Ah... yeah," I said, not sure if that was a double entendre. To my surprise, she cut off a piece and held out the fork. When I brought up my hand to take the fork, she pulled it back, shaking her head with a sly smile. Frowning a bit, I leaned forward and took the steak in my mouth, closing my lips around the tines while she slowly pulled the fork away.
"Good," she purred, and I really wasn't sure if she meant the steak.
"So," I attempted to say around the bite, "what other turn-offs? Or is that all?"
"I don't like water sports, or cutting. I've done the humiliation thing when I've been asked." Zorya pursed her lips. "If I'm to be a good dominant, I have to push my limits, too, sometimes. But I found humiliating someone, forcing them--even at their request--to accept the humiliation... It was a successful scene by the sub's standards, but it wore me out. Just too... " She shrugged, and gave me a rueful smile. "Intense, in a good way for him, but not for me."
"I think I know what you mean."
"I am, at heart, a mild sadist, but only for physical pain--not psychological, like humiliation--and only when I'm on the right level with a sub. And I do adore role-playing." She winked, and took another bite of steak. Damn, she could make drinking water look sexy, with that little pointed tongue licking her lips after every sip and every bite. "I was a drama major in college, so... I guess you could say costumes are a favorite kink."
"Drama classes help with being a dominant?"
She made that humming sound again, then shook her head. "Not really. It's not a role, in that sense, because it's who I am. The role-playing is just a veneer, but underneath it, I truly am a dominant."
The next words fell out of my mouth without forethought. "Are you content being that?"
"Duo, believe me," she said with a smile, "when you discover who you truly are, contentment is only the beginning."
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That's how I ended up back at the club on a Tuesday night--Relena would've been proud, since I wore my blue leather pants, and that damn blue mesh shirt. Zorya and I had met for lunch two or three times a week, over four weeks, and most of the time we just chatted--movies, books, what she'd studied on L3, what I'd done since the war--but I didn't bring up Hilde and I didn't mention Heero. For that matter, Heero seemed to adjust to Tuesdays and Thursdays eating lunch alone, or maybe he met up with Wufei or Trowa. Sometimes he said he'd be heading downtown when I was getting ready to leave, and he usually got back after me.
So that steamy Tuesday night I took a cab to the club, where Zorya was waiting. A few minutes of visiting, and she glanced sideways at me and asked if I were ready.
"No time like the present," I said.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in a darkened room. I felt like an idiot; I kept my jacket on despite the city's early summer heat. Zorya had on a deep green tight velvet top that showed off every curve, and that tiny strip of black leather she seemed to be convinced could pass for a skirt.
"Wrists," she told me, and I held out my arms. She shook her head at me, and patted the sleeve of my jacket. "Take that off."
I paused for a long moment, and she stared up at me. She was in bare feet; she'd removed her boots at the door, and stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, braced, in front of me. She didn't move, and we locked gazes for too many heartbeats before I shrugged the coat off my shoulders. She took it, and draped it over a nearby stool, then returned to me.
"Wrists," she repeated. Buckling it around my wrist, she stuck two fingers between the cuff and my wrist. "Never too tight, understand? And the second you feel like anything is falling asleep--"
"I'll tell you," I assured her. I'd gone through that in training simulations, buckled to the chair while I was thrown about in high-G. Too tight, and the tingling sensation meant nerve damage.
"Sit," she ordered, and gently pushed me down onto a simple wooden chair. Placing my hands on the chair-arms, she locked the cuffs with a quick-release mechanism to the hooks in the sides of the chair-arms. When I tested it, she smiled and brushed hair out of my face. "Don't worry. Trust me?"
"I think so," I said honestly.
"Fair enough," and then she lowered something dark over my eyes.
Immediately I tensed. I couldn't help it. I took quick stock of my knives, and the angle of the cuffs to the chair-arms. I could get the quick release down, pull a knife and slice the leather--five seconds. Maybe less. I just had to--
"Breathe, Dao," Zorya whispered. Light fingers ran down my arms, to clasp my hands. "Breathe. It's okay. I'm still here."
"I'm fine," I said, but my voice cracked. She didn't laugh, but her fingers tightened. "I'll be... " I took a deep breath, centered myself, and then nodded. "Okay."
"All right," she said. "I'm going to move away now. I'll be back in the count of twenty."
Twenty? Why would she tell me that? But as soon as her touch left mine, I began counting. At first, in my head, then under my breath... I'd walked into this. Seven. I was blind, the padding was down around my ears... twelve... muffling her near-silent footsteps into nothingness. Fifteen. No, I would be fine. She wouldn't come up behind me and slit my throat--seventeen. " ...Eighteen... nineteen... "
"I'm here," she whispered, then a second later something hard tapped the ground somewhere about a foot in front of me. It was followed by a creak, and then Zorya's hands touched the backs of my wrists. "I like this shirt, Dao."
"Oh," I said, not really sure what to say. "A friend made me--" Anything else was cut off when something tangy and a bit sharp--and wet--was run across my lips. I jerked back, startled.
"Open your mouth," she ordered.
Crap. How much did I really trust her? What was she going--why the fuck was I panicking? Wait, why wouldn't I be panicking? I was in a dark room with a woman I'd had lunch with nine times, talked on the phone with maybe as many times, and I'd willingly let myself be cuffed to a chair. Fuck, if any of the others found out, they'd laugh themselves silly. What a stupid thing to do, I just needed to--
"Open," she said, again.
I opened my mouth to tell her I wouldn't open my mouth--which was a logic that made sense at the time to the stupid squirrels running in circles in my brain--and that squishy, soft, tangy wetness was placed on my tongue. Fingers pushed it in farther, remaining in my mouth for just a heartbeat, then gradually pulling away. They returned to tap at the underside of my jaw.
