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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 5. "The temperature's really dropping fast," Maxwell declared. Une was riding him hard. "Is it? Sorry. I really wasn't paying attention." "That last shower of debris. Maybe it damaged the mech's arms. Cut off the power circuit that was heating us." The young man swallowed hard on his dismal reflection. "This is it, then," Une concluded. "It with a capital-I." "Yurp. Fraid so. Do y'think this is what they mean by 'going out with a bang'?" he asked her, offering a sudden rapscallion grin. "No. But its what I mean." She kissed him fervently. Face, neck, chest, wrist. "Will it offend you if I tell you, I absolutely adore you?" "Nurp. Why would it?" "My being your commanding officer. Not to mention your being with Yuy." "Heero's a big man. Real big, ha! I'm sure he can take it." Suddenly, Maxwell reversed their positions. He lavished a stroke of his hand from her cheek to trail down her neck. Then nuzzled the soft curve of her breast before licking it, suckling at it, kissing it. "Hellfire, yer hot," he told her. "I wish," she retorted, chuckling. "If I were, I'd gladly share." "Her Imperial Majesty's Vizier, Devoted Through Every Reincarnation, presents: Heero, Journeyman Blacksmith. With a creak of leathers, the young man knelt before the Empress. When he rose, she felt compelled to reach forth her hand, allowing her fingertips to graze his tousled chocolate hair before withdrawing. "I understand you were asleep?" "That is so, Grand M'Lady. For preference we fire the forges at night, as the cooler time. 'Tis well. Had the summons come during work hours, I would have been so begrimed as to be unfit for company." He offered a self effacing half smile that delighted her. Une's gaze dwelt upon his flawless face and form. The leather of his attire was cured to pale buff and sweet-oiled fragrantly to render it supple. He wore chaps to protect his legs from the fierce anvil sparks. An apron hung low from his neck. For coolness' sake, he wore nothing else, his arms, shoulders, broad back and lean buttocks visible when he turned. The Empress shifted her stare from his figure to the aquatic depths of his eyes. "You are very young to be already a journeyman. Do you devote yourself to your tasks so thoroughly?" "Indeed, yes. For there is no topic so diversely interesting as metallurgy. Metal may be shaped into so many useful and beautiful things. The fiercest weapons and the mightiest bridges. The most elegant bud vase, and the rings in M'Lady's delicate ears. It is metal that makes our Earth so strong of form. And even our own selves. Our bodies rely upon the metals within for existence. Metal it is that allows the blood to carry life-giving breath, our brains to think, our hearts to beat. Metal it is that gives our muscles such tenacious strength. One might venture so far as to declare ourselves and our world, our very souls as intrinsically metallic in nature." "Another philosopher! Zechs, my Grand Vizier, do you perceive? We are verifiably surrounded by youthful thinkers," the Empress exclaimed. "The young are wondrous creatures, M'Lady," Zechs agreed affably. "Their bodies retain all the perfections of childhood, and their minds, the adult attributes of advanced thought and creativity. As such, they approach perfection." "That is it, exactly. Heero, your work at the forge has drawn into you such strength. You would seem a formidable opponent in battle." The Empress, being first and foremost a soldier, had an imagination that often strayed upon the points of war. "Many have found it to be so, Grand M'Lady. I wrestle well above my own weight class," Heero replied simply. "A wrestler? Beautiful. I would watch a few falls," the Empress' features lit with the exhilarating notion. "Alas, Great Lady. There is no one present large or strong enough to present fair opposition." "The lad boasts not," Zechs assured Une, as he watched her features sink into a frown for the first time that afternoon. "What? Even my Vizier appears too puny for you?" the Empress suddenly laughed, indicating the statuary appearance of Zechs' perfect musculature. "I would never say such a thing, Good My Grand Lady. The Vizier is universally acclaimed a valuable ally in any fight, and a brilliant tactician on the field of strife. I would merely say that, being so sleek, he weighs-in below my wrestling class." And so saying, Heero bowed slightly. Zechs nodded and smiled at this courteously strategic refusal to fight. "Perhaps a show of strength would delight M'Lady?" he suggested. "Oh yes, a test," the Empress agreed with evident delight. Heero's dark brows crinkled in contemplation. "This throne appears rather massive," he offered, indicating the elaborate, gem-encrusted stone and metal structure upon which Une perched. "It took three men to move it, when the laborers lately reinforced the floor beneath it," the Empress informed the young man. "I shall lift it, without disturbing Her Imperial Dignity. If the liberty be allowed," Heero proposed confidently. "I'm not certain I should permit that. What if you were to injure yourself?" "M'Lady is more than kind in Her concern. But I am certain I shall experience no difficulties whatsoever in this attempt," the blacksmith replied with somber equanimity. "Is this wise, think you?" she asked her Vizier. "Perfectly feasible," Zechs assured her. "Very well," the Empress lithely tucked her feet up underneath her, to rest on the throne's seat cushion. "If you are determined in this endeavor, I am ready." Heero nodded. Then strode to the side of the throne. Crouching low, he wrapped his arms around its girth. Grasping the farther legs of the huge chair in his fists, he took a deep breath and held it. The Empress felt herself levitating. The throne rose slowly, smoothly into the air. Looking down at the handsome young blacksmith, she felt astonished to find him now standing fully upright, knees locked, herself firmly supported. His face was red as he held his breath. But otherwise, he seemed rock solid in his effort. Her descent was as silky as had been her prior ascension. The only signal of the culmination of effort was the click as the throne's legs met the floor. Followed by the gasp of Heero's exhalation. She clapped her hands. "Astonishing. What a feat! This Heero is truly heroic." The young man glanced down at the floor while almost, but not quite, suppressing a triumphant smile. The Empress continued. "I really must watch you wrestle, dear champion. Let me think on this a moment. I know! We shall have an Imperial Match. With wrestling and fencing events the both, so that Wufei and Heero may both display their talents. And the Palace Performers shall offer a play at the interlude, for Trowa's sake to shine. And Quatre shall keep track of the points awarded in the competition, so that the prizes be given fairly. What say you?" she turned to Zechs. "An admirable idea, Grand M'Lady. I shall put the plan into motion this very evening. I doubt not the announcement of this event will be greeted with enjoyable anticipation on all sides." The young men rose hastily to their feet and bowed low, to be so honored by the Imperial Ruler of all She surveyed. Of the group, only the Vizier's handsome visage appeared troubled. As well it might, since a portion of his intellect dwelt continuously on one knotty problem. Whom to choose for the fifth and final beautiful boy? Une's quick mind pounced upon his abstraction. "How now, my Grand Vizier? We are lacking one serving boy, if I mistake me not. Do not tell me you find yourself short," she laughed up at his statuesque height. "If I might propose a solution?" Heero unexpectedly offered. "You may," the Vizier replied, fascinated at this unexpected source of assistance. "Death's Son," came the blacksmith's weird response. ~ * ~
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