"True Colours"

Written By: Fancy Figures

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, wish I did, just enjoy writing about 'em for free etc

Pairings: 1x2, 3+4

Category: AU, romance

Warnings: Yaoi, lemon

Spoilers: None

Word count: 91,970

Notes: Duo Maxwell had a glowing future ahead of him, a young man full of talent and a lust for life; but it was all slipping through his fingers. Heero Yuy already had the successful life; but was struggling to enjoy it to the full. Neither knew what to do to change things; to find what they were missing. But then, neither of them had met the other yet.

Written for gwyaoi's OTP Novella Challenge 2004.

With *huge* hugs for Steph's invaluable beta-ing, and title suggestion!

Also, with my usual apologies for any poor research – all errors are mine own!

Feedback: If you liked it, PLEASE let me know!

"True Colours"

 

 

"Sooo... whaddya think it is?" The thin, pretty girl with the spiky hair leant her head to one side and peered at the giant canvas on the wall in front of her. "Funny title - 4:0045. There's all that blue - and the green spots. Can't see anythin' properly..."

"'S a metaphor, yeah?" replied her friend. He pushed the thin wire glasses up his nose, and squeezed at her arm, in sympathy for her ignorance.

"A what?"

"Metaphor - a symbol for somethin' else."

"Sooo... 's not a thing then? Like a pet? Like his house?"

"Christ, Jo, y'are so not in tune with art! This ain't paint-by-numbers. This guy is angry, y'know? He's yellin' at us - he's demandin' we stand up and be counted! It's a comment on the c'mplexity of modern socialism - on the diversity of p'litical issues in the context of failing economic standards and the rav'ges of war -"

Jo felt a soft hand at her shoulder, and she turned to see bright blue eyes staring at her. They flickered to her companion, then back to her. She saw a cute nose crinkling in amused distaste; chestnut hair brushed away from a wide brow. She registered it was a guy, and she ran her eyes quickly down a tall, slender, muscular body, dressed in a wickedly brief, vivid blue vest, and skin-tight leather pants. He looked like one of the art students; perhaps one of the caterers. Who cares? she thought, with a rush of excitement that went straight to her head. The leather pants on the long, lean thighs were compellingly gorgeous - dammit, gushed her next thought, so was he! Then he spoke to her, in a low, easy voice.

"It's a picture of my last hangover, actually - uh - Jo, isn't it? That's the time I got thrown out of the bar. The main thing is, though - do you like it?"

"It's cool," she nodded, feeling a flush high up on her cheeks. "Bright. Bold. Makes me feel sorta tingly-"

Her companion made a snorting sound.

But the blue-eyed guy didn't seem annoyed at her naiveté - rather, he nodded back, and his expression widened with pleasure. He glanced again at her friend, and then turned deliberately to face her. "Sooo, JO," he drawled. "I dunno who the patronising prat is on your arm, but I think we've both listened to more pretentious twaddle tonight than either of us deserves - wouldn't you agree?"

There was a brief moment of shocked silence.

The mystery guy grinned, and pressed his hand back on the girl's shoulder. "You wanna talk feeling tingly - call me, OK? Number's with the blond guy at the front desk."

"Now wait up! - Aren't you -" spluttered Jo's friend. His glasses bounced on his nose, awkwardly. He waved the brochure in his hand towards the other guy's face; it was folded open at the publicity photo of someone.

"Yeah," smiled the guy. "I am. So get over it! Enjoy the exhibition!"

And he'd gone, weaving back into the crowd.

"He's -" came another splutter from the young man. "Didn't you see, f'God's sake? He's -!"

JO wasn't really listening. She stared at her friend instead, and wondered exactly why she thought she'd liked him in the first place. He never listened to her, he talked too much himself, and when he did talk, he really was a prat! It wasn't as if he had anything going for him in the looks department, either, as some kinda compensation for having the charisma of a clothes peg...

And then the call for hush came from the gallery director, and the chattering around the room slowly ceased.

"Ladies and gentlemen - your attention please? This is the opening night of the gallery, as I'm sure you all know -" Polite laughter from around the room. "I'm sure we can already see that this will be the first event of many - that this brave but thrilling venture will have a glorious future ahead of it! It is supported, of course, by the brilliant family whose name it bears-; the two incandescently talented brothers, who bring some of their own pieces for us here tonight, to hang amongst some pretty prestigious company." Eyes wandered round the room; murmurs of appreciation followed.

"Unfortunately, the older brother is unable to join us tonight - a European tour, you understand!" More murmurs; heads nodding. "But let's just raise a glass, in amongst all this fun, to the younger of those two inspired young men, who is already making quite a mark in the art world, and is sure to become as famous and as respected as his brother, and who is - most luckily! - here with us tonight! Indeed, he has favoured us with the best pieces of his recent work on these walls, and one of the main aims of this gallery is to become a show place for his own collection."

There was some light clapping.

JO heard the quiet buzz around her.

"They say he's a charming kid -"

"Exciting talent, exciting ideas..."

"He designed this whole show himself, y'know?..."

The gallery director's speech resumed. "So we welcome the latest addition to the art world, another of this famous family, and wish him more of the success and praise that he already commands. And -of course! - we look forward to his coming season of new works, and many more following that!"

More clapping -more enthusiasm now. A couple of whistles from the more bohemian of the guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen - Duo Maxwell!"

At the back of the room, an entranced JO stared at the tall, handsome young man who moved quickly to stand beside the director; whose unconventionally long, braided chestnut hair swung heavily behind his back, brushing at those same leather jeans that she'd earlier admired.

He stood with the same swaggering confidence that he'd shown before; waved the same hand that had settled firmly on her shoulder as he spoke. And he gazed around the room with the same bright blue eyes that had teased her earlier, full of the same amusement. As she stared, openmouthed, he caught her eye.

And he winked at her.

Eighteen months later

Two young men and a young woman stood outside the entrance of a building that had just been sold, and stared up it. It had a visually stunning façade; wide, high windows; cool, pale brick walls. The upper storey had a single picture window spanning the whole front of the building; it embraced the sunlight like a welcome lover. Downstairs, there were the remnants of shop fittings and demonstration materials, showing that it had once been busy with visitors of one kind or another. There were a couple of broken chairs; a single bulb still intact in a modern light fitting set into the ceiling. There was a mounted board that stretched across all of one wall - hanging precariously from only one corner's fastening, now.

At the back, there was a door through to other rooms; to the upstairs apartment. The door was ajar.

It was all viewed through dusty windows; all viewed past derisive graffiti on those same pale walls.

The woman peered distastefully through the nearest window. "It's in an appalling state," she said. She was almost model-thin, with a gauntness to her face that proclaimed her figure was hard-won rather than natural. She had perfectly coiffured blond hair -a designer suit and shoes. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent- and cynical. She sounded as if she'd made up her mind even before arriving. "I can't see what use it's going to be to the Corporation."

The taller of the two men turned to look at her. "Malia, you've read the documents as well as I; as indeed have the three sets of lawyers. Please don't imply I'm a fool. We want the access -and we need the opportunity to expand the current operations. That means we need this side of the street as well. This whole block is perfect for our purposes. This unit has obviously been totally neglected, but it can be redecorated - it's basically sound."

"But the Corporation's never considered a gallery, Heero. Why don't we convert it into another set of offices? Legal Services needs some new space -"

The man beside her cleared his throat. He didn't need to do any more. Malia Trent flushed a deep pink - he was the only man she'd ever known who could do that to her, outside of orgasm -and her mouth pursed shut.

"It was built as a gallery - it's perfect for its purpose. I'm not one to pass that up, Malia. You know my opinions on waste. I have an art collection -this can be a promotional showroom for it; a frontispiece for Media Services. We'll use it for the entertainment of clients, and for presentation events. That -of course - is your particular department."

It wasn't that he was asking her opinion. The decision had already been made.

Malia sneaked a look through her false lashes at her boss. He was young; probably mid-twenties - but no-one would ever have accused him of being immature. Heero Yuy was a fairly private person - but his name and reputation were known to anyone who followed the financial papers. In his early teens, he'd become the sole heir to a large trust fund, set up when his wealthy parents died, and the tabloid press had waited hungrily to see how this rich young child would fritter it away. However, his lawyers had appointed him an eminently sensible financial advisor, and although Heero Yuy had left school at the earliest opportunity, he'd moved swiftly into employment, to learn about commerce.

He showed an astonishing aptitude and determination, and had been promoted as the youngest Board Director of the firm where he trained. Over the next few years, he was one of the youngest traders on the Exchange; the youngest man to manage a successful acquisition of a publicly quoted corporation; the youngest man to make a million dollar fortune from his personal portfolio. Everyone admitted that he had an amazing talent that was beyond his years. The trust fund remained substantial, and well invested.

He was self-controlled, in both business and his personal life. There was no scandal in his young life - there was no controversy. Business rivals both hated and feared him, and even though he was still young, they underestimated him at their peril. When they sold to him, or negotiated with him, they knew that the compensation they'd receive would be commercially fair, but very aggressively priced.

And as an employer? He was often cool to the point of coldness - could be hard to the point of harshness. Again, he was not to be underestimated. He paid extremely well -but he expected 24/7 commitment, much as he gave himself. His decisions were rational and carefully measured, but he was fair to his staff; he'd listen to feedback and reasonable suggestions. His business instincts had been proven to be accurate, time and again; so his people stayed with him. As a result, most of them had the experience of their lives.

Malia could only guess at his personal wealth, for no-one in the company came near to those details. And he was bloody hot! she thought. Wore his designer clothes like they'd been tailored solely for him. Tall, tight body -limbs that moved like liquid steel. His skin was dusky, with the shine of excellent health; his hair was dark, cut beautifully, but still a shaggy, sexy mass on his forehead. And he had such incredible eyes! A mixture of deep blue and purple; dark pupils that reflected the subject, but never exposed the watcher. They were fabulous even when they were like flints, as they were now. Yeah... he was gorgeous! she sighed to herself. She felt the familiar flush in her groin, and fought it down. She wondered - as she often did - why she never saw him with the same girl for more than a month or so. Wasn't he dating that supermodel at the moment? Internationally famous -supernaturally thin. Malia Trent seethed with jealousy.

Half of her was damned glad that Heero Yuy had never made a pass at her. The other half lay awake at nights, tempting her with erotic dreams of what she might have expected if he had.

"The Maxwell Gallery," murmured the third member of the group, a young man who had been hovering behind her.

Heero Yuy turned to the pale, blond man, and focussed his eyes on him. "Do you see a sign there, Tony?"

"N - no," Tony stammered. "Sorry, Mr Yuy. That's just what everyone knows it as -" He hopped from one foot to another; paler than ever, and wishing that he could lie down and melt into the pavement, to escape that glare. Which was worse, he thought miserably - Malia's acidic tongue-lashing, or Mr Yuy's cool contempt? Not for the first time, Tony wished he'd taken a different choice at college, and stayed at home to run the family business. Might have stood more chance of living to see his twentieth birthday.

But Heero Yuy's anger never materialised; he even seemed to relax a little. There was a thoughtful twist at the corners of his mouth. "You knew Solo Maxwell?"

"Knew of him, sir. The story was all over the city at the time; when he died, y'know. He was a hell of a character - always at an event -always in the public eye. Brilliant artist - presented works to the President himself, they said. Bought this building for his family - for his younger brother."

"The brother..." murmured Heero.

Tony was gabbling on, in his nervousness. "I thought the kid still lived here - though he doesn't show; doesn't even paint anymore. Just hides out here, since -well, you know. They said he - the younger brother - had a brilliant talent of his own. Very different from Solo Maxwell -much bolder; a different medium altogether."

"It was," said Heero. Tony was rather surprised that he offered his comment.

"Duo Maxwell, he's called. A black sheep..." murmured Malia, a little acidly. "I met him once..."

"Yeah, more than a little wild, the papers always said," said Tony, more confidently now. If there was one thing he was good at, it was garnering gossip! "This gallery was gonna be his launch into the art world - his ticket to his own success."

"But that didn't happen, did it?" said Heero, his voice suddenly sharp. Tony looked up at him, startled. Not sure whether he was angry or upset. "And that was well over a year ago."

"Yeah..." sighed Tony.

Heero tugged gently at the cuffs of a beautifully understated jacket. It fit him like it had been made for him -which, in fact, it had. "It's never mattered to me why it's on the market, Tony. I just needed to know that it was, and that my price was accepted."

He stared once more at the grimy windows, and his voice settled again.

"I have no interest in buying ghosts."

The tired barman sighed as the panelled door to the outside world creaked and swung open again; it was past midnight - he'd been about to lock up...

But then he saw who it was, and he knew he'd not be serving any more drinks tonight. He half-raised a hand to the slim, brown-haired man who'd slipped into the bar, and nodded him towards the only other inhabitant of the room.

"Asleep again, I guess. He's not asked for more since eleven. I was gonna call you..."

"'S OK, Marty," murmured the newcomer. "I went round his place, and he wasn't there, so I guessed he'd be here. Anyone else -?" The question wasn't fully spoken, but the barman knew only too well what was meant.

"Nah. There was a kid with him earlier, they were - y'know - kinda interested in each other, so much 's I had to ask him to keep his hands on the table for the sake of the other customers getting irate. But the two of 'em had words, and the kid left hours ago."

"Fine," sighed the man, in a tone that showed it was anything but. "I'll take him now." He wore jeans and a loose tee shirt, and the weary expression on his face seemed to say that he'd had a hard time of the night himself. He rummaged in his jeans pocket, pulled out a few bills, and placed them down for the barman. They nodded to each other, closing whatever arrangement they had between them. Then the brown-haired man moved quickly towards the guy they were both talking about - a chestnut-coloured head, dropped on to arms that were folded on top of a stained table. A face hidden in folds of a cotton shirt; the slight sound of a low snoring. A lean young body, folded uncomfortably on a seat in the booth - but obviously not uncomfortably enough to prevent him sleeping where he sat.

The slim man moved the half-empty beer glass to one side, and looked down on the sleeper. "Stupid asshole," he murmured, though without any particular anger, and not as if he expected his words to be heard. "You've got a bed at home, haven't you? And a friend to come visit and see to you. A real one - not the kids you pick up and caress when the fancy takes you. So why're you hanging out here again?"

The sleeping man must have heard him, though, because he stirred. Groaned. One of the arms peeled itself out from under his heavy head, and stretched itself straight with an ominous crack of the joint.

"Shit, Trowa - is that you? Where the fuck am I -?"

"Where d'you think?" muttered the brown-haired man. He sat himself down on one of the other seats, with a sigh. "Thought you'd given this up, after the last time. Drinking yourself stupid at Marty's."

"Am not -" protested the other. "Not stupid at all - else he'd be yammerin' at me for the bill..." His face could be seen now, though he kept rubbing a hand over it, obviously trying to wake up properly. There were tired bags underneath the bright blue eyes; the smooth, tanned skin was dull in the dim lights of the bar. His fringe hung limply over his forehead- and now he tugged at a weight at the nape of his neck; it was a long, thick braid of hair the same bronzed colour.

"Fuckin' hair...sat on it, Trowa! It's killin' me..."

"Something is," said Trowa, grimly. "Go home, Duo."

Duo Maxwell groaned again, and sat up straight; it seemed to nag at some pain in his lower back, because he grimaced a little. "Got no home, though, have I? Gonna sign it all away tomorrow. Lose the whole fucking lot tomorrow -"

"Duo, you did that some time ago; lost it all - or drank it away! You're no fool -you can't play the innocent victim with me. You had a chance - but you fucked up. You'll get another. So get over it!"

"This your Kindly Friend approach, Trow?" sighed Duo, wearily. "Or you practising for Oprah?"

"Duo..." sighed his friend. "Do you want me to go on lying? Go on pandering to you? You know you're a bright, smart guy with talent the rest of us'd kill for. Instead, you drink your checks away, bury yourself inside a filthy apartment, and snarl at anyone who gives you the time of day -or try to fuck 'em, seems those are the only two options you've got in your repertoire -"

Duo growled at him, but half-heartedly. "I kinda feel you're pissed with me, Trow. I can walk, y'know - you won't need that fireman's lift you used last time -"

"I'm not gonna carry you anywhere, Duo. Physically or metaphorically. Drop the past - move on. I've tried, haven't I?"

"Guess so," replied Duo, a thread of anger in his own voice now. He pushed at the table, and got up on unsteady feet. "Guess you think you're better 'n me. But this was just a farewell drink, y'know? 'Cos I am making the break, ain't I? Changing my life! Ain't you pleased with that?"

Trowa's deep green eyes stared at his friend, with unfathomable emotion. "I don't think I'm better than you, Duo..."

"Sure!" replied Duo. He looked steadier on his feet now, and his mouth quirked with a sly smile. "You ain't got the looks, boy! And I bet the last thing you painted was somethin' your mam put up on the door of the 'fridge..."

Trowa smiled slightly, responding to him. "You're a real pain as a friend, Duo Maxwell."

"Yeah... I am. Guess if I had more friends, they'd tell me that as well as you," came the sigh in reply. "Can I come home with you tonight, Trowa?"

Trowa started. "I -"

Duo's deep blue eyes latched on to him, and the depth of misery Trowa saw there took his breath away. It was all so very reminiscent - heart-wrenchingly so.

"'S corny, fella, but I don't wanna be on my own. Don't get excited- I ain't making a pass at ya!"

Trowa slipped an arm round his shoulder; for a second, his fingers brushed at Duo's sallow cheek. "I'm far from excited, Duo. You're not exactly at your best right now -I doubt you'd do yourself justice in bed. Or me, for that matter..."

"Fuck that!" said Duo, but rather fondly. "C'n still get it up, y'know...I like boys 'n girls, Trow...never been one to restrict my options..."

Trowa smiled; a strange mixture of emotions in his face. It was perhaps a memory of some other time; some other voice. "I'll give it serious thought, bright boy. But - not tonight, eh? Come away now, if you're coming back to mine - though I've only got the sleeping bag."

He dropped his arm down to hold on to Duo's waist; it didn't look quite so obvious that he was helping him stand up. Not that he and Marty didn't know the score - but Duo had his pride; even if he used to drown it rather too regularly.

Duo coughed; Trowa felt the shake of his body through his own. "I am doing the right thing, Trow? Ain't I? It was all the past -you're right, I've gotta drop it, and find something new."

"He said the same, Duo. Solo. All the time. Find something new - move on. No regrets."