"Chew," Zorya murmured, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
Obediently I did so, startled and pleased. Orange! My favorite. Okay. Just food. I could handle food; I held onto the arms of the chair and waited to see what she'd do next. The club had a strict policy against exchange of bodily fluids, although she'd implied they'd look the other way for long-term partners who were only kissing. So that was out. It dawned on me that when she'd asked me about my sexual history, I'd never told her I'd fantasized about her once. Okay, two or three times. Should I have told her? Was that okay? Maybe it--
I was startled out of my thoughts when her fingers ran along my lips, then a new sensation of something firm, damp--it felt chapped, and caught on my lips.
"Stay with me," she coaxed. "Open your mouth."
This time I opened up without her asking twice, though I wasn't quick about it. Something in me wanted to hold back, just a bit. The piece was set on my tongue, then fingers swiped across my teeth before being taken away. I chewed when the fingers tapped my chin: apple.
Zorya's other hand landed on my thigh, scratching lightly through the leather. She was murmuring things I couldn't quite catch, as though the sound of her voice was an anchor, and at times I found myself leaning into that sound--it seemed to move around me, yet one hand was always on me. On my wrist, my thigh, my knee, running up my sides. Stroking me, constantly, lightly, a reassuring touch that kept reminding me: you're at this woman's mercy and what the fuck are you doing--I'm chewing, I'm swallowing, I'm waiting, I'm not...
Pineapple. Strawberry. Banana. Blueberry. A grape, peeled--that one threw me, and when I nearly spit it out, she chuckled and ran a hand down my face. I leaned into the touch without realizing it at first, almost pulled back, then let myself. She was pleased, though in my fuzzy state it didn't seem like much to inspire pride, but I wasn't going to argue. Another slice of orange, and I was leaning forward, mouth open, and each time she surprised me. Waited a little longer, or returned with food immediately.
It wasn't sexy. It wasn't like what I'd imagined... it was sensual. To not only let someone hand-feed me, but while blindfolded and cuffed--who would have ever thought that's where I'd be--and yet... I was hard as a rock but it wasn't like I wanted to jack off. No, because then it would end, and I realized I didn't want that.
Hands were running up and down my chest, fingernails plucking lightly at my nipples through the mesh, then down my arms and across my fingers. Back up. Then at the base of my neck, then a hand on my thigh. Palm on my shoulder, then a finger across the underside of my wrist. Belatedly I realized she was moving around me, circling me, just touching, and I wasn't sure whether I should turn towards her or open my mouth or say something...
Or maybe just let her do what she wanted.
I stopped worrying about it.
I just let her do as she pleased.
The cuffs didn't matter any more.
The blindfold didn't matter any more.
The three knives in my boots, in my belt, didn't matter any more.
... Just her fingers, appearing, disappearing, the brush of air across my skin as she came around the chair and around and again. Until I had no idea where she was precisely--and it didn't matter any more.
Then the fingers came to rest, clasping mine, and I realized she was calling my name again.
"Dao? Dao?" Her breath was warm on my cheek, but I didn't move. I probably had the stupidest look on my face, and she chuckled, low in her throat. "Dao, sweetheart, are you okay?"
"Unh-hunh," I managed.
"Good. Close your eyes."
Immediately I closed them--though it didn't occur to me right away that such was a silly request of someone blindfolded--then the blindfold was removed. I blinked, squinting even in the low light of the room, and my eyes focused on Zorya, bending to release the cuffs and unbuckle them. An empty plate sat on the floor next to her three-legged stool. She smiled up at me while she set the cuffs on the floor, then sat up, her hands in her lap.
"How do you feel?"
I frowned, trying to put my finger on it. "Strange," I finally said. "I... I thought a scene would be... " I wanted to raise my hands to brush hair from my eyes but my hands felt glued to the chair. Lassitude; that's what I felt. "I don't know. I feel... "
She waited.
"I feel... " My chest ached, and I wasn't sure why. But she'd never laughed before, and she'd encouraged honesty, so I said it: "my chest hurts."
"Where?"
"Right... here." I placed a hand over my heart, rubbing a little. "And my stomach feels queasy. My heart rate is high. I don't know why."
"Nervous?"
"I was." I snorted. "Some habits die really hard, y'know. Those years after the war, still on guard from enemies who couldn't let things rest, and I... "
"Trusted me, a relative stranger."
Yeah, that was it, wasn't it. It felt weird to think it, to say it. Who was she, really? What did I know about her? Well, I knew more than I knew about Heero, maybe, but still. She wasn't Hilde. Or Quatre. Or Relena. Hell, she wasn't even Dorothy... so why...
I rubbed my chest again, and she pulled my hand away. "Here," she said, opening her arms.
I didn't even think twice, but launched myself from the chair, landing on my knees in front of her. My face against her chest, and her arms were around my shoulders and suddenly--
"She used to hug me like this," I mumbled into Zorya's chest. I wrapped my arms around her waist. "I never trusted anyone as much as her, no matter what, I never asked questions because--"
Zorya hummed in her throat, and rocked me gently. One hand stroked my braid; another moved in circles on my back. I held on tighter. It just felt like... like something was breaking in my chest. I didn't know why.
"--Only one other person, and that's gone, too," I whispered. "I just... I want that back. I want to have that feeling like, like, I can... "
"Let someone in," she said, into my ear.
The next thing I knew, I was sobbing. Not great big teary sobs, just dry heaves. My entire body shook, and I didn't get why, but she kept whispering, coaxing, hands across my back and stroking the side of my face, rocking me. I held on for dear life, as close as I'd ever held my Gundam's controls, and I don't know how long we were there.
Just her quiet words and soft touch, and the sound of my heart breaking.
On to Chapter seven
Back to chapter five