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
"Come on, Dao," Zorya whispered, and then hugged me tightly, one more time. "Your knees can't be enjoying this." She poked me in the ribs, and I sat back on my haunches. "Or your back."
"It's complaining, but the rest of me was happy," I teased. The strange thing was that I didn't feel embarrassed about breaking down. I felt... relieved. Peaceful. Like... I don't know. Close to how I'd felt one time, punching a wall in fury, but this time I didn't have busted knuckles or a hole to repair before Hilde found out.
I stood up, and helped Zorya to her feet. She picked up the plate and cuffs, while I put the chair and stool back against the wall. I slipped on my leather jacket, just as she started to put her shoes on. Then I had an idea--she'd done all this work, met with me so many times, and what had she gotten? I wasn't sure, but it didn't seem like a fair exchange.
And the funniest part was, she yelped when I picked her up, one arm under her legs, the other part around her shoulders.
"You're not putting those horrendous boots on again," I told her, and leaned over. "Pick 'em up and I'll carry all of you."
"Duo!" Zorya wriggled, laughing. "Put me down! I like my boots!"
"They're terrifying."
"But your back!"
"It's fine." I leaned over far enough for her to reach. "Come on, get the boots."
She laughed again, and grabbed her boots; she now had the cuffs, the plate, and her boots clutched in her arms. "Happy?"
"Almost. Can you get the door? My arms are full." I grinned down at her, and she rolled her eyes before juggling everything long enough to open the door. It swung shut behind us, and I had the pleasure of hearing her yelp again when I swung in a circle as though not sure where to go. "Ah! This way," I announced, and strode off down the hallway.
"That way," she declared, pointing. "There's a quiet room on the back of the bar."
I pushed the swinging door open with my shoulder, and we stepped into a room not much larger than a good-sized conference room--maybe about twenty by forty feet. A small bar tucked into the corner and a raised platform with a grand piano on the stage--but most of the floor space was taken up with overstuffed loveseats, footstools, and a few large comfortable-looking chairs. The walls and floors were a deep blue-purple, and scattered worn rugs outlined each seating area. Pillows on the sofas were embroidered, and much of the furniture was mismatched floral in deep tones.
The entire thing looked like someone's grandmother had landed in the midst of a gentleman's club, depositing tea cozies and doilies. Yeah, someone's grandmother who was into black leather and fuckin' cat o' nine tails. Scary. And I'm not really sure what a tea cozy is, but I'm sure it'd have flowers on it.
A few couples were ensconced in various spots, talking in low tones, and I picked an area near the side, where there was a long sofa with a curving back. It looked like something I'd seen in a book once, only it lacked the requisite female half-swooning across it. That was okay; I had a female in my arms. Not sure about swooning; I doubted Zorya was the fainting kind. I was just settling her onto the sofa, when a young woman wearing bunny ears approached us.
"Something to drink?" She asked, looking at me, then Zorya. "The usual, ma'am?"
"Please, but with two lemons, this time," Zorya replied. "Dao?"
Ah, we were back to my scene name. "Coffee, black."
The girl smiled and trotted off; there was a little bunny tail sticking out through a hole in the back of her long black skirt. A bunny tail. Right. I should've known. What's next? A pig tail... no, let's not. I divested Zorya of everything in her arms, placing the plate on a nearby table with the cuffs, and her boots on the floor. Then I grabbed the nearest footstool and sat down by the end of the sofa. She pushed herself up, leaning against the sofa's one arm, and gave me a curious look.
"Dao? What are you doing? Don't you want to--"
Then I picked up one of her feet.
Hilde always swore by my post-work tradition; we'd lie on the sofa on opposite ends and massage each other's feet. I'd never done it for anyone else--never wanted to--but it just seemed like... I had to do something... special, something to show this almost-stranger just what the evening had meant to me. I couldn't put it into words, and normally I'm not half-bad at that. So I just pressed my thumbs into the arch of her foot, digging in a little as my thumbs slid to the ball of her foot... and she melted.
"Oh," Zorya gasped, and slumped down on the sofa. Not quite swooning, but with her arms thrown out wide like that, head back, neck exposed... she looked like she was pretty close. "Oh... don't stop. Please."
I chuckled. The bunny-girl approached with a tray, setting my coffee down on the table next to me. She set a tall glass of water with two lemon slices next to it.