"Easy for him to say, eh? Mr Happy Corpse. Mr Leave it All Behind for some other poor fucker to suffer, and sign over the worldly goods -"

"Duo -" warned Trowa.

"I know," hissed Duo. "But that's where I'm a little more honest than you, eh? I got no fucking interest in ghosts, Trowa. None at all..."

The cab pulled up at the front entrance of the Park Gate Apartments, and the doorman bent quickly to get the door. Heero Yuy stepped out, smoothing down his jacket, and allowing his case to be lifted out for him. The doorman greeted him formally, and Heero moved quickly and with familiarity past the desk inside. The receptionist turned away from another resident who was asking directions, to confirm to Mr Yuy that his laundry was ready for him, cleaned and pressed, and that his mail was in an orderly pile for his collection. There were no messages. He nodded thanks.

The apartments were even more than select, in that they had their own in-house facilities. There was a gymnasium - a reasonably sized pool. They also had a prestigious restaurant, and a bar and lounge for the residents. Tonight, Heero wandered over to the bar, and the bar manager was ready at once with his favourite rum and coke. The restaurant manager was at his elbow, with a respectfully murmured offer to bring over the menu, to take his order for dinner. Heero accepted the service quietly and calmly. He'd been living in this block for a year now. It was what he was used to.

As he debated the salmon over the sole, he leant against the bar and watched other residents arriving. He knew few of them by sight, and none by name; most of the individuals were as select as the apartments themselves. He saw the sudden grin on the doorman's face, as a younger couple joked with him about the weather. He saw the receptionist lean forward at the desk and blush, as her previous customer complimented her on something or other. Behind him, the bar manager flicked a peanut at his new barman, and they smothered an instinctive laugh.

When he turned back to pick up his glass, the respectful quietness had returned around him.

He noted the contrast, and not for the first time. He didn't know why it made him feel a little depressed.

"Lookin' a little morose there, Yuy!" came a familiar voice at his shoulder. Heero jumped a little, startled. He'd not been aware of any of his thoughts showing in his expression. "Wishin' you were a man of the people? They're scared of you, y'see..."

"Scared of me? They barely know me."

"OK," sighed the speaker. "Maybe not scared of you. Just scared of displeasing you. They got jobs and loans, y'know? They need happy tenants. They need the regular income from your exorbitantly priced suite! Upset Mr Yuy, and watch all that go bye-bye..."

Heero's eyes tightened. "That's crap, Winner, and you know it! I only expect what other clients do ... the best care; attention to every detail. It should be the standard. Don't you agree?"

His companion walked around to face him, laughing softly. He was a slim, blond man, of a similar age; dressed far more casually than Heero, but no less expensively. His pants were crisp linen; his silk shirt was open at the neck, and sported an aggressively multi-coloured pattern that barely obscured a famous designer name. His hair curled behind his ears, giving him a more boyish look- but his light blue eyes were as sharp and astute as Heero's own. As he moved, his hand trailed gently against Heero's arm, and when the dark-haired man shook it off impatiently, he laughed again. His voice bubbled with a sense of fun - with confidence and mischief. His drawl was obviously exaggerated, but attractively so. It was noticeable that several staff were drawn to watching him - each movement followed with fascinated eyes.

He'd have been amused, and nothing more. Quatre Winner was used to the mesmerising effect he had on people; indeed, he often cultivated it for his own entertainment.

"You bite every time, don't you, Yuy? Chill some. I've been waitin' a whole hour for you. Didn't we agree on dinner tonight?"

Heero sighed, and ran a hand through his hair-it was an uncharacteristically confused movement. He turned, and lowered himself into one of the plush armchairs in the bar. The blond man dropped into another one beside him.

"What is it, hon? Hard day at the office?"

"Christ, Quatre," growled Heero. "Every damn phrase you use is loaded with innuendo, isn't it? Don't you get tired of the lounge lizard act?" But his voice didn't sound as angry as the words themselves. And Quatre Winner didn't seem to take any offence.

"Guess I was right," the blond smiled. "Come and eat with me, Heero. Eat, drink, and I swear to God I can make you merry. Gonna let me?"

And then Heero laughed. Only a short laugh - only the ripple of amusement that would have been dismissed by many as nothing special. But from Heero Yuy, at his most severe, it was a precious gem.

"You're the only one who can do that, Quatre Winner! Amuse me in the most unexpected way... How the hell do you get away with such outrageousness?"

Quatre looked candidly into Heero's eyes. For a moment, the dilettante act was dropped, as if that's all it ever was. "It's good to hear you laugh, Heero. Glad to be of some service!"

"Quatre..." protested Heero. "I didn't mean to-"

"Forget it!" laughed the other man. His eyes were brighter than before. "That's why I'm one of your few and priceless friends. You can say what you like to me - and I accept it without judgement. Just -relax a bit, OK? Let someone close - let someone know what you're really like. Let the damned world touch you on its own terms. It's not weakness to join in, sweetheart...!"

Heero's expression told him exactly the opposite, and Quatre had seen it for too many years to think his argument would hold any influence.

"OK, Yuy. I pass. I'm as rich as you - I'm as bored as you. No-one tells me what to do; not even you. And I guess it works both ways, eh? So you can play your hardass act with me, your Mr Big Business; but I can make you laugh at the end of another fourteen-hour day. Then I can stretch these long, limber legs out on your king-size bed, and drink your best brandy, and maybe you'll let me massage those knots out of your too, too generous shoulders."

Heero stared back, unfazed. "What are you really like, Quatre Winner?"

The blond shrugged elegant shoulders. His playboy mask was scooped up and worn afresh. He unfolded himself from the chair and waved an aimless hand at the hovering restaurant staff. "I'm damned hungry, darlin'! For anything else, ask the gossip papers. They tell me what I'm doin', how my stocks are climbin'; which of my horses are winnin'. Even who I'm fuckin'... Oh, especially that!" He grinned, instantly looking much younger. "And I can't remember the last time they got it right, OK? Like you should try reading the info on yourself, sometimes..."

"Let's eat," said Heero, firmly. He stood up, smoothly.

Quatre rolled his eyes, and linked an arm into Heero's. They were ushered towards the exclusive hotel dining room. "That saucy little stick of supermodel ass joinin' us tonight?"

Heero tsked, but his heart wasn't in it. "Don't pretend you like her, Quatre, I know what you think. Anyway, Remy is busy, as I recall. Another photo shoot. A magazine interview. She said something like that."

Quatre pursed lips that wanted to spit out a caustic comment. But, unusually for him, he bit it back. From the look on Heero's face, it had really been a bummer of a day.

"I'm not bored," said Heero, suddenly. "Am I?"

Quatre's expression was a strange mixture of emotions. He had known Heero Yuy one hell of a long time. The guy didn't trust many to get close to him-though the two of them had shared history that was a bond between them both. Even so - there were places in Heero's life that even he dared not go. He answered with a question of his own - one that he'd asked several times before; and had received a variety of answers over the last few years. "You wanna try some place else after dinner?"

There was a flash of something in Heero's eyes. He took a deep breath. It was more like a sigh.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," smiled Quatre. "I gotta invitation to a new place that's very discreet - very fresh. Very wild..."

"You said discreet?" asked Heero. The maitre d' was showing them personally to Heero's usual table.

"Hon," drawled Quatre. "I don't do anythin' else where you're concerned. Slip me that wine list and call me up a Greek salad, OK? I'm gonna be needin' some sunshine in m' veins if we're goin' out a-huntin' illicit excitement."

Heero looked round him, with a small twist of distaste to his mouth. It was eleven a.m., he'd been offered nothing but lukewarm instant coffee, and he was suffering a mild background hangover from the previous night. The lawyers' office was a study in faded elegance - a building that had been built for more glorious use, but was now cluttered with cheap office furniture and mis-matched drapes. Heero sat on a chair with a painfully sagging seat, glared at his embarrassed lawyer, and wondered where the hell the five hundred dollars an hour chargeout rate was spent.

There'd been some trouble at the gallery property - a break-in.

"Musta used a teaspoon," hissed a third man, slumped in a chair opposite Heero. "Musta taken all of twenty seconds to crack the state-of-the-art locks..."

Heero turned to look at him. The man was tall and lean, and his legs were folded awkwardly around the legs of his own chair. He wore his hair almost ludicrously long, tied back in some kind of a braid. His expression was a scowl, but Heero saw how striking his looks were, even through that barrier. His body looked fit, and coiled around some internal energy source; his slim, muscular arms were folded tightly across a broad chest. His clothes looked like they came from a thrift shop - but Heero admitted grudgingly that he brought a style to them that even Remy and her designers would be envious of. He stared at the guy for longer than he felt comfortable with.

He knew who he was, of course he did! This was Duo Maxwell, the owner of the property that his careful signature had just agreed to buy. The owner of a reputation for rudeness and aggressive harassment. The owner of a dwindling collection of once-lauded paintings. The owner of a debt the size of Heero's generous apartment block.

There were many stories about Duo Maxwell, grown up over the last few years of his chequered life. And about his older brother, the late Solo Maxwell. Heero Yuy didn't see any reason to let the man know how much he knew about his life. After all, the information had only been gathered in order to facilitate this deal. A specific, one-off deal.

"Is the problem dealt with now?" He directed his question back to the lawyer. "Was anything taken or damaged in the burglary?" He ignored the deliberate snort from Maxwell.

"There was - nothing taken, that we know," said the lawyer, slowly. He flushed slightly.

"Fuck all to take!" announced Duo, almost cheerfully. His voice was loud in the sterile office, and was rich with tone and layers of emotion. "That's what y'mean, ain't it? The gallery was stripped out a year back, by the loan jackals - and my apartment boasts the sumptuous total of three of my unsaleable paintings, a kettle and an exclusive collection of beer bottle tops. Oh - and there were probably some empty pizza boxes there last night. I ate before I went out to - ah - celebrate my new, homeless status. Then I stayed out at a friend's overnight. You wanna check my alibi? Wanna check whether I even knew the name of this one? I guess I don't usually bother askin'..."

The presiding lawyer's mouth bobbed like a goldfish's. Duo's own lawyer ... one of the more junior clerks of the practice - sank his head a little further into his hands. He was becoming used to this sort of scene; he'd worked for the Maxwells since the boys' parents had died in an accident, and he always seemed to draw the short straw on attending any negotiation meetings with them. Solo Maxwell had been smart enough, but never reliable; he'd been difficult to deal with. Duo Maxwell was just damned impossible!

Heero moved on his less than comfortable chair, acknowledging him. "Mr Maxwell - I've seen your work."

Duo Maxwell flashed him a look of pure suspicion. "So whoop-di-doo! Bet that enriched your day, Mr Yuy."

Heero examined the strange vibrations that Duo's hostility seemed to provoke in him. There was never any excuse for rudeness, of course. His reply was carefully phrased, and he felt rather than saw the shudder of nerves through his lawyer's frame. "I see. I can understand that you don't wish to talk about your work. About your lack of it, in recent months."

Duo flinched.

Heero continued. "I merely wished to ask what your personal plans were now that we've exchanged contracts. I'm aware that the gallery is also your apartment, and I have no particular plans for the living quarters, so they are still available. I know they include a studio room. Will you wish to paint, yourself?"

"Paint myself? Like greasepaint, y'mean?" said Duo, insolently, deliberately misunderstanding. "This place may stink of a circus, but I ain't joinin' up myself just yet."

The lawyers winced at the rude hostility. Heero was unfazed. "It was a civil enough question, Mr Maxwell, whether you are currently pursuing your artistic talents or not. The offer is still there, tenancy of the studio apartment. I sent the terms to your lawyers."

Duo's lawyer coughed in the background, confirming it. He didn't dare explain what his client had actually done with the covering letter from Heero's lawyer. It was probably considered a crime in some states.

Duo scowled even further. "You're not interested in my welfare, Yuy. I'm just an investment. Yeah?"

Heero's voice was stronger; it was sharp-edged. "Your building is the investment, Mr Maxwell. You would merely be the tenant. You are correct about the negligible level of my interest in you. Yeah?"

There was a shocked silence. Lawyers exchanged glances across the room, over their clients' heads. Papers were shuffled, nervously.

Duo recovered himself well. Six months of sinking, socially, from enfant terrible to embarrassing acquaintance had prepared him for such snubs. "Sure. Whatever. Guess I gotta live somewhere. 'Til I get something better."

For a moment, they glared at each other. There was no-one else in the room, as far as they were concerned.

"All done, then?" Duo said abruptly. "I can unpack my toothbrush - Mr Yuy can expand his empire unchecked." He rose to his feet, in a slightly shocking rush of limbs and barely controlled emotion. Heero couldn't tell exactly what emotion it was; but then he'd never pretended to be perceptive where people's private lives were concerned. And he was certainly not interested in Duo Maxwell's.

He didn't know what possessed him to speak again to the man. "You're no friend to yourself, are you, Mr Maxwell?"

Surprisingly, the chestnut-haired man laughed aloud. "Fuck all interest it is to you, Yuy. You won't be the first to say it, either! But maybe I'm not lookin' for a friend - like I think you weren't lookin' for a tenant when this whole project started."

Heero stared at him, wondering what he meant. The mixture of hostility and anxiety in the other man's expressive eyes confused him. Meanwhile, Duo turned towards the door, and his lawyer leapt to his feet to follow, bending to scoop up the dropped papers from his lap.

At the doorway, Duo paused. His hand pressed against the doorframe; his legs bent slightly. Heero's eyes were drawn to the creases in the tight black jeans, up behind his knees; the slim band of naked skin shown above his waistband, where the skimpy shirt rode up over his belly.

"So, Mr Yuy- you say you know my work?"

"Yes," nodded Heero. "I have two of your paintings." He didn't state it as either a boast or a challenge. Just a fact.

"Right..." drawled Duo. A look of surprise had darted across his features; but now he had settled back to his previous cynicism. "They were a recommended investment once, eh? Let me guess which ones...."

He expected Heero to protest - to be embarrassed at such a childish party game. Neither happened; Heero just continued to stare at him.

Duo swallowed hard. "It was 4:0615 and 4:TXTS."

Heero's eyes widened slightly. "4:0615 - yes. You couldn't have known that, as I bought through an agent. You're more perceptive than I would have thought."

"Nah," grinned Duo, as if he forgot he was meant to despise this man and all he stood for. "It fits your profile! 4:0615 for a smart new day! Rich yuppie; modern abstract painting. What every condo needs on its bathroom wall. Goes with the chrome fittings and the jacuzzi. And 4:TXTS? For those who substitute real life with new, electronic gadgets -?"

"No," replied Heero. His look was almost a challenge. "I have 4:DRMS, actually."

Duo looked stunned. It was the last thing he'd painted, before - before it happened; all that shit with Solo. The last time he'd used those colours- the last time he'd thrown himself so deeply into that maelstrom of obsession and creativity. He'd dreamt vividly for days - never knew which came first, the painting or the troubled nights. They'd fed off each other. Nothing else he'd ever done had compared with it, for pure, raw, emotional impact. Almost as if he'd known what was gonna happen in his life...

"It's full o' -violence - that one," he stammered slightly. "The colours disturbed even me. It sorta took me over... I was never sure how I felt about it. Christ, the schemes were just plain crass - I was fucking amazed when somebody bought it, to tell you the truth! And I can't see it fitting on any o' your apartment's oh-so-understated wallpapers..."

Heero's voice was low, and flat. "I'm colour blind, Mr Maxwell."

"Huh?"

"I chose it for the very violence that you say disturbed you. I chose it for its movement. I thought that it illustrated turmoil far more clearly than any mixture of shades or dyes. Which, of course, I would never have appreciated."

He also stood, and moved swiftly past the astonished Duo. "And, of course, I need hardly say that you have no idea how I've decorated my apartment, so your assumptions may well have been offensive. However, I also assume that doesn't disturb you. I'll send an engineer round to fix your broken lock this afternoon, and to collect the first month's rent. Good day, Mr Maxwell."

Duo stared round at the upstairs studio. The outside door to the building had been fixed, following the break-in - the decorators were due to move into the gallery tomorrow, and the whole place was going to be renovated.

He had three rooms up here; a bedroom with a small en-suite shower, a kitchen/diner, and the whole front of the apartment given up to the studio. He'd painted here, all the time, when the gallery first opened. He'd spread canvas after canvas against the walls - he'd mixed colours he'd never dreamed of before; drawn bolder strokes than he'd ever dared to before. He'd woken to the sharp blaze of early morning light in the spring, and dim, misty fog in the winter.

Everything around him had been inspiration; everything was loaded with promise and the excitement of anticipation. Colours weren't bright enough for him - the hours in a day were too short for him to get it all down on canvas. His words spilled from his mouth like bubbles - his hands were never still.

He'd sweated and argued and begged for this building. Solo was an established success - he had his own house; his own studio. But he'd offered to help Duo get somewhere - to set him up in his own apartment. Duo remembered poring over different sets of details with Solo - he'd been the one to point out the potential of this place. He'd been beside himself with excitement - he was gonna be his own master; he was gonna be known for his own work! No longer the kid brother of the famous Solo Maxwell!

Solo had laughed sometimes at Duo's painting. Oh, he was proud of him - he said so. But the style was very different from his own - and Duo was still very young, in both age and experience.

Only later had Duo suspected that it was in Solo's interest as well, to have him move out - Solo had a pretty complicated private life at times. He didn't always seem to like having Duo around. There'd only been five years between them, and there were so many ways that they were similar in temperament - in all the worst ways. There were days they argued all the time.

But Duo had loved this place on sight. He couldn't move in fast enough.

And for the first six months, all had gone well! The gallery had been opened in a burst of glamour and publicity - he'd sold three paintings from that night alone. Come to think of it, he thought that one of them might have been 4:0615. He'd enjoyed a couple of delicious dates with that cute little girl he met; he'd given a couple of fluffy interviews, and even been on TV. He thought about taking on an assistant, to handle the administration of his business - he was discussing a series of murals with one of the city institutions.

He'd been on a high that had coloured his whole life.

Then things had started to be a struggle. Like he had no idea, really, of how to run a commercial business; he admitted that to himself, in the dark hours of his solitary nights. He was too young - too inexperienced. Too desperate to be painting, not managing a gallery! His friends - and Solo's - had still patronised him. He loved to paint - he lived well. He ignored the tedious letters from his sponsors and the banks. He ignored most of the issues that weren't related to his painting.

It had taken a frighteningly short period of time for both the glamour and the assets to start vanishing. Just a couple of months - that was all. So quickly that he barely saw it. By the time he began to wise up, the rot had set in.

