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"Drabbles"Written By: Clara Barton Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. The following
is an intellectual exercise with no intention of profit. That said,
these characterizations, words, and situations are mine. Please ask
before reprinting. Rating: R A/N: For Maevemauvaise, who requested #9, "No,
no. Leave your clothes on." With 6x2 (I also channeled some Grey's
for this, with the AU setting). Warnings: angst, language, sex Pairings: 6x2
The On Call Room was dark, and I sighed in gratitude as I closed and locked the door behind me. "Thank fuck," I muttered. I was on hour twenty-three of a thirty-hour shift, and I had just finished a thirteen-hour surgery. Had just finished listening to Dr. Po tell a pregnant woman that her husband would probably never regain function of his left arm, would maybe, with a lot of work, be able to walk again after months, if not years, of physical therapy. She had cried, and Dr. Po had held her and rubbed her back, had reminded her that he was alive - and that was something. It was something. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. I toed off my shoes, the hideous sneakers that I had reluctantly adopted as a first-year resident, two years ago, because there was no way in hell I could make it through an entire shift in loafers. I started to pull off my shirt, but then I realized that the lower bunk was occupied. Without the overhead light on, it was hard to see who it was, but the passing light of an ambulance illuminated the figure for a moment. Zechs. I sighed. "You want me to go?" Zechs Merquise, a surgical attending, God's gift to cardio - according to himself - was an asshole. The kind of asshole who made his interns fetch coffee, who sneered at residents and taunted them for their mistakes.The kind of asshole who had made me tell a patient's mother that he had died, had bled out on the table because I hadn't been able to save his life - who only later, when I was outside puking up my breakfast and lunch and wishing to God I could just die right then and there, only then did he tell me there was nothing I could have done. The kind of asshole who brought me coffee, out of the blue. The kind of asshole who tucked my hair behind my ear. The kind of asshole who hadn't even bothered to say thanks after the blowjob I had given him last week. "No." Zechs had taken his time answering, had sat up and, now that my eyes were adjusting to the low light, I could see he was looking at me as if considering which surgical approach to take. "What?" I was too tired - too tired for this shit, to figure out what Zechs wanted from me or what I wanted from Zechs. "You're in a mood." There was amusement in Zechs' voice, and I blushed, grateful that Zechs wouldn't be able to see it. "Yeah, well, I've had a shitty fucking day and there's still seven more hours in it. I've got thirty minutes before I need to check in on Mr. Mendes, and I haven't slept in-" "You'll survive," Zechs interrupted, clearly bored. "Or you won't." Zechs sounded like he didn't care one way or the other. "Thanks for that heart-warming speech, Dr. Merquise. I feel like I could really go and take on the world now." Zechs chuckled, and despite my lethargy and irritation, I felt a glow of pride, and something else. I'd had Zechs laugh at me more times than I really cared to admit. But making him laugh? That was something new. And this laugh - not his nasty, what an idiot laugh, was rich and warm and made my skin tingle. Zechs stood up, moving closer to me in the dark, until I was backed up against the door again. He braced his hands on either side of my head and looked down at me. "How tired are you?" The question might be concern - but this was Zechs. He didn't give a fuck about my sleeping patterns. "I'm not dead," I told him, and reached for my shirt again, but his hand stayed mine, fisting into the fabric. "No, no. Leave your clothes on." I frowned. I'd thought he wanted sex, but maybe- He leaned down and kissed me, catching my question in his mouth, silencing me with his tongue. Forceful, demanding, impossible to please. Zechs as a surgeon really was a god, and I had learned more from him than I probably even knew. Zechs as a lover, well. He wasn't selfish, exactly, but he wanted the sex to be on his terms, wanted my pleasure under his control. Yet another reason he was an asshole. But, considering the fact that he rarely left me unsatisfied, I couldn't complain much. At least, not out loud. I still wasn't sure why he wanted me to keep my clothes on, though. Not if he was kissing me like he wanted to fuck my throat with his tongue. He pulled back, and I could see the glint of his teeth as he smirked, could feel the puff of air from his self-satisfied little chuckle. "Turn around." I did so, reluctantly, and he grabbed my