"Ma'am? Your drink... "
Zorya grunted, and waved the fingers of one hand without moving her arm. "Right," she said, and wiggled her toes. I realized I'd stopped when I took a sip of coffee, and Zorya lifted her head to look at me.
"I'm not done yet," I told her, grinning wickedly.
"I'm fine, Cherub," Zorya said to the girl. "I'll be finer in a minute, though. Don't wake me if this is a dream."
"Right, ma'am," Cherub said, and winked at me as she left.
We didn't say much for another ten minutes. Just me, massaging one foot, then the other, while Zorya made what can only be described as happy sounds. It was... I don't know. It was cool. There was nothing sexual about it, either, and I wasn't even hard. It felt... right. I wasn't sure how I knew, but I had a gut feeling that even if my little scene was probably so basic, so mundane to anyone else, that it had still taken as much out of her as it had from me. I felt peaceful, like in the act of letting something get broken, I could see where it had already been broken. I just wanted to give a little of that back.
Besides, there's something kinda powerful about the fact that someone is draped across an old sofa, making happy sounds--and knowing I was the cause of that. When I finished with both her feet, I couldn't help myself. I patted her feet, setting her legs down, and then crawled to the head of the sofa. Her eyes were closed, a pleased, sated smile on her face the likes of which one normally sees only after damn good sex.
"Hey," I whispered. "Can I borrow your car?"
Zorya opened one eye. "Have I given birth to you?"
I managed to keep a straight face, but looked like I was seriously thinking about it. "Doubt it."
"Okay. You can have my car. My son never will, but you may. Come right back and pick up where you left off," she told me in a sleepy, satisfied tone. Then she giggled. "Idiot."
I chuckled and turned to sit cross-legged with my back to the sofa. Zorya shifted behind me, and a moment later her arm draped around my neck. I leaned my head back to rest against her chest, and we sat for a bit, quiet, until she asked for her drink. When she'd taken a few sips, I put it back on the table and picked up my coffee.
"So who was she?" Zorya whispered into my ear. She tugged my braid out from behind me, draping it across my shoulder and scratching lightly at the back of my neck.
"Keep doing that and I'll never leave you," I warned. Man, it felt good to have someone scratch my scalp. I realized what I'd said. "Sorry... Hilde used to do that. Scratch my head, like that... "
"Hilde. Pretty name."
"She was cute. And smart. Sharp. Excellent mechanic... savvy businesswoman. And my best friend." In halting words, I told Zorya about Hilde's death. Zorya's arm slipped down around my chest, and she hugged me from behind. I sighed. "So I came back to earth but the people I knew... I don't feel like I know them anymore. And they were friends with Hilde, too, but they didn't know her like I did."
"I think you're mad because the world didn't stop when she died."
I gripped my mug closely, and tried to fight back the rising pain. It was too raw, after... Zorya's arm tightened, and she nuzzled my ear, waiting for a response. I set my mug down on the table--damn, when did my hands start shaking?--and I took a deep breath, letting the pain come. It was always there, really. Had been since the instant I got that call from the EMTs.
"No one's put it like that," I admitted. "But... yeah. It feels like... so much of me ended. How can everyone just keep going, like they don't care? I want to ask them how they can possibly not see the hole--the space where she should've been... "
"Or the fact that you miss her so much, even if you pretend like you're just fine?"
"I am fine," I answered, automatically. Zorya's nails scratched at my chest, slipping under my leather jacket, and I had to remind myself: honesty. I took another deep breath, and had to pry my fingers off my crossed legs. "No, I'm not. I thought I was. I thought I would be, but... "
"I have a feeling this has to do with your other friend?"
"Damn you, woman." I couldn't help it; I chuckled. "Who did you kill to become so perceptive?"
"I've got eyeballs, and I listen." Zorya shrugged behind me. "It's not just what you say, but what you're so careful to avoid saying. I knew you'd lost someone, and I got the feeling you had been betrayed by someone else."
"Yes on the first, and not really on the second. More like... " I searched for the right words. On the stage, a young woman was setting up sheet music and accepting a drink from Cherub. "It's... more like I realized what I'd thought all these years--it wasn't true. He's grown up. He's a stranger now."
"People change," Zorya murmured. "I would think you've changed, too."
"I don't know. I didn't think so. I didn't want that."
"Why?"
