gw500 ficlet - To Cut Off One's Nose
Title: To Cut Off One's Nose
Author: Elsie
Pairing: past 1+2
Rating: PG
Warning: angst(?)
Word count: 795
Challenge: flattery
Duo watched as the door to the apartment closed with a sense of finality.
He hadn't believed it would come to this. When had things gotten so complicated?
He sat on the couch numbly, staring at the door, as if he expected Heero to come walking back in at any minute, despite knowing that wasn't going to happen.
He'd made damn sure of that.
Duo sighed and leaned back against the couch. What had he expected? For Heero to forgive him, to accept evidence of infidelity with a shrug and a smile?
Sadly, that's exactly what he had assumed would happen.
He'd tried to argue with Heero, to explain that it wasn't really cheating unless penetration was involved.
Heero had accepted his explanation calmly, his face betraying none of the hurt he'd felt when he found Duo sitting on the couch with another man's hand in his crotch.
At least, Duo assumed he'd been hurt. He knew Heero better than anyone after all. He knew that Heero would never have agreed to sex if he didn't feel something more than physical attraction.
Duo knew he shouldn't have tested Heero. He'd been caught off guard with the groping, and would have planted his fist in his molester's face if Heero's presence hadn't caught them both by surprise before he could react.
His guest had made tracks, obviously much smarter than he'd led Duo to believe when he'd come looking for a tutor.
Duo had tried to be glib about the whole thing, and for his efforts to pass it off as a joke, Heero had turned his back on him and gone into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
If there was one thing Duo hated, it was being ignored. He thought he'd become accustomed to it, but not after Heero had shown him that his actions were very much taken into regard.
He wanted a reaction, and therefore fabricated a story worthy of gossip columnists everywhere.
Still Heero had not reacted, and that's when Duo had grabbed his arm and whirled him around, ready to yell in his face if that's what it took.
Instead, he kissed Heero, possessively, violently, to prove that Heero was his and that nobody owned Duo Maxwell.
Sex that evening had been harsh, angry, and full of emotion.
The next morning Duo had found the bed empty, and had felt the anger welling up again.
He taunted Heero when he made his way into the kitchen, unable to stop the words despite the part of him that begged him to reconsider.
It was as if he were no longer in control of his mouth, and in his desire to vent his frustration, he lashed out at the person who meant most to him in the world.
Still Heero didn't show any signs that he'd been affected by Duo's imaginary string of affairs.
Duo thought for sure that Heero hadn't believed him.
Then Heero finally responded with a direct question.
"Why are you telling me this?"
The answer was something Duo couldn't put into words. He wasn't quite sure himself.
He wished he could say he couldn't remember what he said, but every cold, biting word he'd thrown at Heero, every insult, every past transgression, came out in a flurry of shouts and angry gestures.
Then he'd thrown down the gauntlet, and told Heero if he didn't like it, that he could get the hell out.
It was Duo's apartment, after all.
And Heero had left.
Before he'd closed his suitcase, he'd looked at Duo, who had been railing at him the entire time he'd packed. In that moment of direct eye contact, Heero said quietly, "I had hoped there was more between us than this."
Whether he meant more than sex, or more than arguments and insults, or more than whatever their relationship had degraded into, Duo didn't know, nor did he care, so caught up was he in being the one who was right.
He was the injured party, not Heero.
"Don't flatter yourself," he said derisively.
Heero snapped the latches on his suitcase closed, picked it up, and walked past Duo.
Duo followed him as far as the living room, but instead of heading Heero off at the door, he sat in the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table, knowing that it irritated Heero when he did so while still wearing his shoes.
He didn't turn his head toward the door until he heard it close.
He feared that Heero had believed every hurtful thing he'd said. There was no better way to compliment a con artist than to fall for his double talk.
He'd thought Heero was smarter than that.
Don't flatter yourself, Heero, he'd said.
What he should have said was, don't flatter me.
Part 2: Yellow
Author: Elsie
Pairing: past 1+2
Rating: PG
Warning: angst(?)
Word count: 795
Challenge: flattery
Duo watched as the door to the apartment closed with a sense of finality.
He hadn't believed it would come to this. When had things gotten so complicated?
He sat on the couch numbly, staring at the door, as if he expected Heero to come walking back in at any minute, despite knowing that wasn't going to happen.
He'd made damn sure of that.
Duo sighed and leaned back against the couch. What had he expected? For Heero to forgive him, to accept evidence of infidelity with a shrug and a smile?
Sadly, that's exactly what he had assumed would happen.
He'd tried to argue with Heero, to explain that it wasn't really cheating unless penetration was involved.
Heero had accepted his explanation calmly, his face betraying none of the hurt he'd felt when he found Duo sitting on the couch with another man's hand in his crotch.
At least, Duo assumed he'd been hurt. He knew Heero better than anyone after all. He knew that Heero would never have agreed to sex if he didn't feel something more than physical attraction.
Duo knew he shouldn't have tested Heero. He'd been caught off guard with the groping, and would have planted his fist in his molester's face if Heero's presence hadn't caught them both by surprise before he could react.
His guest had made tracks, obviously much smarter than he'd led Duo to believe when he'd come looking for a tutor.
Duo had tried to be glib about the whole thing, and for his efforts to pass it off as a joke, Heero had turned his back on him and gone into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
If there was one thing Duo hated, it was being ignored. He thought he'd become accustomed to it, but not after Heero had shown him that his actions were very much taken into regard.
He wanted a reaction, and therefore fabricated a story worthy of gossip columnists everywhere.
Still Heero had not reacted, and that's when Duo had grabbed his arm and whirled him around, ready to yell in his face if that's what it took.
Instead, he kissed Heero, possessively, violently, to prove that Heero was his and that nobody owned Duo Maxwell.
Sex that evening had been harsh, angry, and full of emotion.
The next morning Duo had found the bed empty, and had felt the anger welling up again.
He taunted Heero when he made his way into the kitchen, unable to stop the words despite the part of him that begged him to reconsider.
It was as if he were no longer in control of his mouth, and in his desire to vent his frustration, he lashed out at the person who meant most to him in the world.
Still Heero didn't show any signs that he'd been affected by Duo's imaginary string of affairs.
Duo thought for sure that Heero hadn't believed him.
Then Heero finally responded with a direct question.
"Why are you telling me this?"
The answer was something Duo couldn't put into words. He wasn't quite sure himself.
He wished he could say he couldn't remember what he said, but every cold, biting word he'd thrown at Heero, every insult, every past transgression, came out in a flurry of shouts and angry gestures.
Then he'd thrown down the gauntlet, and told Heero if he didn't like it, that he could get the hell out.
It was Duo's apartment, after all.
And Heero had left.
Before he'd closed his suitcase, he'd looked at Duo, who had been railing at him the entire time he'd packed. In that moment of direct eye contact, Heero said quietly, "I had hoped there was more between us than this."
Whether he meant more than sex, or more than arguments and insults, or more than whatever their relationship had degraded into, Duo didn't know, nor did he care, so caught up was he in being the one who was right.
He was the injured party, not Heero.
"Don't flatter yourself," he said derisively.
Heero snapped the latches on his suitcase closed, picked it up, and walked past Duo.
Duo followed him as far as the living room, but instead of heading Heero off at the door, he sat in the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table, knowing that it irritated Heero when he did so while still wearing his shoes.
He didn't turn his head toward the door until he heard it close.
He feared that Heero had believed every hurtful thing he'd said. There was no better way to compliment a con artist than to fall for his double talk.
He'd thought Heero was smarter than that.
Don't flatter yourself, Heero, he'd said.
What he should have said was, don't flatter me.
Part 2: Yellow