He stood tonight in the studio room that had been his pride and joy, and he stared out at the late afternoon light. He remembered how he'd painted from that view only months ago, when Solo was still alive; when there was still a glittering potential ahead of him. He'd picked out the staggering spikes of shade from the building shadows, and the low clouds. He'd mixed and thickened and layered the colours on his makeshift palette, and then just painted how he felt. He remembered how it had felt, then; the strangeness of that painting, and how it was always going to be unique to him. Of course, he had no idea then how things would be over the next few months. But it had disturbed him, even then - a brooding storm in his very mind, not just the sky outside.

Musta been an omen, he thought later, with hindsight.

That had been the painting 4:DRMS. It had been the last time he'd used colour like that - and the last picture that had sold. God knows how it had got into Yuy's hands - he couldn't even remember the name of his agent from those days, the man had skipped town so swiftly.

So had everyone to do with his burgeoning career, it seemed. Bad news travelled damned fast.

It had been mere weeks after that painting that there'd been - the fire. The fire when Solo had died. When his brother's apartment had somehow gone up in flames, and no bastard had been there to help him, or to call 911, and so it had been gutted and charred and burned bare of anything resembling humanity, well before the fire service finally arrived. The casualty list had included his brother.

That was less than a year ago, now - idly, cruel to himself, Duo wondered what he'd be doing to mark the anniversary. He'd promised Trowa he'd ease up on the drinking.

Of course, after the initial fuss of the accident had died down, he'd been a little mad for a while. Fuck it, he'd been very mad! He'd drunk himself into a near coma for a week or so, until he was scared by the shaking of his hands - his inability to paint. The friends had all fallen away, except for Trowa Barton. He didn't chase after them - he didn't really care; they were just fair-weather friends, after all. He shut his door and closed all channels of communication, and finally no-one really came knocking for him. People were tolerant, but only for so long; the public attention was always fickle.

He still worked, of course - dammit, painting was the only thing he knew how to do! The bills still had to be paid; commissions still had to be met; the press still clamoured for news of his work. He was even more newsworthy now, of course - the orphaned brother, losing his very last relative in a tragic accident!

But the work he turned out then was ugly - no other word for it! Aggressive and harsh, there was no more of the dynamic, vibrant colours that everyone associated with his paintings. Just ugly - and unmarketable. The money ebbed even further away like a summer tide, like it had never been. He'd been ashamed of himself, but he was still greedy for the attention, especially when it began to wane - and that was when what had been seen as his endearing eccentricity slid into plain bad behaviour. When he started to become loud and brash and aggressive; when he started to seek out gratuitous sexual pleasure from transient companions; when he thought he could continue to live as he always had.

People had still wanted to help him, he remembered. He'd not let them. He knew he'd lost everything, even then - even before there was paperwork to confirm it. His heart told him so. It was difficult to care about a building - about making a living, about unpaid bills and angry agents - when there was a fucking hole in the centre of him. He didn't understand why people didn't see that.

For a few more months following the fire, he'd tried to keep it all together. He'd fired the staff; he lived in the gallery himself - he was his own receptionist, cleaner, and utilities manager. He lived and breathed it. He lied to the banks - he attempted to seduce angry suppliers. Gradually, he painted less and less - the demand dwindled alarmingly quickly, and he'd sold nothing since Solo died. And in all honesty, he didn't seem to have the heart for it.

It was less than six months ago that the bailiffs had come, and taken the bulk of everything he owned, except his personal goods and the canvases he'd hidden round at Trowa's apartment.

He'd not painted at all after that. He attended some therapy for a while, thanks to Trowa's introduction, and -dammit! - Trowa's money. If Trowa hadn't helped him out... well, he'd probably be even more of a basket case than he was now. It wasn't as if Trowa didn't suffer on his own account - but what fucking use had he been to him in return?

Then, three months ago, he'd sat for a day beside Trowa's telephone and started the process of selling the gallery. His gallery.

Duo's eyes travelled slowly - cautiously - round the upstairs studio again. When he came back from Trowa's that day, armed with a list of estate agents' appointments and a jagged pain in his gut, he'd stood in this studio room for over an hour, barely moving. He thought he might have cried a little.

Then he'd left the room, closed the door on it, and had never gone back in again.

He made all the necessary calls the next day - he instructed lawyers and agents, and then left them to it. He wanted to know nothing about the disposal of his life and dreams.

He'd drunk himself into a week of oblivion - again! - when he set the gallery up for sale. Marty had been the only guy to let him indulge it, and perhaps to keep an eye on him, but even he'd grown tired and angry with the loud, awkward kid who threw up in his toilet on a regular basis, and tried to hit on most of his younger clients.

At the end of a particularly draining forty-eight hours, Duo remembered how he'd somehow gotten home, and sat slumped against the far wall of the darkened gallery. He'd felt surrounded by emptiness - by failure. His stomach had cramped and protested with the abuse and the vomiting - he couldn't remember eating very regularly at that time. He seemed to remember he'd cried. Yet again.

He knew then that he was only waiting for the final reckoning. It had started already, closing in on him swiftly -and inexorably. From the lawyers; from the finance houses; from the estate agents. And, of course, from the parasitical gossip press. It had taken only a few months since the fire to eat away at everything he'd ever had - to bring him to where he remained today. Broke; ignored; forgotten.

Bring it on, he'd thought then. Bring it on, I'm ready for it! I deserve it.

He'd thought the reckoning was gonna come from God; but it was all far more mundane than that. He didn't know whether he was disappointed or not.

 

Duo stood here today, in the abandoned studio, with the dust disturbed by his entrance, and the light zigzagging across the wooden floor, just like he remembered in his nightmares. There were no paints left - no blank canvases. He'd either sold it all, or thrown it out.

He was shocked to find that his hands ached to hold a brush; to stretch a rough surfaced canvas across a frame. The smell of the cleaning fluid; the soft stickiness of the paint. He missed it like a lover; he realised that he probably always would. He hadn't turned away from painting; rather, it had escaped from his abuse. He'd let the whole fucking thing down.

Solo...;

He turned around, and went back across the landing to the small bedroom.

He'd known, when he sold his gallery, that he had no rights to his home, either. The apartment above the gallery itself went with the block - his debts swallowed the whole damn lot. Damned decent of Yuy to offer him a tenancy, he supposed. His Corporation coulda used the floor for more gallery space- or to rent to another artist. Coulda ripped out the fittings, and made an office. Or made it a cosy little pied-a-terre, and used it to keep whomever he was fucking at the moment in a measure of comfort. Used it to raise pigeons, for Christ's sake...

Duo shook off the ramblings. Damn Yuy! Smug little rich prick! Sitting there, with his cool, handsome face, and those amazing eyes, staring at him like he was an alien life form. Long, muscled legs and steady shoulders, all wrapped up in Italian fabric and leather, the like of which hadn't touched Duo's own body for over a year.

'I know your work...;' he'd said.

Yeah, right! thought Duo, viciously. Like he'd have found the later works interesting - the ones Duo painted after the fire! Crap - wild, dark, monochrome crap! Trowa called it some kinda catharsis - Duo called it some kinda shit. The amateur messings of a guy who'd lost his nerve. We won't be seeing them in Mr Heero Yuy's private collection, will we?

He sighed; he knew he wasn't being fair. Wasn't Yuy's fault, was it, all this? God knows why he was so angry with him.

There were a couple of bags on his bed. His clothes and belongings had been packed away for weeks now. He knew he'd be thrown out. He'd been waiting for it.

There were things still in the cupboards; clothes still in the wardrobe. Solo's things. Things that his brother had carelessly left whenever he visited - things that Duo had taken from the mess that had been Solo's home. Duo had left them in the apartment, not intending to take them away with him - though obviously the new owner wouldn't want them. Was it his cowardly way of finally clearing them out? Well - now he was left with them again, wasn't he? So tomorrow he'd sweep it all away. Tomorrow, he'd dispose of it all. It'd be just his place again - just him. He'd invite Trowa over, to share a bottle of beer, and let the guy try to tell him how to pull his life together.

Trowa... no-one had been as good to him as Trowa Barton.

But everything came with a legacy. Everything he received from Trowa was from a genuine, selfless desire to help - but it all came with that look that Trowa always had now; that lost look. The look that Duo couldn't cope with. The look that he thought even a good, friendly fuck wouldn't ease. Else he'd have offered it to Trowa more often...

With a sigh, he started to unpack again.

Like that was gonna take all of three minutes!

Heero sat on the deep, soft leather couch in his city apartment and watched the panoramic evening view from the window. Guests always found it so delightful.

And he found it such a cliché. Poor little rich kid cliché. Penthouse apartment; portfolio of A1 stocks; glamorous clothes; travel. And money - loads of it. Equally wealthy friends and acquaintances. And, of course, the even more glamorous girlfriend.

He sighed. Quatre was inevitably right - the blond man had the benefit of an innate judgement that Heero had never developed. He, Heero Yuy, was bored. And something else a little more elusive - a little more melancholy.

Of course, he enjoyed his position in the Yuy Corporation - he'd enjoyed establishing himself in the financial world over the last few years. The business negotiations were amusing; the legalities were challenging. Occasionally, he met someone who threatened a fight - and he all but welcomed it. Because he almost always won. It wasn't just a question of his money, which was surely plentiful enough to obtain him whatever he wished. It was also his will - a strong, single-minded, resolute will to win.

He liked to be the victor.

Quatre would have asked what the fuck else he had in his barren little universe! Quatre, of course, lived every aspect of life to the full, and business was merely one element. Business was for managers and lawyers to handle - profits were to support Quatre Winner's many other pleasures. He made no secret of the fact that he found Heero's daytime life and ambitions astoundingly boring, though not Heero, himself. They just had different ideas on how to seek personal satisfaction.

And even when they argued - if Quatre could be accused of such an unattractive trait! - then Quatre would laugh any offence out of his comments, and take Heero out into his night time world. It had all been a revelation to Heero - to see how the blond lived this more hazardous side of his life. The clubs he visited; the private entertainments he was invited to. The people who welcomed him hungrily; the people he used in return - and always with his irresistible mixture of charm and cynical amusement. Heero had accompanied him a little nervously, at first -though Quatre wanted nothing more from him than his company. Heero was never pressed to do anything he didn't want to. And then the curiosity and the fascination began to ensnare him; he found a hollow deep inside of him, which seemed to be seeking a satisfaction; a satisfaction that he'd obviously never known.

Heero had never thought of himself as introspective, but as his adult life continued, so had this hollow feeling. By day, he filled it with business, and the mechanics of life. For personal amusement, his collection of paintings began to have a more significant priority. By night, he dated supermodels, and followed Quatre to dens of various iniquities. He was an avid spectator, there - and he had joined in occasionally, though never as enthusiastically as Quatre. He was drawn, though - fascinated by other sides of life.

That had been the bond that had slowly deepened the friendship with Quatre into maturity. It had provided them with shared desires for the first time. It seemed that those were the only times he felt any excitement nowadays. Quatre, now, knew him better than anyone - he knew when Heero wanted to escape from the restrictions of daily life; where he would feel the thrill of anonymity; how he could indulge tastes and desires that no-one else even suspected of him; that he may not even have suspected of himself.

Heero gazed at the professionally decorated room - the sensual, silken drapes; the thick fabric papers. The cool, perfectly proportioned chrome and glass furniture. He seemed to see things afresh. Duo Maxwell had been right in his assessment - about his oh-so-tasteful apartment. That was why the 4:DRMS painting hung elsewhere. Not for the first time, he wondered about the bizarre titles the man used for his work.

Heero wasn't sure if he felt totally comfortable about thoughts of Duo Maxwell sneaking into his most private time!

The door from the kitchen area slid softly open, and a tall woman stepped through. She carried an opened bottle, and two large crystal glasses. She was probably a little taller than Heero himself - though her extraordinary slimness accentuated her height.

She looked across at him, her eyes widened, and she smiled. Perfect teeth - smooth facial skin that barely crinkled at the edges of her mouth. She was totally stunning. Her body moved elegantly across the room, a fall of long auburn hair brushing at her shoulders. "Honey, was this the right bottle? I don't know the vintages like you do."

"Remy, it's just wine," he replied. "Haven't you had enough? The party went on too long - we're both pretty tired."

The girl placed the bottle carefully on the low table, and slid into the couch beside him. Her legs bent gracefully together - she smoothed the fragile silk of her shift dress underneath her as she settled. Then she kicked off high-heeled, spaghetti-strapped sandals, and curled her feet up on to the soft cushions. She saw Heero watching, and she flushed, gently.

"You're tired because of our -aperitif -Heero, honey. That delicious session before the party, hmm? If I hadn't rolled you out of bed and out to the shower, we would never have gotten there at all."

"You regret that?" murmured Heero. He couldn't help but admire her beauty. She was flawless - even her behaviour in bed was sensual and attractive. And so eager that he was sometimes surprised that she wanted him so much. He wasn't falsely modest - he knew he was attractive to women. And he knew how to please them. But he'd always considered himself rather cool in bed - not as enthusiastic as lovers had wanted, in the past. He hadn't known why - nor what to do to stimulate things in that context. It had been a source of amazement to him that Remy had attached herself to him, and continued to do so.

You suffer from that irritating habit of low self-esteem, sweetheart! Quatre would have said. Not something he would ever have suffered from himself, in any capacity. That was the same Quatre who'd suggested that bedding Remy de Haas, the supermodel, would be like fucking a painted doll. Heero had suggested in return that his friend was out of order, obviously jealous, and it was nothing like that. Quatre had apologised for the first, denied the second with asperity, and laughed.

Heero felt ashamed that that conversation returned to him regularly, even in the middle of the night, when often he was in the dark, his naked body covering Remy's pale, angular form, and he was sheathed deep inside her. Gasping alongside her cute, quiet little whimpers; climaxing almost against his will. Then lying back against expensive silk sheets with the undeniable feeling of disappointment; mostly with himself.

He wondered why he found real relationships beyond his undoubted abilities.

"I regret nothing," sighed Remy, her breath against his cheek, bringing his attention back to her. "Nothing that involves being naked with you, honey." Her lips were flavoured with a cherry lipstick, and the remains of a sweet wine from the party they'd just been to. There was often drink on her breath - she enjoyed drinking; she smoked heavily as well, and he knew she took drugs in a manner far too casual for his liking. He tolerated it, for her. Heero hated the parties; he hated the feeling of being on show. But Remy - inevitably - adored them. And he admitted that it was important that he met these people - that he cultivated their patronage. These were the people he wanted to invest in his new development - the people who would attend the functions he intended to hold in the new gallery.

"Was it tough, darling? The meetings? The business with the gallery? I guess that Duo Maxwell is a real oddball - they say he's trouble, all the way..."

Heero grunted a reply. He didn't know why he was reluctant to discuss it with her. He often bounced business ideas off her - though he didn't necessarily expect any return advice. He loosened his tie, and let her slip her thin fingers in between the buttons of his shirt, opening it wide to caress his chest.

"What's he like, Heero?"

"Maxwell?" Heero wondered where he'd begin. "He's young, about my age. Long hair - athletic figure. Dresses like a stylish tramp. Talks loudly - rudely. Waves his hands about. I don't know what he does with his time, because he's certainly not showing pictures any more..."

"But he's going to stay in the apartment? The one over the gallery? Is that wise, Heero?"

"What do you mean?" He turned his body to face her; the tight buds of her breasts pressed against his bare skin, even through her dress. He knew she wore no underwear as a matter of course- it made unsightly lines in her profile. "He's got to have somewhere to live. I'm buying the gallery, not someone's home."

"It's not bothered you before, hon, whoever you evicted. I just wondered why this was different. Did he have a lot of stuff there?"

Heero stared at her, confused. "What does that matter? The guy told me he had nothing of his own - just a couple of paintings, and his clothes. I don't see why he should have been lying."

"Sweetie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to annoy you..."

"There was a break-in, you know? Last night; at the gallery. Though God knows, it must be obvious that there's nothing worth taking there. While I was out with Quatre, and Maxwell was - God knows where..."

"And I was shooting the pantyhose commercial!" laughed Remy, breaking into his musing, swinging her hair softly over Heero's chest so that a thin strand caught in his mouth. He spat it out, quickly.

"Do you know the Maxwells, Remy? You move in those circles more than I do. Did you know Solo Maxwell?"

She sighed, her breath warm against his shoulder. Her face was buried against his skin, so that he couldn't see her expression. "A little. At parties, you know? He liked to party - Solo Maxwell. I don't know the other brother."

"What happened to Solo exactly? I know he died..."

"I don't know, honey. I didn't want to know - I guess it was something unpleasant. Come and kiss me, Heero..."

But he was still talking; still thinking. "I guess Quatre will know, if I ask him. And I daresay he knows about Duo Maxwell, as well. I never saw much of Solo's work - but Duo's...his paintings were amazing. I have two. I wish I'd bought more. I used to wish I could meet the man that could express such barely-repressed emotion on a plain canvas..."

"And now you have, and he's a pig. OK, Heero?" Her voice was soft like liquid gold. She pushed him gently back on to the deep cushions, and he let her. She was teasing the zip of his pants, and he tried to concentrate on encouraging an erection. "Why won't you show me your art collection again? Why is it some kind of secret?"

Heero laughed, but a little distractedly. "Remy, it's no secret! I mean - that's where we met, isn't it? When I showed some of the collection a couple of months ago - the other side of town. You came with that stockbroker..."

"And left with you..." Her musical voice was seductive. "I remember, honey..."

"It's just a personal thing," continued Heero. He'd rarely shown his collection publicly before then; and never since. It had always felt - awkward. He had no time to give to deciding why that might be. "I'd rather wait until I have the gallery refurbished, and then I'll reconsider displaying some of them. They can be shown to their proper advantage, there...anyway, you've shown little interest in art before, eh?"

"I'm sure that Quatre Winner's seen them, Heero - you spend more time with him than me! You go to clubs with him - shows - he entertains you at his racing stables -"

"Remy, let's not start that up again...Quatre is my dearest friend, and I've known him for many years more than I've known you..."

But Remy appeared to be drifting into a well-worn path. Heero felt his attention waning; his arousal losing heart. Her silky voice was turning caustic to his ears.