"Why?" I turned my head to look into her earnest, puzzled green eyes, then looked away again. The girl on the stage was wearing black leggings and a black-and-white plaid dress that looked more like two panels of fabric with lacing on the side; more lacing than fabric--it showed off her slim figure, hints of curves when she moved. "It's safer. Easier. If people don't change... then I know where I stand. It's done."
"You don't seem like the kind who would really be happy with things settled."
"I had so much upheaval all my life." I shrugged. "I'm sure you've seen the biographies and the made-for-vid movies, and the articles. War orphan of indeterminate origin, adopted by the Church, became a thief... the whole story."
"I did my research." Zorya smoothed down my hair. It felt good; I closed my eyes at the instant the piano started up, a lulling arpeggio accompanied by husky alto crooning. "I suppose I expected that you'd be bored by things remaining the same, after such an exciting life."
"Everyone thinks that!" I laughed, and tilted my head so she reach that spot behind my ears that I love to have scratched. "But I like peace. I like the stability. And it's nice to not have people shooting at me. Big plus."
"You're happy, then."
"Absolutely."
She didn't say anything, but her fingers didn't stop.
"No," I whispered, taking back my original response. I stared intently at the girl on the stage, her body swaying as she sang. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed transported to some other place. I wondered if that's how I'd looked, in that room... completely unaware and uncaring of my appearance. Just being, in the moment, totally there. How long had it been since I'd felt like that?
"I'm not happy," I said, very quietly. "I'm so frickin' bored."
She chuckled, and hugged me. I couldn't help it, I laughed, and twisted in place to hug her back. I ended up with my head resting on her chest, while she continued to pet my head and smile down at me.
"That felt good," I said. "I am bored. For nine years I let Hilde take the lead, really. It made her happy, and I didn't mind acting as her number one support. I told myself that I should be happy with the peace, with things being... y'know, I got what I wanted. People on L2 are much better off, now. And the few lovers I had that had even remotely the same history as me... I did dump them pretty fast. Good for a quick lay and then... they were history. I went for the safe ones... the boring ones."
"And now?"
"I'm working side-by-side with one of the most lethal men in the entire Earth Sphere... and I can't stop thinking about him," I sighed. "There's so much about him I don't know, that I don't understand. I keep telling myself to forget it, to stay away."
"Yeah, I bet that works real well," she replied, in a mildly sarcastic tone. Her chest shook under my head with her quiet laughter, and I smiled at her, a bit ruefully. "Never does, Dao. Look... " She pushed me a bit, and I sat up. She swung around to sit up on the sofa, and patted the spot next to her. When I sat, she leaned against me, entwining her arm in mine and clasping my hand. "This friend, that you want to protect. A truly lethal person, hunh?"
I winced. "Uh... yeah. But he's fragile, too."
"I see." Zorya was quiet, but for that soft humming noise. "I don't think you came here because you wanted to protect him. I think... maybe you came here because you wanted to figure out why he does."
"Yeah." I nodded, a bit abashed. "Just took me a bit to figure that out."
"And I think, once you figure out why he's here, your next step is going to be figuring out how you can give him that." She turned to look at me; our faces were barely inches apart. "Am I right or wrong?"
"How can you read me so easily?" I groaned. "I didn't even really think that far. I mean, you say it... and it makes sense, but I hadn't thought... I was just... " I shook my head, pulling back a little. "I don't know."
"Let's start with the easy stuff, then." Zorya grinned, and for a moment she looked nearly girlish; with the red tips in her hair and the ruby-red lipstick, she looked like a kid trying on her sister's style. Then that faded back into the sharp-eyed dominant I'd grown to like. "Who is he?"
"His name's Heero. About five-ten, one-seventy, muscled, but... " I smirked. "If I ever hear you repeat this, I'll deny it... but he's very pretty."
"Pretty?" Her eyebrows shot up. "As in--"
"Something delicate about him. Eyes, lips, nose, the way his hair always falls in his face. Thin fingers. Slender legs, small hips." I shrugged, not sure. "But not... feminine. It's just something about him."
The girl on the stage had finished her second piece, and the audience clapped, a smattering of applause. She smiled out at the people listening, then turned the page and began to play. A slower piece, adagio I think G had said that would be; without paying much attention my mind dissected the chord progression into a mathematical algorithm, in six-eight time. Man, my brain fuckin' annoys me sometimes.
"Heero." Zorya tapped her lower lip, then nodded. "Name's familiar. Dark brown hair, past his nose? Hm... I think I've seen him. Very striking, but not the most approachable."