braid - always with my damn braid - and wound it around his hand. Around and around and around, until he was pulling at the nape of my neck and I wanted to snap his wrist. I was thinking about it, picturing it quite clearly, up until the moment he slipped his hand under my scrubs, under my shirt, and ran his smooth, talented fingers over my chest. He went for the nipple piercing on my right side, tugging at the barbell until I moaned and he chuckled again. He switched to the other side, where I had a small hoop, because I liked variety and symmetry was overrated anyway, and he fit his pinky through it, pulling the piercing as far away from my body as it would stretch, until I hissed in pain and irritation. "Someone should put you on a leash," he said, as he pressed his lips to my throat. The idea held some appeal to me. There was no denying that. But I didn't imagine a life as Zechs' pet would give me all that much pleasure. At least, not enough to balance out the millions of daily irritations. He abandoned my nipples and ran his hand over my abs, raking my skin with his short nails, and I sucked in a breath. He knew how much I liked that - had found that out the first time we fucked, when I was a first-year resident and he was just a fellow. His hand slid to the waistband of my scrubs, toying with the elastic. "Zechs," I warned him. "Hm?" He didn't do innocent very well, which he knew. "I'm too fucking tired for you to keep teasing me. Fuck, or whatever you want, but get on with it." Zechs laughed, his breath warm against my neck. "You really are tired. Not even bothering to show me the respect I deserve." I swallowed hard. Okay, so yeah, I liked it when he talked like that. Liked it a lot. But he gave me what I wanted, smoothed his hand between my boxers and my skin and palmed my erect cock. "So eager. So willing. I wish I had more time so I could give you the fucking you so clearly need." He slapped my ass, hard, and I winced. I winced and I moaned, and I hated myself just a little bit more. Zechs fit his hand around properly, pulling the skin of my shaft up and then pushing it down before he ran his thumb over my head, pressuring the slit in the way that he knew made me squirm. "Fuck," I breathed. "What was that?" he demanded, though we both knew he had heard me the first time. "Fuck," I repeated, louder. "As in fuck that felt really fucking good." He laughed again and started, finally, to stroke my cock in earnest. I leaned my forehead against the door and closed my eyes, trying to focus solely on the sensation of his hand on my flesh. He kept his pace slow, as if he wanted to drive me insane. Hell, there was no as if about it. So I started to thrust into his hand, tried to force him to move faster, to pump my cock harder. He just laughed, but he didn't try to stop me. "What are you doing Friday night?" he asked me. "What?" I was working so hard to get myself off, trying so damn hard to just come already so that I could, maybe, get fifteen minutes of sleep, that I wasn't really paying attention to him anymore. "Friday night. You aren't on call. Do you have plans?" "Probably not." Aside from sleep. Well, drinking and then sleeping. A lot of both. "Come over to my place." "And- and do what?" He had never invited me over, and I'd never invited him over to the two bedroom apartment I shared with Heero, another resident. "I want to cook for you. And I want you to stay the night. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms." And that was the last thing I heard before I came, before I bit into my own fist to keep from making too much noise, before I felt semen spill over Zechs' hand and stick to my scrubs. My fucking scrubs. I pushed him off of me, wincing when he pulled my hair, and I angrily flicked on the overhead light. Sure enough, there it was. A huge fucking wet-spot on the front of my scrubs. It looked like I'd pissed myself. Or came in my pants. I glared at Zechs, but he was completely unrepentant. In fact, he fucking smirked at me. He looked at his watch, some fancy thing that he had inherited from his father. "It looks like you've got seven minutes to find a change of clothes before you need to check in on Mr. Mendes." "Fuck you!" I didn't even have my fucking lab coat. I looked around the room, spotted the latest copy of The Lancet that had gone missing from the research library, and I held it in front of me. I'd look like a fucking idiot, but it was better than nothing. I wrenched the door open. "I'll have dinner ready for eight," Zechs called after me as I stormed out. "Go to hell," I called over my shoulder, earning looks from the nurses I walked past. But as soon as I was back in the locker room, raiding Heero's locker for the spare scrubs I knew he had, I sighed. And pulled out my phone. I need your address.
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