"You think I'm stupid, Heero. I won't appreciate your precious artworks! Like I don't understand all this tedious business stuff -"

Heero's objective mind struggled with the truth, and he didn't dare to reply. Remy was internationally famous, and Remy was like the most fantastic portrait on legs; but Remy had never shown any sign of being an intellectual. He looked up into the softly brimming eyes, and marvelled at how she could make even a pout look gorgeous. She did seem to like him so much...

"Enough of business, then. Take me to bed, instead."

"Maybe not," she sighed. "Maybe we should do it right here -"

Heero groaned, as her hand slid down the loosened front of his pants, and grasped him tightly. She peeled open the fabric, and slipped his awakening cock out of his boxers. He knew he'd not get a chance to undress any further at the moment - she liked to play the wanton whenever she thought she'd upset him. And he rarely had the heart to stop her.

"He's not a pig, Remy."

"Wha -?" Her head raised itself out of his lap, and the eyes were large and frustrated. There was a tiny thread of saliva on her lower lip, from where she'd begun to lick gently at him.

"Maxwell. Duo Maxwell. Not a pig - he was actually very articulate, and is obviously highly creative. The gallery had been a fantastic place before it closed - the old publicity pictures are on file. The interior design was amateur in many ways - but inspired in intention. He had a real feel for the presentation of art! He just has a real problem with social skills. Must forget that he's just a guy like the rest of us. He has a chip on his shoulder; he must have been hell to deal with. "

"Probably still is, honey," came her mumbled response. "He's an artist. They're all a little unhinged."

Something in Remy's voice struck Heero as too sharp. But her mouth was very skilled, and he'd forgotten how sweet she smelt - and he did need some comfort. He relaxed a little.

"He's just a guy..." Heero said, as if he were repeating an internal mantra.

"Don't talk about him anymore, Heero," she complained. Her hand slid gently around the back of his waist, teasing out his shirt from the waistband, and gripping him harder. He felt the familiar scrape of acrylic nails on his bare skin. It made him shiver. Her tongue licked and caressed him, and she whispered promises against his groin. "Let it go, Heero. It's just a deal. I can help you relax. I know what you like..."

As his hips thrust gently out towards Remy's ministering touch, Heero remembered - to his returning embarrassment - the mocking tones of Quatre Winner.

"Who knows what you really like, Heero Yuy? When are you ever gonna let anyone close enough to find out -?"

Duo dropped the chair back on to the dustsheet, and cursed enthusiastically. He knew he had no room to complain, even with the noise of the builders, and the trucks, and the clatter of various designers and craftsmen. No, he just kept hidden up in his rooms, like the exile he was, and he had no rights in particular over what his new landlord chose to do to the block.

But the gallery looked fucking good!

It was much brighter downstairs - they'd removed an internal wall, and set up perspex screens in its place, and the lighting was far more subtle and imaginative than he'd ever been able to afford. He noticed that they'd left in place the massive presentation board that swept the whole length of the room - that medium had been one of his innovations when he set the gallery up. Daresay they just didn't have the time to dismantle it today - there'd be some other, more impressive display to be installed soon.

He couldn't help it - he imagined his paintings in the room as it was now; he imagined what he would place where. He felt a frisson of long-forgotten excitement; in that moment, he despised his lively mind for the traitor it was.

The door swung open, and Heero Yuy was there. Duo didn't know why he felt a shiver; the day wasn't cold. Didn't know what the fuck the guy was doing here, anyway.

"They've done a full day's work, OK?" he snapped. His voice sounded even sharper than he'd intended. "The decorators. I assume you've come to check up on your investment."

Heero walked on into the room, closing the door behind him. It shut out the noise of the street; people rushing past on their way home; cabs shrieking away from the kerbs, full of office workers seeking an early drink or two.

"I'm not checking up," said Heero, calmly. "I just wanted to see how the place was looking, with all the workmen gone."

"You want me to go -?"

"No," said Heero, rather quickly. "I'd appreciate your opinion. What do you think of it?"

Duo stared at him, like he'd strayed into the Twilight Zone. Guess the guy had never lived through bankruptcy; guess he'd never signed over his inheritance for the sake of somewhere to sleep; guess he'd never seen someone move into his place, and turn it all upside down. Or he'd never expect anyone to give his opinion on it!

"It's fine," he said, and was slightly surprised that that was all he had to say. He reached a hand out to the wall, and leant against it, bending one hip towards it. "So you're dabbling in art now, as well as 97.7% of the top Dow Jones stocks?"

Heero pursed his lips; wondered where Duo had heard that particular statistic. It had only just been released on the national channels that morning. Why should Duo Maxwell be interested in knowing more about Heero Yuy? He'd made it pretty obvious what his opinion was of the whole arrangement, from the very first meeting.

"This is a perfect location. It makes sense to keep it as a gallery."

Duo winced. Seems they agreed on something, anyway. "And your sense is - of course - of prime importance, isn't it, Mr Yuy? Do you ever fail in anything?"

Heero bit his lip against the rudeness. He'd known worse. He didn't really know why Duo's seemed to unbalance him so much. "No, Mr Maxwell - not where I've decided to succeed. Not where I decide to make my mark."

They glared at each other again. Heero was drawn to the amazing pools of emotion in Duo's eyes - the way that his whole body announced his tension. The waves of feeling from the other man made Heero feel as if the ground were unsteady under his feet- as if there were quicksand in the vicinity. He even moved his feet, surreptitiously - as if he needed to be more securely planted on the gallery floor. Maxwell was wearing something barely decent again -sweat shorts that dipped low under his navel, with long, strong legs displayed beneath. There was the thinnest trail of hairs across his belly, running down into the waistband. His feet were bare. On his torso, he wore something that was obviously brightly coloured, and with an unevenly cut hem - Heero assumed it were a shirt, but there were no sleeves, and on one side it barely reached from armpit to midriff. He noticed that Duo's skin was smoothly tanned, and where the man leant to one side, it plumped very slightly over the waistband of the shorts.

Duo didn't bother admiring Heero's beautifully cut suit; he barely registered the frighteningly bright whiteness of his shirt, or the vivid turquoise of his silk tie. He wouldn't normally credit such things as critical in his assessment of people. Instead, he stared straight into the other man's eyes, and couldn't help but feel the power there. He knew it'd be the same throughout the tall, wiry body; Heero would be fit, and well muscled, and totally controlled. His mouth would always speak sense - his eyes would always look straight ahead. His shoulders would stretch easily; his body would turn quickly, wherever his attention demanded. His hands would be sure and strong.

Duo didn't know why the thought of Heero Yuy's hands made an uncomfortable stir in the pit of his stomach. He wondered what made Mr Heero Yuy lose control - he wondered who made him lose control...

Heero's voice broke in.

"Do you have a current job?"

"Huh?"

"I came to see you as well, Mr Maxwell. I'll need an artistic director for the gallery. Someone to promote it - to launch it in time for the next season. I need it to be placed in everyone's mind within the year, in order to start recouping the Corporation's investment. It should be handled by someone who understands a gallery - who understands the industry." He said again, as if he thought Duo wasn't listening, "Who understands the arts - and artists."

Duo badly wanted to resist saying 'huh' again, but he couldn't find anything more coherent.

Heero's mouth twisted in half a smile. It looked uncharacteristically nervous. "I'd have expected more conversation from you, Mr Maxwell. Even more argument..."

"You wanna shut the fuck up with your smart comments and tell me what you're talkin' about?" growled Duo. He pushed away from the wall and straightened up. Heero saw the lowering afternoon light catch on the shades of his hair. It wasn't fully braided today - just clasped behind his neck in an old tie clip. The ends flicked softly around the level of his hips.

Heero tore his eyes away from it. It was just hair - and impracticably long, of course. He felt slightly nauseous - though, strangely, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"I'm offering you the job. And it's acceptable for you to call me Heero, as my executives do at the office."

Duo stared, still angry. "There's no-one else here -Heero."

"I - no, I can see that. My eyesight's fine, thank you. What do you mean?"

"Assuming this ain't some kind of twisted joke, there's still no-one here to see you show off your benevolence. Your charity towards the impoverished artist, whose livelihood and home you've recently acquired. Sort of an empty gesture, ain't it?"

"It's -fuck -" Heero was angry that he'd let the expletive loose. "What's up with you? It's not a gesture. Not a joke! It's a genuine offer."

"Why me? What do you know about me? Except that I'm a failed artist- failed businessman - failed just about everything -"

"You're an artist!" snapped Heero. "You can't fail at that, Maxwell. You are or you aren't! It's what you do with it that matters. And I saw what you did with the gallery when - when it was yours. It was fine- it was impressive. I want that vision for it again - I want that style, that creativity. For example, take the presentation wall - that was your idea, wasn't it?"

Duo stared at the strong, clear-cut features of Heero's face; the full lips spouting such surprising words. Words that seemed to be mismatching somewhere between his ears and his brain. "Yeah. I - I wanted that long, deep view, to draw the eye all the way from the front of the building, back to the smaller works. It catches the sun - it's a different shade at different times of the day. Though it used to get a bit dark later on -"

"Not with the perspex facing it, that's an improvement on the solid wall that was there previously. It'll open the whole thing out, now; give you the illusion of more space. And the ceiling hangings -?"

Duo had forgotten them - he'd once thought he would exploit the height of the gallery ceiling by suspending some of his works. Then the supplier of the twine had let him down, and he'd abandoned the effect - but the fittings were still there. He was amazed that Heero had noticed. "I - yeah...thought it'd be an unusual effect. All I ever wanted to do was to get people to see as many paintings as I could force on 'em, y'know? To make 'em see..."

"That's what I want," said Heero. "That kind of thought. Those kind of ideas." For one of the few times in his life he felt that his words were inadequate. There was something about Duo Maxwell that confused him.

"Of course - you may be painting again. You may not have the time to take on a job as well."

Duo's mouth opened, then shut again. He swallowed. "I won't be painting again this side of Armageddon, OK? I've got so much time, I'm thinking of selling it to your own brokers."

Heero's expression looked like he was struggling to understand. "You have a God-given talent - you must know that. People are envious of that. I guess even I might be envious of that. You ought to use it."

"Fuck you know about it, Heero," replied Duo, though there was less force in his hostility now. "There's a hell of a lot of things I oughtta do. So join the list. Is painting - or not painting - a condition of the job?"

Heero's eyes widened. He looked like he might laugh - but whether from amusement or frustration, who knew? "No. Only that you make something of it - that you give something of yourself to it. That's what I do with my own work. It's the only way to success."

"And you like success, don't you, Heero?"

"I do," he replied. He heard the passion in his own voice, and knew it was from his heart. "That's the one area I can't yet judge in you; whether you have that appetite as well. I want this gallery to be an oasis in the middle of the city; a gathering place for those who want to see things of beauty - and of challenge. And I want its reputation to be known throughout the state- perhaps beyond. For its high standards - its appreciation of good pieces. For its innovative approach.

"Can you do that, Mr Maxwell? Can you make that work?"

Duo looked a little stunned, and for that, Heero was inordinately pleased. He rather thought that Duo Maxwell lived in his own world, and expected those around him to gravitate to him, rather than him feed out to them. He ignored the fact that it sounded a rather familiar profile.

And he was just slightly afraid - a feeling he rarely entertained. It was fear of all the things he didn't know about this man; and what it might mean to continue the connection with him.

"Yeah," said Duo, suddenly. "Sounds OK. I can do it. If you wanna take my word for it." His body seemed to relax a little; he ran a hand aimlessly up and down the skimpy shirt, and the thin fabric crinkled and creased along his torso. Heero thought he glimpsed the glint from a sheen of sweat on that sun-browned skin.

He drew a deep breath. "So – good. I'll have a contract drawn up tomorrow. We can talk about the range of executive salary; I hope it'll be acceptable to you. And - are you going to let me call you Duo, in return?"

The other man grinned – it was a wide, sudden, generous grin, and Heero was a little shocked to feel how it seemed to have a warmth of its own. The floor seemed to shift under him again.

"Only you would ask that, Heero! Mr Proper, eh? I've been called plenty of things in my life and most of 'em were at the top of some legal clerk's papers – but Duo's fine by me. I ain't ever been an executive before, though I hope you don't expect some smart suit and tie – the punch card mentality. If that's gonna be a problem at work –"

"I expect professionalism," said Heero, shortly. "Commitment. How you apply that, is your decision. It won't be easy – I assume you know how much hard work will be required. And I'll know if the project's not working."

"And – you expect success, eh?" Duo's mood was still wary. But he seemed to have a fascination for Heero's expression – for each word that he spoke. "That's a given, ain't it?"

Heero had called Remy and cancelled their appointment for that night. She'd wheedled and cajoled – but he wanted no party tonight; no premiere full of forced smiles and the press scribbling about what designer he was or wasn't wearing. He couldn't remember what the movie was they were meant to be seeing – couldn't muster up enough enthusiasm to find out. She could take one of her many adoring fans instead.

He considered it unlikely that Remy de Haas was looking for a serious relationship; she struck him as similar to him in that way. Not interested in commitment of that kind. He was sure that she was dating other people as well as him – there was enough of the gossip that filtered through to him to confirm that - but he wasn't really surprised that the thought didn't upset him. He supposed that he still held enough interest for her to keep up the acquaintanceship. He didn't feel either flattered or disappointed with her attentions.

Dammit, he thought, he seemed too tired to be feeling anything very clearly at the moment!

He was alone in his apartment, and with a private smile, he realised that he was enjoying it. He'd never had a problem with suffering his own company. He peeled off his business clothes, and slipped into sweat pants and a sleeveless vest. The rooms were temperature controlled, so he was rarely too warm or too cold. Then he made himself a drink, and unwrapped a salad that had been left in his fridge, and he settled himself down on his deep couch to eat it.

He almost never ate on the couch. He had a dining area; he had proper cutlery and fine bone china crockery. He often entertained – and had staff come in and cater regularly for him. He also had strong opinions on how people – including himself – should behave at all times. Those standards didn't include lounging around, or being improperly dressed. He guessed he was a bit of a control freak in that way. He guessed that was why, recently, Duo Maxwell's attitude and clothing seemed to disturb him.

Now he sat with one leg folded up underneath him, dressed almost sloppily, and not appearing to care about either! He was picking at a salad he had little interest in, and watching the occasional drop of water or shred of cress drop on to the impeccable leather covering of his furniture. How out of character! He took a deep draught of his favourite red wine, and felt an unusual warmth spread through him.

Sighing, he put the plate back up on to a table. He wasn't really hungry. He thought he might call Quatre, and see if he wanted to come round and entertain them both. Quatre never seemed unsure of anything; never seemed tired of life.

Is that what I am? he thought, with a slight shock. No… just restless! And Quatre would amuse and settle him – it was always Quatre who helped him find some freedom within the restrictive life that he led. Quatre was the one who reminded him there was a world outside.

He'd met Quatre when their respective companies had been in the midst of a property deal. Quatre was the heir apparent to international racing stables, and, at that time, was enjoying his role as crown prince-in-waiting. His father still ran the business – Quatre was left with time on his hands and pockets full of dollars. He was a gift to the paparazzi – a true playboy! He spent money gleefully; he rode his own family's horses to success on the racecourse; and he found everything an immense entertainment. Heero had been more than a little fascinated by him; he'd also been surprised to find that Quatre Winner dated beautiful people of both genders, and no-one seemed shocked. He'd been a bit of a culture shock to Heero, overall – to a young man who was fairly quiet on the social front, and rather more interested in stock flotation than roulette.

But Heero had realised early on that Quatre played a role for his own amusement. And it seemed that Quatre had seen a similar duplicity in Heero. Their curiosity had been piqued – they'd both decided to find out a little more about each other.

Then when the property deal had been concluded, and the lawyers and accountants had moved on, Quatre and Heero had remained good friends. By then, they knew things about each other that no-one else did. They had a trust in each other that neither of them gave to anyone else. That was just the way that things had developed between them. Quatre joked that the analysts would have their money's worth if they ever attempted to reason it out! He was just content that it worked for the pair of them; so was Heero. They left it at that.

But tonight, Heero hesitated before calling his friend. Something was nagging at him. Something Quatre had said? Maybe something that someone else had said…

He drifted towards his bedroom; he thought he might get dressed again, and go out to his house outside the city. He kept the art collection there, in a secure basement. It was the one place he knew he could go and be soothed. He had a strange, irrational desire to go and look at the small but prestigious collection that he owned; perhaps to look again at the Duo Maxwell works that he recalled so clearly.

He caught sight of himself in his mirror, as he reached for pants and a more casual shirt. He straightened up, and for a second, he stared into the dark pupils of his own eyes. There's nothing new to be seen there, he thought. His gaze followed the wide line of his shoulders – the taut skin of his slimmer torso. He reached his hands up, and peeled off the vest.

Still, he stood and stared. He watched his fingers reach up, and tease gently at his nipple. He thought he saw a flash in the reflection of his eyes, but then he doubted it. He'd never thought his skin was particularly sensitive there; then he felt the twinge of desire in his groin, and was surprised at it. His hand drifted down, and the fingers balanced on the waistband of the sweats. He tugged them down – but only a little way, so that his navel was exposed. He gazed at the shallow dip; felt an urge to press his fingertip inside and caress it.

He let a finger from his other hand come to join it; it traced aimlessly down the thin layer of hair that ran from between his nipples, and down over his tight abdomen. Goose pimples followed in its wake; following a familiar trail. Just like another trail that his eyes had followed earlier on that day... a garish shirt; tanned skin. Bare feet. Another, half-clothed body that had somehow fascinated him. Heero saw the shadow under his sweats, and suddenly realised that he was becoming aroused.

He turned away from the mirror, abruptly – he didn't understand where that reaction had come from. He didn't welcome it – of course he didn't! He needed to pull himself together, and get out of town for an hour or so.

He wouldn't consider that the nausea in his stomach might be trying to tell him something.

Trowa almost yelled at the young man in front of him, his eyes wide with anger and frustration, and his fists clenched at his sides.

"It's a bloody brilliant offer, Duo! How can you even think of refusing it? And after you've accepted it already? Jesus H Christ, you drive me nuts -!"

Duo looked a little sulky. He was in the lounge of Trowa's apartment, considerably larger than his own, but no comparison to Heero Yuy's, of course. Trowa worked as an engineer, spending large periods of time away from home – but he treasured his home, and had made it both comfortable and tasteful. He liked rich fabrics and co-ordinating furniture; he liked to collect fine glass. He also had an enthusiastic and well-informed interest in art that had provided the initial introduction to the Maxwells. Over the bureau in his lounge, he had an early Duo Maxwell original; a modest study of swirling purple colours. Over his bed, he had a smaller print – a substantially more precious one. It was a sketch, albeit only a selection of light, minimalist charcoal strokes – but it was of Trowa himself, picking out only the shape of his head; the sweep of his hair. If Duo were insulted at his work taking second place to it, he never said.