"You know him?" Why was I surprised? The woman had to practically live at the club; she was part owner, after all.
"Not personally. Just by reputation." She narrowed her eyes at me, but seemed amused. "So there's nothing I'm saying that's breaking a confidence. Anyway, he has a few friends in the scene, and doesn't scene with many people. Only a few."
"Do you know if he's... " I frowned, not sure how to put it.
"Actually, I don't." Zorya looked surprised, as though she hadn't thought of it before. "I know Ty is a dominant, but I don't know if they're friends or have actually scened. I think Kitty is one of that crowd, but she's a switch. It's not like people really talk about what they do in private. And sometimes a person will be submissive, then in the course of negotiation the two people will realize their roles have flipped."
"Really?" I'd heard mention, but didn't think it was that common. I mean, just because you read it on the 'net doesn't make it true.
"I've subbed," she replied, laughing brightly. "So? You should know by now that being submissive isn't the same as being weak."
"I know, I know," I said, and wrapped an arm around her waist. "But still. You... tied up and at my mercy?" I flashed a wide grin. "Don't tempt me."
"I just might," Zorya shot back. "Maybe it'd get you a step closer to self-knowledge, to try the other side."
"Me?" I paused, not sure what to say. "I don't know. But... " I laughed, trying to play it off as a joke. "I did have a few ideas."
"Really? About?"
"The scene. Back there."
"Do tell." She didn't look insulted. Whew.
"Add scent. Maybe have those little plastic boxes--like the kind you get for replacement plugs--with fiber-balls soaked in an oil or perfume. Wave those under the person's nose. Add another element to the experience."
"Good idea." Zorya grinned. "I'm impressed... and proven right."
"Right?" I chuckled. "I doubt I'm the first to think of that."
"Not what I meant." She wrinkled her nose, pondering for a moment; the song in the background sounded mournful, yet hopeful. Optimistic, if guarded. It felt like the girl at the piano knew exactly what I needed to hear. "Some submissives contribute to scenes, during, before, after... and some are just happy to have you do all the work, as a dominant. It's a different style, or mindset. I prefer the first. But sometimes... a submissive who jumps so quickly into thinking of ways to make a better scene... " She left it hanging, and after a minute, I realized she was staring at me, as though waiting for me to finish for her.
"So quickly?"
"Very first scene, Dao," she murmured.
I didn't understand. "Was it wrong to mention that?"
"No, no, sweetheart." She sighed, and squeezed my hand. "You think on it. Right now, I'm going to enjoy this song. It's one of my favorites."
I leaned back, and after a moment, Zorya leaned against me as well. It felt like... it felt like the way Hilde and I used to hold each other while watching movies. Except Zorya wasn't elbowing me for making smart-ass comments about stupid stuff, though I suspected she would if in the mood.
"Does she do requests?" I settled my arms around Zorya; her velvet shirt was slinky-smooth against me, and warm.
"Only with bribery," Zorya replied. "Flamel does mostly her own work, so even when she does covers, it's hard to tell because she makes each piece her own. But you're welcome to try. Approach with a glass of absinthe, a chaser of black coffee, and plenty of caution."
I chuckled, and decided to take the plunge. "So... there's one other thing I should probably confess."
"You're into bestiality."
"No!" I snorted, then poked her in the ribs. She squirmed, and elbowed me. "No... just that, I, uh, sort of fantasized about you. I didn't think until afterwards to ask if that's okay."
"It's your brain, do what you want, though I'm flattered." She tilted her head to give me a smug smile. "Was it good for me?"
I laughed, and made a disbelieving face at her. "Yes. Very good. But I thought I should tell you. In case that was... " I shrugged. Damn words. Not coming, for some reason. Stuck in the throat.
"It's fine. If you plan to keep doing it, at least call me. Let me enjoy."
She arched an eyebrow. "I rather like listening. And watching."
When she laughed, I think it was because I'm positive I'd just done my best
version of Quatre's deep flush. Why was I surprised? The woman definitely had
a perverted streak.
"No offense, but I probably won't--I mean, fantasize again. It doesn't feel right, now. I don't know how to explain it." I gave her a wry look. "Sorry."
"None taken," she replied, and patted my hands around her stomach. "I have the strong suspicion that to you, a friendship is far more important than who you fuck."
"Maybe." I hadn't thought of it that way.
