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"Five Boy Curry "Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Rating: NC 17 Warnings: language, yaoi, het Summary: sharing a blanket leads to storytime Pairings: 1x2, 11x2, others tba? Note: "Five Boy Curry" is an actual recipe I got from an in-law who grew up on a Philippine island. I was cooking some curry the other day and the name reminded me of the five gundam boys
" Five Boy Curry "
Part 3. Maxwell felt wryly amused. Often in his short life span he had felt his God Death's hand, toying with him. But it seemed the current scenario was particularly perversely arranged by that omnipotent force. As his sparse remaining time clicked away with the plummeting temperature, Duo felt the certainty of demise. First hovering over him, and then plunging toward his heart to tear at it with talons. But what a way to go. His commanding officer wanting a last roll in the hay. All the while asking for lurid details about Heero Yuy. Not that Duo particularly objected to either subject. Une was young and pretty. And sincere in a fierce sort of way. She was soft in the right places, and nicely compact in others. Altogether an attractive piece. And under the circumstances, Maxwell didn't mind envisioning Heero out loud. The tousled chocolate brown mop of hair, with sea blue eyes peering out piercingly. The delicious stretches of machined-tense muscle, sheltered under perfect flesh. The knowledge of power, yielding power, controlled by Duo's will and Yuy's desire. No. Even with Une's perfectly white teeth grazing around his corona in pain teasing lines, Maxwell did not feel subjugated. After all, he had compelled Heero Yuy from beneath. It was an art, perfected. One of the arts of war. "Is Yuy a demanding partner?" Une asked, before soothing the scrapes with delicate flicks of her tongue. Duo groaned before replying. "Yeah, you might say that, " he agreed. "He likes what he wants, when he wants it. But then, so do I." "Does he top?" "Sometimes. Not always. Sometimes we wrestle for it." "That sounds, hmm, entertaining," Une said, before swallowing a fair length. "Ah," Maxwell panted. "Yeah. Erm. Entertaining." "Her Imperial Majesty's Most Willingly Subservient Vizier presents to her Attention: Wufei, the Swordsmaster's favorite." The Empress had retaken her throne for this next introduction. At her feet knelt a youthful soldier. "Wufei," Une purred. "Does it offend any personal scruples of yours to unbind your hair?" Wufei answered with silent compliance. "My Swordsmaster's favorite? Well, I know the Vizier is not given to flights of fancy. So you must be very good indeed." "Who am I to argue with the Grand Vizier?" Wufei asked in proud tones, glancing up at the Empress with piercing fulgin eyes. "Oh, how clever. To make pride appear a facet of obedience." "Pride is a facet of obedience, Great Lady." "Stand up. Let me view you fully, my warrior. While you explain this philosophy of yours." Wufei rose with alacrity. "Pride being merely an open expression of self-valuation. The pride I exhibit represents my measure of supreme self-worth. And since my self belongs heart and soul to My Lady, the Greatest Warrior in all the Universe. The more extreme my pride, the higher the value of My Powerful Lady's possession. It behooves me to be the greatest of My Lady's warriors, to ever improve Her holdings. My pride is therefore intrinsic to my obedience." And with this conclusion, the young man offered a graceful bow, so low that his freed locks nearly swept the floor. Une's gaze lingered upon the young warrior. He was clad in soft leathern ankle boots, glistening black. Tartar's pants of pale peach silk billowed about his legs, and hung precariously upon his pelvic bones. His chest, a veritable anatomy lesson, was nude, save for a baldric. This device bore a ceremonial dagger, pressed harshly between his nipples. And a display sword, rising from between his scapulares. Both weapons glittered with inset tourmalines. "I should like to fence with you. But later, since I do not wish to perspire immediately before lunch," the Empress smiled. "The deferral of the grant makes it that much more longed-for," Wufei declared. "Perhaps you could demonstrate a sword form for our enjoyable edification," the Empress suggested. "That will be the greatest honor of my life, Grand M'Lady," Wufei stated, drawing the sword with a slick metallic hiss. Zechs drew nearer to the ottoman, to gain a better view of the kata. Being himself a gifted swordsman, he luxuriated in the image of Wufei, flowing like tawny molten gold through the intricate motions of dangerous play. Reaching for the curled edge of the sofa, the Vizier's fingers in transit grazed Quatre's fine skin. Then lingered to caress the curve of one perfect cheek. This pleasurable sensation served to inspire his selection of a third beautiful boy. ~ * ~
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