"Trow…! No need to get so het up about it… I just wondered what the hell he was playing at, that's all, can't see it being genuine –"

"Just hiding your head in the goddamn sand, like always, that's all -!"

"Look, I'm not sure I wanna work for him – be some ponce of an artistic director –"

"You're just shit scared that you can't do it!" snapped Trowa.

They were both shocked to silence. Duo bit his lip.

And then his face cleared, and he laughed aloud. "You're right! Christ, that's true! I never worked for anyone but Solo – and then myself! I never signed on – never sucked up. Never did that corporate thing, like you do. What fucking use am I gonna be at it?"

"You're a fool," said Trowa. He ran his hand through his loose, brunette hair. It was a rare characteristic of Duo's – that ability to swing from anger or misery into a sudden, pure delight. It never ceased to amaze him! "You can do whatever you put your mind to -if you want to enough. Or you can just drink yourself out of the employment market entirely –"

"I haven't touched anything, Trowa!" said Duo, quickly. He was flushed. "Nothing, 'cept a beer or two, since I sold the gallery. Christ, that's been hard enough without you naggin' at me -"

Trowa sighed. He stared at Duo, and met his wide eyes. He swallowed back a slight gasp. Then he turned away, as if the sight of Duo were too painful.

"And what else are you going to do, Duo? Where's the money to live gonna come from?"

"OK," Duo replied, dismissively. He, also, found it difficult to meet Trowa's eyes. "So I'll take the damned job. I'll be Mr Heero Yuy's man. Turn that gallery of his up on its tail, I will…"

"You'll enjoy it," said Trowa, doggedly. "You're an excellent choice, and that's why he's offered it. It may even encourage you to paint again." He saw the tension shudder across Duo's shoulders, and knew he shouldn't have said it; but he'd wanted to.

"Solo left you nothing, Duo. He should have made provision for you –"

"Spent it as soon as he earned it, Trow, you know what he was like. And anything I got from his remaining paintings went into my damned gallery. Don't remind me."

"There were the 'Family' sketches – he meant that series to go to you – he told me so –"

"Fuck off," sighed Duo, but it was a half-hearted protest. "He never finished the series. Everyone knew it was meant to be a series of six – who's gonna buy four?"

"Someone did. That guy in the Far East."

Duo grimaced. "Yeah, but at a fraction of the value the whole set would've reached. I was never gonna be a millionaire on that. Solo never finished it, OK?"

Trowa was shaking his head. It was their most familiar argument. "He told me he had."

"Pillow talk!" said Duo, a little cruelly. He still wasn't meeting Trowa's eyes – didn't see the flash of pain in the dark green depths. "Did he actually show the other two to you?"

"No," hissed Trowa. "But he was telling the truth – I'm sure of it. Duo – do you know where the missing sketches are?"

"Dammit, no! If I did, don't you think I'd have put them up for sale by now? I'd have been able to keep the gallery going – I wouldn't be selling myself to that Yuy Corporation -!"

Trowa believed him – for Duo was nothing if not opportunist. And in the miserable months since Solo's death, while Duo was hiding himself from the world in a passion of drinking and debauching, he'd wheedled and begged money from all sorts of sources – he'd not have stopped at selling Solo's work, if he had it. Trowa had always felt that Duo was holding something back about the whole issue of the sketches – but maybe it was just the full extent of his pain; maybe he was misguidedly protecting Trowa himself.

The so-called 'Family' sketches had been some of the last things that Solo Maxwell ever produced – gentle, evocative charcoal drawings; but full of movement and passion. It was a medium he liked using – and one he was gifted in. The critics called it an inimitable and unique style; and indeed, there were few artists who could compare with his vision and skill in drafting a whole life story in a handful of grey strokes on paper. His work had been so different from Duo's boldness in paint – his younger brother's vivid, aggressively bright colours!

The sketches weren't specific portraits – but Solo had announced they were of his family. When the first four were shown in a local gallery, there was enough of a structure in them to be able to see that they were of men – of young men, of care and devotion, and a bonding love that was beyond physical passion. He had dedicated the works to his family – to him and Duo.

It had been a time of great excitement for them both – of a closeness that might have been better than ever.

Solo had always said that he was working on a set of six – and there was so much interest in them that auction reserve prices were already set at astronomical levels. But then he died – and there were only four in existence. The others were searched for; never found. The four were sold indecently quickly to an anonymous buyer in Hong Kong, although Trowa had tried desperately for a while to raise the money to keep them himself. The money sank into Solo's estate, and just about covered his debts, and no-one listened to Trowa's complaints that whoever had brokered the deal had been a damned crook.

Now he sighed, wondering why he continued to torment both of them about something that was so far in the past. "I just thought that you might have wanted to keep something of his. They were sketches of his family, he said – and there was only ever the pair of you for him to draw! It's been that way since you were a child. You both had each other – and few other people to care for you. He was so fond of you, Duo - you can see the images of both of you in the four that were sold."

"Just sketches –" groaned Duo. "Just art."

"No, Duo," said Trowa, gently. He stood at Duo's back, and put a hand out to his shoulder. "Solo was a genius. They were beautiful – the best work he ever did! I saw them for just a brief time before they were sold abroad – but when I looked at them, I saw him. How he felt; how he lived. The vibrancy of him – the depth of his feelings. They were –" His voice faltered. "They were what I loved about him."

Duo felt the softening in him that only Trowa could bring. "I remember him well enough not to need the pictures, Trow. Are – are you in trouble? Like with – money, or something? Christ knows, I can't help! But he'd have wanted you to sell that print you have over your bed – if you had to…"

"I'm OK," replied Trowa. His hand gripped Duo's shoulder a little more tightly. "I'll never part with it. I wasn't with him for the money, you know – not because he was famous, or because I thought he could do something for me –"

"I know," murmured Duo.

"I loved him," hissed Trowa, like he had to justify it to someone; as if he were being challenged on it.

"I know," repeated Duo, a little wearily. Trowa had been with his brother for almost a year before he died. They were an unusual couple – but the complement of their characters worked well. Trowa was entranced by his lover, and his own mature and steady character had been an excellent balance to the artist's fractious instability. Solo Maxwell himself had seemed uncharacteristically content with the relationship. For a while, at least.

Trowa had taken Solo's death as painfully as Duo himself. He wasn't a man who gave love lightly – or one who had surplus to give, if that love was no longer returned. Trowa Barton had no status in Solo's family – no claim on his estate or his goods. After being called out to the sodden, smoking remains of the fire by a hysterical Duo, he'd returned to his own apartment, with little more than the sketch that Solo had gifted him in the opening months of their affair, the memory of a passionate yet erratic lover in his bed, and the friendship and unofficial guardianship of Solo's grief-stricken younger brother.

Duo knew his relationship with Solo had been stormy. He also knew that he'd transferred some of his arguments to Trowa, now his pseudo-brother. The arguments about Solo's inability to be faithful – his habitual unreliability. It had often maddened Duo, and also provoked his own equally impetuous behaviour. Duo had also seen the effect on Trowa, the constant companion, and been angered by it.

Yeah, he thought. We both loved him – but he royally fucked us about, didn't he? Loved us both – was our main encouragement, our main supporter. Then he slept around regularly, mocked my work, dismissed Trowa's loyalty as weakness…

Duo could never work out these mixed feelings he had about his brother. It all hurt so much!

Trowa was still holding his shoulder. "I want you to be comfortable again, Duo. Happy again."

"I'm happy enough, Trow. It's you that's so fucking sad, y'know? Worse 'n me, sometimes. Yet you keep rescuing me. Can't I rescue you in return? Give you something to bring the smile back?" Duo knew the beauty of Trowa's smile – there was a deep richness to it, as if it were a rare thing to be treasured; and full of gifts when it arrived. He lifted a hand, and placed it on the top of Trowa's. His fingers squeezed, gently. Trowa stood slightly behind him, but he heard the other man draw in a breath.

"He loved you, Trow, even when he was a shit to you. I know you put up with a lot more from him than I ever did. And I love you, too, y'know. You're my brother – like he was." He turned, still clasping Trowa's hand, and came face to face with the brown-haired man. They were only inches apart. Duo could feel Trowa's breath on his cheek; it smelt of mint. "Don't I look like him? Don't you see him, when you look at me? Don't deny it – I see the recognition often enough, even from strangers."

"I – perhaps…" Trowa's voice was a gentle moan. Of course he saw the family resemblance! The same bright blue eyes – the same broad forehead. The same grin, full of mischief. The same smooth skin; the same chestnut hair...

"Make it work for you, Trow," murmured Duo. He was breathing a little more heavily, and so was Trowa. He stroked at Trowa's chin; slipped his other hand round the slim, warm waist, and felt the muscles shiver under his touch. "Shut those lovely green eyes, and hold me, and you can have a hell of a lot of fun. It doesn't have to mean anything –" He dipped his head sideways, reaching tentatively for Trowa's wide lips with his own. He saw Trowa's tongue slip out, moistening his mouth, stretching a little towards Duo; and Duo knew he could kiss that smile, and everything would be easier for them both, just for the moment…

It wasn't going to be, though, was it? Duo wasn't surprised when Trowa suddenly flinched away from him, and the hand that had gripped so hard at Duo's shoulder was now pushing him away instead.

Duo pulled away – held a single hand up, as if in appeasement. "'S OK, I understand, I'm sorry, Trow, that was outta order –"

"You – you meant it for the best, I guess." Trowa was panting slightly. His eyes were glistening. "I can't say you haven't offered before – that I don't know how you care for me; what you'd do for me. For – just for something that doesn't hurt so fucking much… some kind of relief for me…but I can't do that, Duo. It wouldn't feel right. He told me to look after you, if anything ever happened to him – not fuck you."

"Shit," protested Duo, his face flushed high on his cheeks. "Ain't just for you, Trow! Praps I – need something, too. I mean, I'd enjoy it a lot, of course I would, you're great looking, and I don't need a lotta attention m'self… besides, it's only fucking, and I really like that -"

Trowa looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He'd leant back against his couch – was propping himself up against it as his heartbeat returned to a more normal level. "Christ, Duo – don't you see that's the problem? I know what it's like to get beyond that. Whatever Solo thought about me, I loved him, and that was the best I'm ever gonna get! That's what you should be looking for. Not a quick comfort fuck, for your brother's depressed ex-lover –"

"Hey! Didn't I say it'd be more than that, Trow -?"

"OK – I'm sorry too, Duo." They were both breathing normally again. They stared at each other, hesitantly. Then Trowa smiled a little. "Thanks, Duo. For the – offer. For the flattery. But it'd still be less than we want, right?"

Duo grimaced. He rubbed a hand over his face – a familiar gesture that was particular to him, and one that broke the spell of Solo's ghost a little. "Guess so. Though I don't believe in all that love stuff. The true love. The monogamy…"

"The one true pairing?" smiled Trowa, a little sadly.

"Yeah. Some crap made up by fiction writers, eh? There's more to life than that."

Trowa's voice had grown in strength – he was harsh in reply. "More drink, you mean? More bed mates? More excess? More loneliness? Shit, Duo…"

"Hey… Trow, no, that's not what I want –"

"So go find what you want, Duo. Not from the bottle. Not from me."

Duo knew a dismissal when he heard it. Trowa wanted to be left alone. He didn't blame him for it. He sighed, and turned off towards the door to the hall, to find his coat and amble off back across town to his apartment. There were pizza boxes to clear away; and maybe there were some plans and drawings of the gallery that he wanted to drag out of storage tonight and study for a while…

Trowa's hand brushed at his arm, so that Duo would know that everything was cool between them again. Duo always pretended not to care about things, but Trowa had been with him after Solo died; he'd seen his grief and distress. He knew what a fine actor Duo could be. His green eyes were still wide with concern – and they were very earnest. "I don't want you to be like Solo, Duo, y'know? Don't choose that route.

"I don't want you to be Solo."

"Duo Maxwell?" Malia's voice rose an octave. Tony was sitting opposite her in the office and he winced. "D'you hear who he's put in charge, for God's sake? Duo fucking Maxwell! Working with us for the grand opening – "

"I think that actually we're working for him –"

"I won't have him in the gallery!" she protested. "Jesus, Tony, he's a - a maverick! A liability! What, for Christ's sake, does he know about promotion? About client relations – about the media? Ten years I've been in this business, of course I was barely a child when I started -"

"He used to be an artist -" Tony tried to placate her. He'd been composing a letter to his parents – a fairly grovelling one. Malia's temper tantrums were wearing him down, and the occasional adventures in bed with her were poor compensation. He was going to try to get a flight back home at the end of the month, and see whether Dad still had a job open for him there…

"Used to be! Exactly!" she crowed. "Hasn't produced anything new for over six months – or at least anything with a market value more than a peanut! So he's a washed-up artist, and knows even less about business. The gallery crashed and burned when he was in charge, and now he's on his way to ruin it for the Corporation as well!"

"Mr Yuy appointed him. He'll have had his reasons –"

"Mr Yuy must have had a sense bypass!" she sneered. "You know the background, don't you? About Solo and Duo Maxwell? Two manic artists – two monstrous egos, I daresay. They never got on – they argued cat and dog, or so the neighbours said. Solo was always sniffing round every piece of ass in town – with brother Duo hanging on his coat tails, going the same way I hear. Then Solo sinks half his fortune in a gallery for baby brother, just to show off his immature daubings – splashes the rest of his money on the horses. Then one night his apartment catches fire, and the whole damn lot goes up in smoke! Several paintings were turned to ashes - it's rumoured that the casualties included the missing sketches from that vastly overrated 'Family' series that looked like he dashed 'em off on the back of a cigarette packet – and the whole apartment ended up charred like a biscuit."

"He died in the fire," said Tony, quietly.

"Yeah, whatever," snapped Malia. "Then baby brother goes slightly mad himself, starts turning out paintings that look more like Buster Keaton meets Freddy Kruger, and plunges towards the same kinda disrepute and bankruptcy as Solo."

"Not quite the same," came the slow drawl from behind them. "It'd be difficult to exit this world quite as spectacularly as Solo Maxwell, wouldn't you think?"

Malia spun around, startled; Tony only a fraction behind her. Duo Maxwell stood there, leaning against the doorframe.

"So – is there a problem with my team? With me?" Duo levered himself off the door, and walked over to Malia's desk. He was tall, and took long strides, and he made no concessions to her personal space. He put his hands down on her desk, leant forward, and leered. The end of his braid swung carelessly from behind his waist; it caught and held her horrified eye.

She flushed. Her resentment was swallowed by a rather healthy fear of such a potentially aggressive man – and a rather healthier twist of admiration for his undoubted good looks. She'd never been this close to him before. His skin glowed – his features were bright and challenging, and every move of his lithe body seemed to court attention. His smell was slightly musky, with a tang of citrus – and the unmistakeable hint of paint.

Tony stood awkwardly – he didn't know which boss he was meant to be supporting, if it came to a fight. Christ, he wished he'd never come to the city! "We – just – just wondered why you're here – Mr Maxwell."

"Gotta eat," shrugged Duo. "Same as you all." He stood upright again, in a sudden, fluid movement. When Malia flinched, he smiled wryly.

"You – your family – you're famous… you've sold paintings…" stumbled Tony.

"Do you think I have family money, Tony?" sighed Duo. "Rich friends? Secret funds?" His eyes softened a little as he faced the miserable assistant. "I have to work, the same as you – or I don't survive. There's no other reason for me to be here, I can assure you. But it's gonna be a lot easier and a lot more fun if we can all get on."

He turned back to Malia, who had risen from her seat and was smoothing her hair down in a gesture that was purely nervous – it was so well lacquered that there wasn't a thread out of place. "You summed me up rather succinctly, Ms Trent. I may thank you for that one day. But as for now – it's time to get started, right? We need to get down to the gallery and measure up. You can give me the benefit of your ten years experience, then…"

He turned slightly to smile back at Tony, cowering away to the side. "And call me Duo, Tony. I don't have any appetite for this executive–non-executive game. 'S all the same to me."

Tony smiled, a little encouraged. Malia glowered at him, and then tried to sweep past Duo with dignity and contempt; but the shaky clatter of her heels let her down. He smiled at her retreat.

"And as for Heero Yuy, Malia –"

She paused, feeling his gaze at her back. Her mouth fell slightly open, but without any words to spill through.

"I doubt you know the man as well as you think. After all, I can't see that guy suffering any sense bypass, can you?"

Quatre Winner thought that it had been an amusing three months – the time elapsed since his friend Heero Yuy had brought the young Maxwell on to the payroll.

He relaxed back into his couch, nursing a generous rum and coke. The lounge of his apartment was dimly lit, casting shadows across the black and dark red upholstery, and the velvet drapes. He was dressed in tight leather pants, and a vivid red silk shirt. It was party wear, and another impatient glance at his wristwatch showed that he was well aware of the fact.

Heero sat on the armchair opposite him, and then stood again. He paced across to the drinks table, but came back empty-handed.

"Sweetheart," drawled Quatre, a wide smile on his handsome face. "Decide whether you're comin' or goin' and stop wearing out the expensive flooring, OK?"

"Dammit, Quatre," snapped Heero. "I just need to think things out –"

"Too late," sighed Quatre. "The gallery opens tomorrow night – I have an invitation, y'know! 19.30 pm, fifty exclusive guests, champagne and canapés, and a modest collection of some of the finest art pieces in circulation today. And shortly after that time, depending on the effect of the Maxwell touch, your precious new gallery rises or falls. Why are you so nervous? You've opened many an event before. Ain't never seen you fail, Yuy. Surely you know what Maxwell has got planned? He's workin' for you, eh?"

"Yes. Yes," replied Heero, distractedly. "I don't know. I mean, I saw his initial plans – I talked through his choice of the pictures that had been offered. It looked very promising – a theme of colour and movement. He explained it well – very enthusiastically. His team is all in place - in fact, I've never seen Malia Trent work so silently and so well! She arrives in work early – stays late. Her assistants look positively cheerful, if rather worn. They're all working really hard, which – of course – bodes well. I – well, I wasn't sure how he'd work in a team…"

"Duo Maxwell, you mean," murmured Quatre, with a large slice of tongue-in-cheek. Only the guy that Heero hadn't stopped talking about for the last hour…

"But then he cancelled the conference calls – the weekly updates. He's kept me completely out of the loop for over a week – he's covered up the gallery windows, and won't let me in to see the preparations."