"Which means I know you just paid me a very high compliment," she added, and smiled over her shoulder at me.
"I can pay you more if it gets me a footrub in return," I teased.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I figured I'd spend the next day--or week--thinking hard about Zorya's comments, and our conversation afterwards. Or perhaps I'd think about the man who'd arrived with Celestina, a tall man with a scar across his cheek and shoulder-length dreads. They'd sat at the sofa opposite us; the four of us had discussed the latest political trade agreements between L4 and the rebuilt L5. He was a Sweeper; I'd recognized him the minute he walked up; he was from the L1-L2 run. But he'd introduced himself by a different name, asked my name, and acted as though he'd never met me--yet I saw that moment of hesitation. Celestina caught it, too, and when he spoke to me as a stranger, she relaxed. I realized: it was safe. He would no more tell others where he saw me, than he would expect me to, either.
And I expected I'd be pondering the scene, or the long time I knelt and sobbed against Zorya, or the act of rubbing her feet. I thought I'd be mulling over the fact that I'd joked and laughed and--being honest here--cuddled with Zorya afterward. Just comfortable, chatting, just being...
Nope.
I felt like I'd gotten laid, really. That same kind of relaxed, satisfied, pleased... there's no good word to describe it. I wandered into work the next morning a half-hour later than usual, and Heero was waiting at the table, the latest reports spread out before him.
"Morning," I said, and dropped into my chair. "What've you got?"
He stared at me for a long second, fingers smoothing the paper before him as though he didn't realize what he was doing. Then he frowned--just the barest furrow of his brows, really--and backed up a half step, glancing down at the printouts.
"Everything is in place. Trowa sent this by courier this morning, and says now we need you to start making contacts within the Sweepers for intercolonial delivery." He turned the papers around so I could see the shipping missives. "These routes are under suspicion based on the information at either end of the route."
"Gotcha." I dragged the paper closer, reviewing the routes and running through a mental list of which ships might have that run. "Yeah, I'll start asking." I grabbed the paper and shoved away from the table, chair sliding across the tiled floor until I banged up against my desk. The system fired up and I leaned back, tapping my fingers on the desk idly while I waited for the communications programs to load up.
"Duo," Heero said. His head was down; he was straightening up the papers and stacking them. Several times, actually. It was odd. More than odd. I frowned at his hands, and he dropped the papers. A few slid off the stack, and he caught them. "There's a new Indo-Pak restaurant a few blocks away. Opened two weeks ago."
"Yeah." I'd gone with Zorya last week. We'd talked about going back. "What about it?"
"I haven't been there." Heero sat down, turning his back to me and starting up his own system. "I was thinking of trying it for lunch today."
Since when he did feel obligated to me to tell me his lunch schedule? I was having lunch with Zorya, anyway; it was a regular thing. Okay, so I knew she had other people on her plate, but we both enjoyed our twice-weekly lunch dates, and--
"And I remember you liked Indo-Pak during the war, so maybe if you wanted to--"
Wait. Brain, back up, hit replay, what the fuck? I struggled to find my voice, not sure whether to throw something--check again, is this really Heero, and when was he paying attention to such a minor detail during the wars?--or jump up and shout that sure fuckin' thing, no problem, I'd be there, I'd leave now--and what the fuck am I thinking? It's Heero. Mister 'I have a social life and you're not part of it'.
"Or we can order out," Heero finished, his fingers lax against his keyboard. His back was to me; he looked relaxed. Bored, maybe--but there was no way he was bored. He wasn't typing, for starters.
"It's a good restaurant," I said, then winced--that felt like the wrong thing to say, but I wasn't sure why. "I've heard."
Heero nodded.
I stared at my computer for several seconds, opening up windows to track down the contact information on the Sweepers I'd known along the questionable routes. Then I realized that feeling was still in the air, as though the conversation had been left unfinished. I wasn't sure what to say. Without even thinking that much on it, I looked at my screen to see I'd opened an email to Zorya.
I think Heero just asked me to go to lunch with him. At that Indo-Pak place we went last week.
With the most peculiar sensation of impending doom, I hit send.
Heero remained silent, hands frozen on his keyboard. I counted to ten, and checked my mail. Zorya had responded immediately.
Say yes!
"Yes," I said out loud, automatically, then wanted to laugh. "Sure. Indo-Pak sounds great."
He didn't reply, but his fingers began flying across the keyboard, a light quick clatter of activity. And I had four hours to figure out what the fuck was going on with Heero--on top of everything going on with me.