'Won't let me in?' thought Quatre, wryly. What kinda guy keeps Heero Yuy at bay?

"And there's something about his attitude," continued Heero. "I'm just not sure he'll have followed those original drawings. Dammit, I should have known he was too much of a risk -!"

Quatre stared. For a moment, he forgot to maintain his usually languid, bored expression.

"What?" snapped Heero. "What the hell are you staring at? You've seen me angry enough times for the novelty to have worn off!"

"Angry, yeah!" grinned the blond. "Ain't ever seen you so flustered, though, hon! Who is this guy, then, that ruffles the coolest cube in the ice bucket? That has you keepin' me waiting, when I'm all dressed up and ready to rock –"

"Leave it, Winner. You want to go on ahead, feel free. Perhaps I'm just not in the mood for socialising tonight, after all."

Quatre was quiet, knowing instinctively to keep back while Heero gathered himself together. His friend had a fierce, cold temper, but he disliked himself when he let it run unchecked. He'd hate himself for arguing with Quatre about – well, about what? Duo Maxwell, his rebellious employee?

"Tell me about the Maxwells, Quatre." Heero's voice had calmed, and he'd stopped pacing. Quatre's eyes ran quickly up and down his friend's body; the black satin shirt, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest; the slim legged pants; the soft leather boots. He sure looked like a man ready to go clubbing with his best friend. But he just as surely didn't sound like one.

"More about the Maxwells, hon? Seems that's all you want to talk about nowadays."

Heero didn't hear the hint of acid in Quatre's tone. "What about Solo Maxwell? I hear he was fond of the horses. You'd know him, then, wouldn't you?"

Quatre took a while before he replied. When he did, his voice was unusually toneless. "Yeah, I saw him often enough. He came to the race meetings."

"How was he? What sort of man?"

"Charming," sighed Quatre. "Charismatic. Damned good looking – and he knew it. Arrogance by the barrel-load. No head for gambling, I'll tell you that."

"Was he ever married? Did he bring dates with him?"

"Plenty of them." There was a hard edge now to Quatre's voice that was colder than his usual cynical tone. "I don't think the guy was particularly fond of women, Heero. His dates would be both girls and guys, though. Never anyone for any length of time. There was a steady lover back at home, I think. But that didn't seem to hold him back any."

Heero noticed Quatre's hostility for the first time. He wondered if he'd upset his friend somehow. But Quatre didn't seem to be directing any of it towards him. In fact, the blond sighed, and sank back a little further into his couch.

"Did you ever see any of his work, Heero? Collect any of it?"

"No – I don't think I did. The art collection was started for me by agents – as part of the trust investment programme. It's only in the last two or so years that I've come to appreciate the collection a little more." To enjoy possessing it, he thought. To spend my time choosing paintings to add to it; to see what reaches me, and stimulates me.

"His stuff was great," said Quatre. His voice was unusually soft. "A lyrical, ethereal style. Rather more fragile than the man himself, of course! He worked a lot in charcoal – mere sketches, really. I saw the set of four that caused such a stir at the time of his death. The 'Family' sketches, they called them in the papers. Dammit, if Pops hadn't tied up so much of my inheritance in trust funds, I'd have been tempted to bid myself, for one or more."

"Then he died. Did they have any idea what caused the fire?"

"No. A horrible accident, they concluded. They reckon a few paintings got burned along with it all – then the shit hit the fan when they found he was almost bankrupt, and all his remaining stuff had to be sold pretty damned quickly, to clear the debts."

Heero cleared his throat and turned away slightly, as if to hide from Quatre's gaze. "Did you ever see Duo with him?"

There was a strange, pitying glint in Quatre's pale blue eyes as he looked up at the tense, muscled back. "No, hon. Never. The guy's an enigma to me 'n all. Sorry if you wanted to hear somethin' else…"

Heero shook his head, sharply, as if he were trying to shake thoughts out of his mind. "I need something to relax me, Quatre."

"So you comin' with me?" The blond man stood up from his seat, eyes sparkling. "I got the invitations – I got the contacts for tonight! Seems like you need somethin' hot and fast and hidden away in a dark back room. Somethin' anonymous. Somethin' wild –"

"Yes," said Heero, softly.

Quatre looked at him for a moment. He ran a hand through his silky blond hair. "You sure, Heero? It's my world, really – you're my treasured guest, of course! - but I never feel you belong in quite the same way. Ain't gonna keep you happy for ever, sweetheart…"

"I know that," said Heero, a little sharply. "But I only need tonight – don't I?"

They snatched up their jackets, Quatre put down his empty glass. They paused at the door, as Quatre flicked fingers across his alarm keypad. The blond's eyes ran over Heero's much more understated look; over his tall, wiry frame. When he dropped his hand away from the wall, he reached across and laid it on Heero's silk-clad arm.

"You know tonight's club is guys only, yeah? I know you've enjoyed yourself before at places like this – not minded it, anyway. And I like your company, Yuy; y'know that. But you're dabblin' with Remy now – and if it's gonna freak you out in any way…"

"Don't concern yourself about that, Quatre - I want to go. You've never taken me anywhere that's offended or scared me. I enjoy going, even if I don't always join in. I – I guess I need to know what's out there; I'll never get the chance, otherwise. I need to be – somewhere else; someone else. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Finding out what kinda man you are," stated Quatre, a compassionate lilt to his voice. Heero looked up at the other pair of blue eyes in some surprise. "We all need to do that, hon. Just seems to be taking you a little longer than me..."

Heero smiled hesitantly. "Yeah – right. So we'd better be going, then?"

Quatre still seemed slow to leave the apartment. His hand paused on Heero's arm. When he spoke again, his voice was low and rich with promise.

"You look hot tonight, sweetheart, y'know? You carry your own special attitude - you've always got that cool look as if you're just a spectator; watching the rest of us. If it were just some passing relief y'after – you know I'd be more than welcome to help –"

Heero's mouth curved round a smile. "I know. If I were interested that way."

Quatre scowled. Damned man! He knew that Heero didn't tell him everything he did; everything he felt. Sometimes they split up at the clubs – found their own fun, then met back up at the end of the night. Quatre knew he always told more tales than he received back from Heero. The other man's sex life remained a pretty big secret.

"More than welcome. Dammit, Yuy, I'm not used to askin' for it, but you know I'd make an exception for you…"

Heero looked up at him, and his eyes were warm with a rarely shown affection. "We covered this some years ago, Winner, remember? When you told me that, given the word, you'd fuck me into whatever mattress we had handy, and then still talk to me in the morning! You said that was the greatest compliment you'd ever given a guy –"

Quatre groaned. His hand fell away from Heero, and his mouth twisted into a wry smile. "You know that was the vodka talking that night! Though it was the truth – you know that as well."

"But we have a friendship that's a damned sight more important than a bed partner," continued Heero.

"Yeah… that was your reply then, as well," sighed Quatre. Not that the chance of bedding Heero Yuy would spoil a friendship – not for him, anyway. He had no such problems in balancing the two arrangements! He supposed he hadn't really thought the guy would come round; though it never hurt to ask, did it?

Heero laughed at his friend's plaintive expression. "I'm sorry. I'm not the company I'd hoped. Perhaps I'm just distracted – stress from the anticipation of tomorrow –"

"It ain't stress, Heero," announced Quatre, shaking his head. "You're lonely! Same as I might be, if I ever stopped to find out. Instead, I seek a collection of cute companions to pass the mood, knowin' I'll wake up tomorrow well and truly fucked, and damned glad of it too; then I'll maybe buy another coupla horses, and the world will be bright again for me! But you, Heero Yuy - you're missing your one true pairing."

Heero's tight laugh was also a protest, but Quatre continued regardless.

"You fool about with this Ice Prince exterior. You keep 'em all at arms' length, boys and girls alike. But you got a lotta sweetness of your own you ain't showin'. It ain't healthy, boy! You can't bottle it up for ever. We'll have fun tonight – but these places ain't really for you. You need somethin' more than a fumble in a booth and a warm rum and coke."

"And you don't?"

It was Quatre's turn to laugh. "That's another thing we covered some years ago, eh? The fact that we are very different in many – critical – ways! I enjoy the single life, Heero – I enjoy the transience; the fragility of it all. The anonymity and the hot, sweaty desperation. It has a poignant thrill of its own. You might enjoy it, as well, for a while – but you gotta face other things, too."

Quatre drew the door shut behind them, and they moved slowly to the elevator. His voice was softer now.

"You're fascinated by him, aren't you?"

"Who?"

"Oh, babe, you need to be more honest with y'self!" Quatre's good mood was back – his eyes sparkled as he stared at Heero's obvious discomfort. "I ain't seen such a spark of interest in you since I first knew you! If I see you talkin' about someone – lookin' out for someone – shakin' like a cocktail whenever his name's mentioned – well, what am I gonna think?"

Heero was rather flushed, but his voice was steely. "That's enough, Quatre! Enough nonsense about true pairings and fascination - what sort of anachronistic rubbish is that? What sort of reality? I don't have time for it –"

"Find time, Heero." Quatre knew his voice snapped. The elevator arrived, pinging its presence behind their conversation. "Find time for yourself! Or it's gonna pass you by, and you 'n me will be dancin' round this place in bath chairs one day. I've given up lookin' for myself – but I'll not give up for you as well."

Their mood eased on the ride down to the lobby -Heero was keen to talk about the night ahead, and somewhere new. Quatre replied, and joked, and was thinking of something quite different.

He was thinking of how Heero had so neatly sidestepped his offer tonight, without ever actually confirming whether he was tempted or not; whether he was drawn to men or women. Or both. Or just the portfolio prices…! thought Quatre, a little frustrated. He was looking forward to meeting Duo Maxwell at the opening the following night. He was excited at the thought of what might be in store – for both of them!

He was also wondering what kind of person would finally get Heero Yuy; not just in the sense of bed and board – but the person who'd get his commitment and his fascination and his care.

Quatre Winner thought that that would be a fabulous thing to behold!

It was the following night, around seven pm, and the first car was arriving at the gallery; there were cabs hooting their way across the crowded road, as other early guests were looking for parking spaces, or friends to meet up with. Malia Trent stood at the door, a tray of drinks beside her. Her pale face was unusually flushed – and there were unfamiliar creases at the side of her mouth, as if she'd been smiling too much lately. Her whole body vibrated suppressed excitement, even through her cream silk suit and strappy heels.

Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell stood at the back of the open gallery.

Duo had dressed more formally for the night than his usual casual wear. He had Trowa to thank for it – he'd found Duo a pair of hip-hugging black satin pants, and a matching Nehru jacket. It allowed him to wear one of his glaringly coloured vests – tonight it was a vibrant orange – but the suit was meant to make him look respectable enough for an opening. Trowa had approved of the look – well, he'd stepped back when Duo had gotten changed and faced him, and a low whistle had escaped him.

He could have been joking, Duo thought cynically. But he'd been absurdly pleased at the time – he didn't often bother about his looks nowadays. He wanted to make the effort for the show, though – and he expected Heero to feel appropriately grateful.

Heero was feeling many things, all of which were far from gratitude, though he had in fact registered Duo's new look.

He should button up the damned jacket! he thought. He was trying to talk to the other man without gazing at the sheer fabric of the vest, but it was difficult. The colour didn't bother him, for it was just another shade of green-grey as far as he was concerned. But what the hell was it made of? It looked almost transparent – he thought he'd glimpsed a flash of Duo's nipple underneath, when the jacket shifted on his shoulders.

He felt that nausea again. It was suspiciously like physical stimulation.

Duo gazed back, in challenge. Heero wore one of his usual, perfectly cut business suits. His hair had been trimmed recently, but he'd just run a hand through it, and it had somehow developed an interest in lying awkwardly across his head. It was such thick, dark hair – Duo couldn't help but look at the mismatched parting. He knew it'd be soft, if he ran his own hand through it. He swallowed the unwelcome feelings, feeling like a tramp in the face of Heero's elegance. The other man's shirt was immaculately pressed and buttoned up tight to his throat; he wore a deep purple silk tie, which inexplicably drew Duo's eye. Or maybe it wasn't the tie – maybe it was the slim, elegant throat. Maybe, thought Duo fiercely, it was time to stop drooling over his boss's physical attributes and concentrate on what may be the most important night of his life!

Quatre Winner arrived at the same time as the first flurry of guests, a little earlier than he'd planned. Maybe he thought his friend might need a little moral support! As he wriggled his way in, there were some flashes from cameras; some loud greetings. Then the first guests entered the gallery – a pack of normally boisterous press representatives - and a sudden hush fell over the room.

Quatre wheeled around where he stood, temporarily pressed against the doorway, and he looked appraisingly down along the length of the gallery. What he saw made him catch his breath with amazement. Then he ignored the mewling voices and grunts of surprise, and his eyes sought out Heero himself.

He saw them at the end of the room – Heero and another young man. Heero was staring at the man; it was obviously Duo Maxwell. Quatre's eyes ran over him appreciatively – he'd have known that was Duo, even before he saw the braid and the glare in the bright blue eyes! They looked close together – might have been friends. Or something more. Quatre felt a warmth that confused him slightly. Then he looked more closely, and sighed aloud.

It looked a damned sight more like an argument!

"But what possessed you to think you could fit this many pictures in such a space – with all the guests as well?" snapped Heero. "I passed the selections to you to choose the best – not to hang the whole damned lot!"

"You're pissed with it – you change it!" hissed Duo. "Either I'm the artistic director, or you are! What's it to be?"

"Shit…" groaned Heero. He looked back up along the gallery, towards the entrance to the building, watching the faces of the first guests as they arrived. He could see only snatches of them, around the mis-matched multitude of exhibits. He had never seen such a display! Duo had re-commissioned the ceiling hangings, and had managed to hang twice the number of pictures that Heero had intended. The presentation wall was filled, with a trail of paintings whose connection Heero couldn't fathom at all. There was no pattern to the size of canvas or frame anywhere – the largest abstract paintings were mixed in with the smaller portraits. Guests were going to have to bend and lean around everything – they were going to have to be looking all ways at once, including up at the ceiling. To him, it all looked an impossible, awkward, unattractive mess!

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to do this?"

"Why do you think?" growled Duo. His heart was beating very fast. He didn't know if it was just his anger – or whether it was some kind of fear. "'Cos you'd go apeshit, and want to stop me. Just like you are now –"

"But now it's too late to stop you! You think I shouldn't be upset at this? You're uncontrollable! And untrustworthy, self-destructive, and damned secretive -"

"Yeah? And you're an anally repressed freak who wouldn't know great art if it grew a dick and poked it in your colour-blind eye! So just get your head out of your painfully tight ass and let's speak our minds, OK?"

Quatre was suddenly at Heero's elbow, and so was his hand, restraining his friend. His voice was low, and sounded teasing – but Heero heard the steel in the soft tone. Quatre very rarely used it.

"Hon, there are some damned high-profile people just arriving who ain't gonna have much of an interest in dirty linen, y'know? You guys need to keep your voices down a notch or two – or take this conversation someplace else. Mr Maxwell – isn't it? – I just wanted to congratulate you before the rank and file sweep you away from me on their shoulders! It's a splendid display – it's a damned bold one, too! Not that this town ain't ready to be shaken from its cultural complacency…"

Heero stared at his friend. "What are you talking about, Quatre?"

"Stand back, Heero," the blond man said, simply. "I wouldn't have thought you'd have any problem with that."

Heero flushed.

"You mean I can't see the colours –"

"I know you can't see them all," murmured Quatre. He still held Heero's arm – he wanted him to understand. "You won't appreciate, perhaps, the theme of gold, green and amber that runs the whole length of that damned fine wall, carrying through the most astonishing combination of art – modern portraiture, and more traditional scenes, and just plain simple abstract experimentation -all reflecting and enhancing each other through the colours. I'm talking about the effect, though, hon – and I know you can see that! I know that you can appreciate that. The depth and the width of art – the stepped effect of the paintings on both floor and ceiling – the emotional and sensual hurricane that's running through what might have been more like a sterile doctor's waiting room if it'd been left to your minimalist taste…"

Heero stared, as if petrified. Even Duo's mouth had dropped slightly open, and his angry words dried up.

"See the effect, Heero. Stand back…" Quatre turned his friend gently, turning his body so that he looked back down the gallery with – hopefully – a fresh eye. Then Quatre turned his gaze back to Duo – and winked at him. "Am I right, then, Mr Maxwell? Is that your vision?"

"Duo. Call me Duo," said Duo, his voice flat with some shock. Like – he didn't put many of his more instinctive feelings into words, did he? The blond guy had looked such a waste of time, but then he'd put his finger so scarily on the whole mess of feelings inside Duo, setting the whole show up -

"That phrase, man – that 'emotional and sensual hurricane' –"

"Yeah – rather good, eh?" nodded Quatre. "I may just go and murmur that into the ear of that cute little assistant editor from Art and Artists, and that's as good a chat up line as I can find, eh? Haven't had a taste o' that sweet little ass since –"

"Quatre!" said Heero, sharply. But his eyes were on the gallery. On the length and breadth of the paintings – on the erratic, yet stimulating arrangements of wood and canvas and paint. Quatre was right, he couldn't see the shades of colour, but now that he stood back and freed his heart and head from his anger and disappointment – he could see the skill, and the controlled chaos in the room. He could see creativity and talent here – he could see how Duo's mind may have worked.

He looked at some of the guests, carefully. There was shock there - there was initial scorn. But there was interest, too.

"You're wrong - I haven't used all the pictures you offered," came Duo's low voice beside him. "Just the most effective. Those that fit with the theme of the show. It's called – Revolution. Guess it's as good a name as any; if you don't think it's a better description of me than the show…"

Quatre was moving away from them now, looking from one to the other. "Nice to meet you, artist boy. I see the likeness to your brother, of course –"

Duo grimaced.