Of course.
I put my head down and got to work. Time to stop wasting energy on unanswerable distractions--we were moving into the biggest phase, for me. Time to track down all the people I'd met and known over the past nine, ten years, if not longer. The cops could buy drugs in their locale, listen in on the alleged dealers talking, but the Sweepers and Runners were the ones who'd tie all the shit together. And it'd take the Runners locking down a route to freeze the action long enough when we did crack down. Otherwise the dealers and suppliers and manufacturers would just jump colony like so many rats from a ship, and the Runners an' Sweepers would carry them anywhere.
Heero was still working, and I routed several tasks over to his system for him to pick up. I needed to focus on how to approach each contact. I cracked my knuckles, cleared my head of all superfluous nonsense, and got down to business.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lunch came and went, and we were both so deep into what we were doing that it wasn't until my stomach growled that I looked up and saw the time. Unfortunately, I was knee-deep in a direct connection to a Runner ship between L1 and L4. They were still within range of satellite bounce, and I couldn't let up on the connection until I'd weaseled some kind of agreement or information out of them.
"Crap," I muttered. "Hey, Heero... "
That's when I realized he wasn't there, and I felt like a real jerk. But Rick was prompting for response, and I dutifully typed in the message, setting aside the issue of missing lunch.
The door swung open, and I registered Heero's return. Without even looking up, I continued to type, trying to use the last few minutes of satellite distance to get Rick's agreement to be my eyes and ears in that sector. He'd been filling me in on the gossip--some pretty useful, so I had hopes he would agree. He just needed to do it before the connection was stretched too thin.
"Lunch," Heero said, and dropped a bag next to me.
"Sorry I couldn't go with you," I muttered. "Busy."
"I did carryout. You almost done with that? You'll lose the line in thirty seconds," Heero remarked, watching over my shoulder.
Rick sent his final reply, confirming our agreement, and I leaned back with a sigh of relief. "Bastard naturally had to wait until he knew he'd get the last word."
Heero grunted, and pulled his chair over to sit opposite me. He opened the bag, pulling out six or seven Styrofoam containers. "I got three appetizers, a vegetarian dish, a meat dish, and a seafood dish. Chopsticks, or forks?"
"Chopsticks? For Indo-Pak?" I surveyed the food set out. It all smelled way too good; my stomach rumbled again. "I'll take the seafood--unless you want it."
"Your pick. I prefer vegetarian." Heero tore open the fork's plastic casing with his teeth, and I had to stare at my soup for a moment.
"I didn't know you were vegetarian," I said, as casually as I could manage. I took a bite of mussel; it practically melted, and it was just a touch spicy. Perfect.
"I'm not." He poked at the dish before taking a tentative bite. "I just don't trust meat a great deal." His smile was shy, his eyes starkly blue under those dark eyelashes, before he dropped his gaze to study his food.
"We're such colony babies," I joked. I watched him take another bite, then had an idea. "Excellent dish, by the way. I should send you out for lunch more often."
He snorted. "It's not like I cooked it."
"But it's still good. And if you did learn to cook it, you could take me home and call me sweetie and I wouldn't give a damn as long as I ate like this every night." I smirked, and was rewarded with his face flaming red. He stared at his food, and chewed slowly. Okay, don't push it, Maxwell... oh, fuck it. Zorya pushed it, I can do that, too. Let's see what happens... "No, I'm serious. You've got to try this. You like shrimp?"
Heero frowned, then nodded, curtly.
"Here." I poked at a shrimp with my fork, and held it up, my hand below it to catch the drips. He reached out to take the fork, but I pulled it back. "Just try it," I coaxed, and he frowned before leaning forward, his mouth open.
The shrimp went into his mouth, those barely-pink lips closing around the fork, but I didn't pull it away quickly. I slid the fork out between his lips, slowly, and his eyes came open just as slowly, staring into mine, then widening as I smiled at him. Sharp, fierce, pleased.
"Good," I murmured.
Heero's eyes widened further, and he chewed, almost on automatic. He frowned, looked away, and seemed to take a moment to swallow.
"It's excellent," he mumbled, and he sounded... almost hoarse.
Yeah, it is, Heero, I thought.
When we finished up lunch, I dropped Zorya a line. I'd finally figured out how to finish the sentence she'd left hanging.
On to Chapter eight
Back to chapter six