"And yet I don't see it in this show, y'know?" continued Quatre. "You're no Solo Maxwell, sweetheart – and that, from me, is a compliment. Keep this up – and you're gonna be a great success. Whether or not I land that assistant editor, and have a hand in drafting the copy for next issue's 'Show of the Month'!" He shook Duo's unresisting hand, even as a knot of people was drifting towards them, programmes waving. Then he turned to Heero and laughed. "Great tie, cute boy! Didn't I say the purple was the way to go? Since I picked it out for you! I got unimpeachable taste, right? Gotta go, kinder…"

As he wheeled away from them, picking out his next prey in the crowd of press and publishers, he caught sight of another early visitor, but one who didn't seem to be with any particular faction. He was a tall, slim, brown-haired man, who nursed his glass like he barely noticed it, and whose eyes had been fixed to the back of the gallery whilst the three of them were talking. There was the flush of something on his cheekbones – very attractive cheekbones, Quatre noticed. The guy had a mature, confident style in his clothes, though they weren't this season's by any means. He was good-looking in a very careless, understated way. He's with Maxwell, thought Quatre. He's here for the boy's opening.

I wonder what their relationship is?

It was a late, tired, and exhilarated eleven thirty pm.

The last few visitors were dawdling their way back out to their transport; the post-show party would begin soon at a prestigious local club. Duo turned and reached for a long-awaited glass of champagne; and from the other side of the table, so did Heero. The same glass. They snatched their respective hands back – they started to apologise.

Then laughed.

Heero saw the high, excited flush on Duo's face; the vibrancy in his dancing eyes. Duo saw Heero's relaxed smile; the smart jacket discarded, and the tie loosened slightly. It exposed a further band of smooth, dark skin at his neck - just tantalising enough to draw Duo's exhausted but elated gaze again.

Duo wondered at the frisson of electricity in his fingers – just from the unexpected touch of Heero Yuy's hand.

"So, Heero –" he muttered. They'd barely exchanged a word all night, having been surrounded by their own particular fans and pursuers at all times. "This colour-blind thing – what does it actually mean?"

Heero bit at his lip. He didn't usually talk about it – it was hardly relevant to his life, except in regards to art. Trust Maxwell to blunder in with his questions like that! "It's far more common than people think – about 8% of all men are colour blind in some capacity. Mine is mild – I have the red/green variety, where I can't distinguish all the shades between red and green. The shades all appear paler to me than to other people – they all tend towards the same colour, that is green."

"Damn!" Duo looked somewhat impressed. "Kinda awkward with traffic lights, right?"

Heero bit back a smile. "I often have a driver. And I've learnt the position of lights, rather than their colours. It's more troublesome when I have to cook, to tell if meat is done well enough –"

"Gonna mix up the oranges and lemons?" grinned Duo. "The ketchup and the mustard?"

Heero smiled, genuinely amused. He wasn't going to confess that it had happened a few times.

"And – so my shirt -?" Duo's grin grew wider, if that were possible. "The outrageous orange, as Quatre called it, is wasted on you?"

They were both looking down at Duo's chest. The jacket had long been thrown aside in the heat of the gallery. Heero flushed slightly, and Duo wasn't sure why, but the dark head nodded in agreement.

"And so you were never gonna get the theme of the show," continued Duo, a little wonderingly. "The feeling of seasons passing – the swing from the sharp spring green, to the late summer gold, to the burnt autumn ochre…"

Heero listened to him speaking as a painter. It was fascinating – Duo's face was bright and animated as he sketched the colours in the air with his supple hands. Then he caught Heero's glance, and dropped his arms, self-consciously.

"No," said Heero, a little more thoughtfully. "I would have to rely on the emotion displayed, instead. The feelings; the themes shown within the paintings, rather than their colours. But that's of no interest to you – you must develop the exhibition as you see fit. That's what I assumed you would do."

Duo's next words were meant to be as casual – but they sounded almost strangled to his unforgiving ears. "That Winner guy – is he with you?"

"With me?" said Heero, bemused. Another of his blunt questions?

Can't ask you if you're fucking him, can I? growled Duo's conscience. "Thought he was probably your lover, or somethin'. He seems kinda close with you –"

Heero's face grew a little tight. Maybe he blushed, too. "No, he's just my oldest friend."

"Didn't mean to be rude, y'know –" blustered Duo. He groaned at how crass he sounded. Like he should be used to apologies, the way he'd fucked up his life in the last few years! "I mean, obviously you can see whoever you like, girls – guys – supermodels –"

"Thanks," said Heero, dryly.

"- and he was great, said all the right things, introduced me to that publisher guy, and then setting up the interview with the Journal…" gabbled Duo.

"He's enjoying the controversy – he thrives on it! And he liked meeting you. It's all been a great success, Duo," said Heero, slowly. "I'm sorry I doubted it at first. I'm sorry if I doubted you."

"So you fucking should be," replied Duo. Then he grinned, and the abrupt change startled Heero. "Thanks Heero Yuy! Thanks for the job, and thanks for the freedom you gave me. Guess I wasn't sure at one stage whether Revolution was gonna work –"

"It was good," said Heero, firmly. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear Duo's own doubts. He felt emotionally weak, and he wasn't quite sure why. It was enough that his gallery was launched, and very successfully, and that it was something to build on. "But –"

"Ain't there always one of them?" muttered Duo. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his satin pants, and his head dropped down – he struck a rather confrontational pose.

"No, nothing bad," sighed Heero. "It's just – there were none of your paintings out today. I offered the two I have in my collection, plus you must have some of your own left, or access to them at least. Quatre tells me that the colour scheme of at least one of them would have complemented your theme."

He felt Duo's sharp gaze lift back up; the man just stared at him, as if he were trying to prise something out of Heero's expression. Heero waited for another argument. He wished he understood more about Duo Maxwell. He wished he understood what he might have to do to get those wide, soft lips pressing against his own, and the slender, dextrous hands inside his shirt, palms flat against his chest…

Heero thought he might be going a little mad. He blamed the strain of the opening. He even forgot what he'd been asking Duo, until the chestnut-haired man replied to him.

"This is your show, Heero. Yeah, it's my job, but it's your gallery. You don't need my shit in your world. It doesn't fit." He turned away slightly – picked up a discarded programme, and flicked aimlessly at the corners. He was restless for some reason.

"Doesn't fit. Y'know?"

Heero knew it had been a long day. He knew the tension had been incredible, and then the euphoria of the show, and the exhaustion of talking to everyone he needed to – and plenty he didn't. He knew that he hated parties, even when they were on behalf of his own celebration and success.

But none of that explained the depression he felt.

There'd been that little scene at the post-show party, when Quatre and Remy got into some kind of fight. There'd been shouting, and actually some physical violence – or rather Remy had tried to slap Quatre, and he'd caught her arm with a grip better suited for a grown man, twisting her wrist painfully. Neither of them would tell Heero what they'd been arguing about, and Heero had asked Quatre to go home. He was more weary than angry with them. He knew that his friend despised the girl, and the world she stood for – but Remy was a product of her upbringing, and a victim of her incredibly gorgeous looks. Quatre should know about both of those, to some extent. And she was harmless enough – just wanted to be with Heero. Though afterwards, she went on and on about the altercation, and what a beast Quatre Winner was, and how he was so fond of his pretty boys that he obviously hated women, and how she only wanted to see Heero's pictures again, and why weren't they all on display at the gallery, had that Duo Maxwell guy held some back for a reason, didn't he understand how important Heero Yuy actually was -?

In the end, Heero asked Remy to go home, too. He wasn't going to be in any hurry to call her tomorrow, either.

Of course, if he'd been honest with himself, he would have known why he felt depressed. Duo Maxwell hadn't bothered to follow him on to the party. They'd parted at the gallery, with Duo refusing the offer of a lift in Heero's limo, and saying he needed to clear up a couple of things first. Then he never turned up. Heero was annoyed, because he'd invited a couple of media promoters from other organisations who might have wanted to talk plans for future events at the gallery. He'd wanted them to meet Duo, and discuss it with him as well.

Heero was personally disappointed, as well. He'd thought he might find a different side to Duo in a more social setting.

Heero Yuy thought he might well be making a fool of himself as regards to Duo Maxwell. But he wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

The next week had begun quietly and rather anti-climactically.

Duo was damned pleased about that! He was back to his slightly calmer, solitary days; a routine of leisurely breakfast at the café down the block; some gallery work, such as a quick re-measure of the walls and the clearing away of some of the remnants of the show displays; then jobs round the apartment, like a clean of his meagre bathroom. And at the end of the day he could sit in the studio, curled on a deep, soft-cushioned couch, facing the wide window – admiring the view of the encroaching evening. The couch was a new present from Trowa – second-hand, but good quality, and deliciously comfortable.

Tonight was such a night; he had an open sketchpad on his lap, and a soft pencil behind his ear.

He was aware of his visitor, even before he announced himself. He felt the breath of air as the door behind him swung further open. He heard it knock against the couple of canvases stacked against the wall.

He wished he'd bothered to use the lock on the door to the apartment. He wished he'd had time to hide the sketchpad. Then, of course – why the fuck should he? This was his home!

But he said none of it aloud.

"Duo? I'm sorry just to come up – didn't mean to intrude. I needed to see you – I couldn't get a reply on your cell."

Duo hadn't seen his cell phone for months. He suspected he'd sold it to someone, during one of his binges. When he needed to call someone, like Trowa, he just went out to a booth. And if he needed to talk to Heero Yuy – or Heero to him – well, the guy just came over and let himself in, didn't he?

"The door was open," said Heero, defensively, as if he'd read Duo's mind.

"Sure," replied Duo, with a sigh. "I got nothing to hide from my landlord, have I?"

"You never came to the party on Saturday."

"No, I didn't," said Duo, bluntly. Let the guy work for conversation, if it mattered so much to him!

He thought he heard Heero sigh. He hadn't even turned round in the chair to face him. "Duo – it's just part of the job, you know. There were guys there that wanted to talk about future shows; artists who wanted to show at the gallery; some agents who wanted to know if you were painting again." He saw the tension in Duo's shoulders; it was all he could see, except for the back of his head.

"So –" growled Duo. "I'm sorry, OK? I guess I ain't used to this job business. I'll make sure I'm – available – for all these guys next time you want me to see them. But I told you – I ain't painting again."

"So what are these?" asked Heero. His foot had caught on one of the canvases behind the door.

And then Duo rose from his couch, and turned to face Heero. He saw his landlord and boss dressed more casually than he'd ever seen him; still in smart pants, but with a loose linen shirt hanging down from straight shoulders, creasing interestingly across his abdomen, reflecting the well-honed muscles that must be under there. A thin silver band round his neck; hair a little less controlled than at work. Still the dark, multi-hued eyes; still the promise of power in every movement of his strong body.

Heero, however, saw Duo in a state of half-dress – he felt his stomach clench, and his heart begin to race. Duo wore the casual sweat shorts that Heero had seen before – the ones with the loose waistband that now dipped alarmingly at one side, exposing a stretch of paler hip. There was the smallest smudge of something dark above his hipbone – Heero realised it was probably a tattoo, and his mouth grew drier for some unimagined reason. Duo's legs and feet were bare; he wore nothing on his chest. Heero tried desperately not to stare, but his eyes gazed almost longingly at the large, pink-brown nipples nestling on Duo's brown skin. He saw the full stretch of Duo's shoulders and chest – the taut muscles on his stomach. Duo's hair was down, with half of it twisted and dragged forward over one shoulder. The ends brushed against his navel, and tangled slightly in his armpit.

Duo was staring back at him, with some confusion in his eyes – but his voice was angry. "You wanna see 'em, Heero? The crap I painted after – well, the last stuff I did? I keep 'em to remind me what I've lost – how I've fucked up everything. Look behind that door, if you like! Hope you're gonna keep your supper in place, y'know?"

Heero wanted to refuse – to apologise. But he also wanted to see. So he crouched down, and pulled out the three canvases there, and spread them against the wall. He was silent for a while.

They were, indeed, shocking. Perhaps more so to someone who would have appreciated the total bleeding of colour from them – someone who would have seen the vivid contrast between the bleak, sharp greys and blacks, slashed across the background like angry blows, and Duo Maxwell's fiercely colourful paintings of earlier, happier days. Heero didn't see the loss of colour – but he saw the gain of misery and fury and confusion; he saw the emergence of pain. They were powerful paintings – but desperately uncomfortable to face.

He drew a deep breath before he rose to his feet again; before he turned to face the artist.

They stared at each other, silent. Duo's chest was rising and falling rather quickly. Heero's face had paled.

Then Heero's eyes glanced down to the pad that Duo gripped in his hand, and his eyes widened. "But you are drawing! I mean – sorry, I didn't mean to pry -!"

But, surprisingly, Duo seemed to have relaxed a little since Heero had seen his abortive paintings. Did he think the guy would be shrivelled up by the Wrath of God, just from looking on the disaster that was Duo Maxwell's life? Did he care? he thought, and then he was disturbed by the unexpected answer to that question, so he ignored it.

He looked down at the pad as if it surprised him as well. "Yeah. Looks like it. An expensive education sure taught you a thing or two, Heero Yuy…"

Heero ignored the rude sarcasm, as he so often had before. "Why? I mean, what's inspired you to start again?"

Duo wondered why the hell Heero wouldn't go away and leave him alone to wallow. Wondered why his face was burning with some kinda embarrassment. Wondered why he felt the need to answer his unexpected visitor - and with honesty. "I dunno, really. Just picked up the pencil, and – drew. Only started a day or so ago… Just felt that I needed to; that I wanted to."

"Was it the show?"

Why does he care? thought Duo, staring into those dark pools of eyes. Why did he ever have anything to do with me in the first place? "Maybe," he replied. Perhaps that was the truth, actually. The show had been great – he'd enjoyed sketching the plans and the elevations, and mocking up the presentation wall… the pens had felt good in his hands again. It had meant an exposure to art again – the glory and attraction of all the other paintings had seeped in under his defences. Yeah, the show had given him an excitement that he hadn't known for months; that he'd almost forgotten existed. And it had been a success, as well -

"It was a success," said Heero, in another uncanny echo of Duo's thoughts. "It was excellent work. I've come to ask you to take on another, in a few months' time, if you think you can create the same excitement in such a short timeframe – demonstrate that innovation again. It's important that we keep up the interest – build on the initial impact of that first show."

Duo didn't answer directly, but his eyes seemed to sink away a little, hooded under his lids. Heero thought he might be pleased with the praise – proud of his work. He hoped that was true. "So you're happy, Mr Yuy. With success."

"Yes – of course," said Heero. He wondered if Duo would ask him to sit down, though there was only a stool in the room, apart from the wide, soft couch. He wondered if he would sit next to him. Whether they'd ever do anything more than snarl at each other. "Yes, I am. I've always been honest with you about that." He paused for a second - his voice gentled, though it wasn't contrived. "Will you show me your work, Duo?"

Duo was caught wrong-footed. He couldn't think of a caustic enough reply. He held out the pad, and together they looked at the brief lines that he'd sketched out.

Heero caught a sudden breath. He stared more closely, until Duo was embarrassed, and pulled the pad back towards him.

"Like – it's only rough templates. It never was my medium, really. It's a little too like my brother's style – though never so good. Dammit, I'll probably trash the lot –"

"Don't!" cried Heero. Even as Duo's hand ripped the pages out of the pad, and folded around them, starting to crumple the paper inside, Heero's hand came down fiercely on top of his fist. "Leave it! It's good, for God's sake –"

Duo stared down at the slim, strong fingers on top of his. He compared the two skin tones – saw the living flesh against the stark white sketch paper. Both of them seemed frozen there – Duo thought he could feel the gentle pulse of Heero's palm on his.

"Sorry," said Heero, softly.

Duo cleared his throat loudly, and slid his hand away. "You wanna drink, Heero?"

Heero looked startled. "Not really. I just thought I might drop in for a few minutes, and run over some of the plans for the next show…"

"I'm – guess I 'm busy, –" mumbled Duo.

Heero shrugged. "But you can still keep sketching."

"Huh?"

"I can talk – you can work at the same time. Or can't you do that? With someone else around?"

"Dunno," said Duo, a little bemused. "Never tried. No-one ever wanted to be with me when I painted – or drew. Guess I wasn't much company then. I guess it's OK – for a while."

He watched Heero settle himself on the stool. Cross his legs – uncross his legs. And wriggle a bit. There was no way the smart Mr Yuy was remotely comfortable on that piece of shitty plastic! Duo sighed – so it looked like he was gonna be disturbed for a while longer tonight. He glanced at Heero's gorgeous eyes and the determination in them, and as the other man crossed his arms, a ripple of muscle in them distracted him. For the first time, Duo realised how little clothing he had on, himself. His nipples felt tight and erect on his chest – his sweats were shifting a little uncomfortably around his groin.

He went to put on a vest, and to fetch the spare chair from his bedroom.

Heero let himself into the darkened gallery at around nine in the evening, carrying a portfolio of drawings and papers with him regarding the next show. He'd come straight from a late meeting on the other side of town, but he'd slipped off his jacket, and loosened his tie. He always felt overdressed when he was with Duo Maxwell, though he didn't like to examine that thought any more closely.

It was a couple of days after his unexpected visit to Duo, when he'd offered to sit and chat with him while he drew – and that had ended up as a surprisingly pleasant time! They'd talked first about some of Heero's initial ideas, and some of Duo's visions for the actual layout of the gallery; then there was general conversation about the team, and some light-hearted sparring about which of the marketing and sponsorship commitments Heero would sign up. Heero had fetched them both a beer from the kitchen, and Duo had found a couple of packets of nuts and biscuits for snacks.

Then when that conversation had come to a natural halt, Heero had continued to sit there in the studio room on the spare chair, and Duo had rather self-consciously picked up his sketchpad again, and started to draw. He'd looked up at Heero a couple of times, almost suspiciously, but Heero had either been examining his beer or skimming through some of the notes he'd taken about the show. There was no obvious interference, and so Duo had slowly relaxed, turning his concentration to his ideas and his work. The studio had been quiet for an hour or so more; Duo was sketching - Heero was thinking, and reading, and watching Duo.

Finally, Duo had yawned, and put away his drawings for the night. It was a plain dismissal, and Heero didn't outstay his welcome. But when he suggested calling again to discuss the revised plans, Duo had calmly agreed.

Tonight, Heero closed the door behind him, shutting out the weary, night time sounds of the street. Almost immediately, he was conscious of someone in the gallery with him – and just as quickly, his instincts told him it wasn't Duo.

He turned slowly, his heart beating quickly. The room was dark, with only the streetlight to illuminate it. There was a shadow at the back, which started to move towards him; it flowed out of the darkness of the room and became a man. Then it stopped moving.

"Who are you?" asked Heero.

The man looked back at him, calmly. He was slightly shorter than Heero, and slim to the point of thinness. He wore jeans, and a light, body-hugging sweater. His hair was brunette – it was long at the front, and fell awkwardly over his forehead, almost hiding one eye. The other eye shone with suspicion. "I was going to ask the same of you – but now I see you're Heero Yuy. I guess you have every right to visit your own gallery, whenever you like." The man stepped forward again, and offered his hand. "I'm Trowa Barton. I'm a friend of Duo's – been visiting him, and now I'm on my way home. I live on the other side of town."

Heero took the hand – cool, dry – and shook it. "Pleased to meet you. I think I saw you at the opening."

Trowa nodded. His eyes were focussed sharply on Heero, appraising the other man. He didn't seem to be intimidated by him in any way. Heero liked that – he grew tired of the wariness and nervousness he saw in most people's eyes when they were introduced to him. "Duo invited me. It was an excellent show, Mr Yuy – I'm not just repeating what the papers and journals said, as I rarely read them. It's my honest opinion."

"I can see that," said Heero, and he could. He liked this Trowa Barton, more and more. "Call me Heero."

"Heero, then." Trowa smiled, and Heero was pleasantly startled by the way it transformed the other man's face. He hadn't thought that Trowa Barton was at all melancholy until he smiled – and the contrast was suddenly so marked. "Duo has talked a lot about the job here, Heero; about the show. He enjoyed preparing it – enjoyed seeing art from a different perspective. It's given him an opportunity to develop new skills, I think; particularly in negotiation, and in managing people. Not that those skills didn't need some work!"

Trowa watched Heero Yuy's answering smile, and learned a lot more about the man's own perceptions. "He talks about you as well, Heero."

"Me?" Heero was surprised.

"Yes," nodded Trowa. "Sometimes. About your commitment to your work; about some of the plans you've shared with him. I hope they weren't confidential –"

"No…" Heero shook his head. He felt an absurd shiver through his body, and wondered if he should have kept his jacket on. "In fact – I was coming to see Duo myself about some new ideas on the ceiling lighting, and the platform blocks -"

Trowa's eyebrow lifted. "You work this late on your projects?"

"I know – it's a little irregular," replied Heero. He felt there was something the other man wasn't sharing with him. He felt he was being put through some kind of interview! "We're planning another show, you may know. I've – found it advantageous to talk to Duo about it without others around. He doesn't mind discussing it while he works, and I can always sit and watch him draw."

"Watch him draw -?" Trowa's expression showed a sudden slash of shock. "I didn't think – he's not drawn or painted for so long –!"

Heero thought he'd stepped across a line somewhere, and he didn't know what to say. The two men stared at each other for a moment, and then Trowa seemed to recover himself.

"But I think you're out of luck tonight, I'm afraid, because Duo's – busy…"

"With sketching?"

"Uh –" Trowa seemed a little uncomfortable. "Maybe. Perhaps you'd better call another time."

"I must agree a couple of these plans with him tonight – the supplier is coming around tomorrow morning. I'm sure he'll spare me a couple of minutes at least." Heero wondered what this man was trying to do – was he trying to protect Duo somehow? Or did he disapprove of Heero calling on his friend like this? Dammit, it was his gallery, wasn't it? Heero moved into defensive mode – and there were few who'd even attempt to challenge him on that.

Trowa looked into his face and saw the quiet, but total determination. He pursed his lips – and stepped slightly to the side, tacitly allowing Heero to continue through. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Heero. I hope we get a chance for a longer conversation next time. I'll let myself out."

Heero didn't know what made him start on up the stairs without calling or knocking.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked across the landing, searching for Duo in the studio. There was a table set up in there now, and one of the display stands, though there were no pictures or plans on view. The overhead light was off, and the only light was from a thick church candle, anchored on a china plate, and balanced rather precariously on the edge of the table. There were two coffee mugs there as well, and another empty plate. He saw Duo with his back to him, leaning against the wall beside the window, facing out towards the city view. His form was silhouetted against the darkening sky outside and the single, flickering light source in the studio room. His hair was braided this evening, a long, vivid trail of dark shades against a white tee shirt that was too short, as usual – it rode up around his midriff. He wore those damned sweat shorts, though probably another pair, but the same style. Heero stared at the gap of fresh skin between shirt and shorts; followed the lines of muscles down the back of Duo's thighs; gazed at the slight glimmer of sweat in the hollow behind his knees, as it caught what little light there was.

Almost at the same time, he noticed the other pair of legs, in amongst Duo's; another person in front of him. The limbs were close to Duo's – there was the shadow of fingertips at Duo's waist. Heero realised the other person must be extremely close up to him, for he couldn't see a separate face, couldn't see easily which arm may be which…

He realised with a cold shock how stupid he was, for the pair of them were obviously kissing. Duo's head dipped against the girl's – her other hand gripped softly behind his neck, tangled into his hair, tugging him further against her. His body snuggled in between the other pair of jean-clad legs; Heero saw the muscles of his shoulders tensing as he pressed her body up against the wall more tightly; pushing his chest against her, as his mouth obviously worked hers.

He heard a soft gasp; a moan swallowed by another eager mouth.

Duo's arm flexed in front of his body, hidden from view, and the girl's legs parted slightly against his hips. Heero imagined him flipping open the button of her jeans – he had visions of Duo sliding his long, supple fingers down into her clothes; of touching her curls; of stroking parts that were hot and sweaty, and sensitive to every finger's touch…

The shock became even colder as he watched the hand on Duo's waist slip down to his ass, and squeeze him confidently through the sweat fabric. Heero saw the muscles of Duo's shoulders shiver with pleasure; his back arch under the touch. But there was something about the darkly tanned skin of the bare arm, seen clearly for the first time – something that jarred. There were strong tendons stretching to grasp at Duo's body; there were soft hairs glinting in the evening glow.

It was a masculine hand; a young man's hand. Heero had assumed it was a girl; it was a boy!

He knew he had to leave. He had invaded Duo's privacy. Trowa had tried to tell him Duo was busy; he just hadn't realised with what. He felt sick, and wondered briefly why a genuine error should make him so unstable.

He wasn't aware of making any noise as he turned to go back downstairs, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the figures move, and turn in his direction.

"Heero?" It was Duo's voice. Heero cursed every God he'd ever read about, and paused, his hand on the doorframe.

"Hold up, Heero! We're just finished here, y'know? Marco's just going. Aren't you, kid?"

Heero stood, transfixed, staring at somewhere between the stairwell and the floor, as he heard the disgruntled mumbles from Duo's companion, and Duo's own careless laugh. "Not now, Marc baby. Yeah, I know – but first it was Trowa calling, and now it's my boss. I've not got the time tonight. I'll call you. Come on, kid…"

Some rustling clothes – Heero heard a zip being wrenched up. There was a jolt to his elbow, and a young, dark-haired man pushed past him, none too gently. Heero had the brief impression of a scowling, Mediterranean-cast face, and a body that obviously worked out, then Marco was gone, lumbering down the stairs in a rather unattractive sulk.

"Christ, don't you ever knock?" growled Duo's voice, and then he was standing next to Heero, with a wry smile on his face. His cheeks were flushed; his lips plump and moist. "Guess that was useful for me, though – he's a little too clingy for my liking."

"I interrupted you – both. I'm sorry. I thought with Trowa gone, you were free –"

"You met Trowa?" Duo looked at Heero with interest. "Good. I told him some about you – probably best he sees you for real, or I may be blackening your name needlessly, eh?" He laughed, easily enough.

Heero leaned a little away from him. He hated him, suddenly, and had never known such a reaction in himself! How could Duo be so cool after such embarrassment? How could he just abandon the sensual anticipation of that make-out session, and dismiss his lover so swiftly? How could he chat so calmly to Heero about other people entirely – how could he laugh as if nothing had happened there?

Heero wished he could wipe his own embarrassment from his mind – the strange, churning feelings inside his stomach that he was sure were showing on his face. He'd never known such discomfort.

Nor had he ever felt such desire, either - a desire that wracked his gut, demanding that he be where that kid had been, just moments before – wrapped around Duo Maxwell, with Duo's tongue in his mouth, and Duo's hand down the front of his pants!

"Heero – you OK?" Duo looked puzzled. His eyes looked unnaturally bright, but that may just have been the distorting light of the candle. "You wanna sit down or something? What did you want me for? Kinda late for work now, y'know. I'm not drawing tonight – I just had a talk with Trowa, let him know I'm not out of a job yet, and neither have I stolen the Corporation silver –"

"Was that man your lover?" blurted Heero.

Duo pursed his lips. His eyes searched Heero's, but came away dissatisfied. "Kinda blunt, Heero, don't y'think? I know I asked you about Quatre that time – but anyway, Marco, he's – no, he's not my lover. Well, he has been – a coupla times. I dunno – what do you want me to say? Is it any of your damned business anyway?" Heero heard the angry tone flaring up, as it often did – Duo had a sharp, fast-flowing temper. "You my mother or somethin'?"

"I – no, of course not – you're right, I've no right to interrogate you about your sex life –"

Duo still stared at him. Heero's words were apologetic, but his whole body was tense and angry. Duo felt the waves of emotion coming from him, and wondered why he'd never felt anything so passionate before from this man. Heero Yuy had been fucking angry with him, plenty of times; but this felt different. Very different! Duo wondered why he wanted to reach out and touch the fury that he could see trembling along Heero's strong arms. Why he wanted to see how it would feel to absorb it into himself…

"You're pissed, aren't you? What's your problem? Is it 'cos it was a guy? You gotta problem with guys dating – guys making out?"

Heero grimaced. He wanted to move away – to leave. He wanted to know how Duo's arms would feel around his waist. He wanted to touch the soft plumpness of Duo's lips, and make them swell some more. "I never thought about it, Duo."

"Liar," said Duo, rather too loudly considering they were only inches apart. Then he moved away, backing towards the window again, a little unsteadily as if he were no longer as sure of Heero as he had been. "Guess you got your supermodel, and your celebrity magazine love life, and we bohemians are rather disgusting to you, eh?"

"I don't date to suit the press," said Heero, tightly. "You have no idea –"

"Ever fucked a man?" asked Duo, aggressively.

"I wouldn't discuss it with you if I had!" snapped back Heero.

"OK –" hissed Duo. His braid had dropped forward as he argued, and he threw it back over his shoulder. He put out a hand to the side, anchoring it on the edge of the couch. Heero had stepped on into the room, following his path, but still several feet away.

"Better we clear the air about this now, agreed?" Duo's expression had hardened. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Heero's mouth, as if he hung on the very next word.

"Sure – whatever you want," growled Heero. His feet seemed to be moving of their own accord, towards the retreating Duo.

"You wanna fire me now? 'Cos I may be gay – or bisexual?"

"Of course not -!"

Duo stopped backing up – he felt the cold of the window against his back. "But you reckon you can come up here and harass me about my bedroom habits whenever you like?"

"No!" Heero almost shouted the word. "I apologised for that."

"You apologise like I fuck, man – plenty enthusiasm, but fuck all commitment! D'you think I won't see in your face what you really think?"

"So what do you think you see?" Heero despised himself for asking, but the temptation was just too much. He came to an abrupt halt. He was a foot away from Duo now; they were of a similar height, and their angry eyes were locked together. Heero could hear a harsh panting breath that he thought was his own, but it may have been Duo's as well. He couldn't believe this man had gotten him so angry, so quickly -

"Ever wanted to fuck a man?" Duo spoke softly, through gritted teeth. His throat trembled a little, and Heero watched it, fascinated despite himself.

"That's none of your damned business!" replied Heero. He meant it, too. He discussed little of his private life, or his preferences, not even with Quatre.

"But that's what I see in your face, Heero Yuy!" hissed Duo. His eyes sparked with some emotion that Heero couldn't read - and then he smiled. It was a thin, greedy, feral smile, with none of the unambiguous warmth that he often showed.

Heero shivered. His anger leeched away from him like liquid through a sieve. He felt as if he were in one of those dreams where you discover yourself in the middle of the supermarket, stark naked, and your feet are somehow stuck to the floor. He didn't often feel fear – though he wondered if that were a deficiency within himself, rather than something to be proud of.

He felt it now.

Duo saw the shiver. He knew he should have felt pleasure – that he could affect the cool, controlled Heero Yuy; that he could unnerve him. But it didn't feel quite like that. There was something about Heero that was calling to a painful place inside him – a harsh place; an uncontrollable place. He suddenly realised that if he kept this up, he may lose his way back from there.

Duo Maxwell was scared, too.

He realised honestly – perhaps for the first time – just how hot Heero Yuy actually was. He realised how he'd been watching the man, whenever he came round – dammit, he'd probably been watching him from the first day they met in that dismal lawyer's office! He knew the smell of Heero's light, expensive cologne – he knew the tone of his voice within a crowd of people. He knew the way he moved his hands – the way he held his pen. He knew why he hadn't told Heero to stick his job offer where the sun don't shine; and why tonight he'd told Marco to leave, rather than Heero himself.

Duo didn't care about convention – Duo didn't care about sucking up to the boss.

What Duo cared about was that Heero would want him. Because he wanted him in return – badly.

Fuck it, fuck it, groaned Duo to himself.

He couldn't be that wrong, could he? Hadn't he slept around enough to recognise the signs? He reckoned that Heero liked guys. He might not have fucked many (any?), but he liked 'em that way. So… Heero might like him.

Why was Duo so bothered if he did or not? Why had he held back this long, unless he was afraid of rejection? Duo Maxwell wasn't used to sexual rejection; sex was one of the few areas of his life where he habitually had more success than failure.

Heero's breath was hot and furious in the still air, and Duo imagined he could feel the trail of it on his cheek.

"Kiss me, Heero," he said. His voice was hoarse. Heero's eyes widened – Duo watched his reflection in the dark pupils. He felt like his soul had been captured there, a tiny glimmer of life inside a sealed jar; a moth struggling against a sharp, seductive light...

"Kiss me. You want to. And I want you to."

He didn't wait for the look of shock on Heero's face to pass. He took one step forward, away from the wall, placed a hand at Heero's neck, and tugged the angry mouth towards him. His lips sank into the firm, moist warmth of another man's mouth; his tongue probed gently at the tight lips, begging for more; his hand tightened on the smooth, slim neck, as if to stop Heero from pulling back.

Duo felt as if he would devour Heero – he sucked and licked at the firm flesh as if he'd never tasted anything so good! His heart was hammering so loudly it hurt his eardrums; his chest ached from the tension of trying to hold Heero's body close to his, when at any moment it may be wrenched away. His other hand slid around Heero's shoulders, and down his back, caressing the muscles firmly – touching the shape of him, tracing out his warmth, and the flow of his pulse; firm fingers tugging at the flimsy fabric of his shirt.

He was almost enjoying the taste too much to register the sudden relaxation in Heero's body; the way that his head started to move towards Duo, rather than away; the way that his hand lifted from his side and grasped at Duo's waist.

He gasped aloud at the buzz of Heero's fingers on the narrow strip of his naked skin; his hips pressed against the other man's legs. He heard a strangled groan, and knew it was his. He was vividly aware of his cock, hot and heavy, swelling greedily and pressing against the thin fabric of his shorts. He wanted to slip his hands up under Heero's shirt and feel the tight skin – he wanted to put a hand to the dark-haired man's crotch and caress his cock through his pants. He wanted so much, it shocked him – he'd never been aroused so violently, so quickly, in his life!

But at the same time he fought a strange, alien nervousness, holding him back. He didn't know this man well enough – or was it that he didn't know him little enough? He ached to go further – to touch at Heero, to try to tease him to intimacy. And yet he realised how terribly afraid he was that he might find Heero wasn't as aroused as he was…

Why did he care? wailed his inner voices, silently. Why?

Heero wondered when the hell he'd become so passive; it wasn't something he'd ever seen in himself before. When Duo had kissed him, admittedly he'd been shocked, and for that moment he couldn't move – either away, or closer.

Which is it to be? challenged his conscience. Do you want this or not?

He felt the amazing moistness of Duo's mouth on his – the hot tip of his tongue demanding entrance. He could smell the man's light sweat – the shampoo from his hair. Duo's skin burned against his chest, even though they were both clothed. He thought he could feel the hard nub of Duo's nipple pushing out through the thin cotton of the tee shirt, and brushing against him; pressing at his breast as Duo slid a hand around his back – then flicking back and away as Duo's head tilted slightly to get a deeper angle to his kiss.

He let his reactions take over – he let the gorgeous warmth of desire slip through his veins and relax his astonished muscles. He put a hand to Duo's waist – elated to feel the bare living muscle under him. The man felt the same as he talked – loud, lively, and brash! The touch was as good as he'd imagined – as he'd dreamed.

He barely registered how very different this was from his caressing of Remy – of her careless feminine touches in return. The difference was like warm day against cool night – and Remy was the loser.

Duo tasted of coffee and butter and warm saliva. Heero felt the creases of his lips and the soft corners of his mouth; their noses brushed; he felt a slight abrasiveness from evening stubble.

Just a kiss, he thought, disorientated. It's just a kiss – and yet everything is going to be different after it.

He opened his mouth, and let Duo's desperate tongue enter him.

They parted long minutes later, gasping for breath – limbs aching with need and a fearful hunger. Neither of them had any concept of how long they'd been in each other's arms; pressed against each other's body; tasting each other's mouth. Heero stumbled back, as if pushed; Duo leant, bonelessly, against the wall. Their eyes were fevered – their hands trailed in the air, as if they still clutched at each other.

"Shit…" hissed Duo. "That was a fucking kiss and then some -!" For once, Heero envied him his emotive vocabulary. He couldn't find a single word to describe how he felt. He wasn't sure he even knew how he felt! He watched the shallow rise and fall of Duo's scantily covered chest; he saw the high colour of Duo's cheeks, and the wisps of hair on his neck that had escaped from the braid.

"You're some guy, Heero Yuy. Y'know that?" Duo's eyes seemed extremely bright, and unusually wide, and they looked glazed. Heero wondered – to his shame – whether he'd looked like that when he was kissing the boy Marco. Perhaps he always looked like that with his lovers.

"I –" Heero struggled with an overwhelming desire to apologise for something, but of course he'd not initiated anything. He had no idea what to say – what to do. He knew what he wanted to do; and that would have proved Duo's goading so right.

It's a really bad idea to mix business with pleasure, warned his common sense.

I'm already dating; dating a girl, reminded his conscience.

Duo Maxwell has plenty of lovers, hissed his self-esteem. This means nothing more than an entertainment…

Heero knew most of his own relationships had only been that.

"I should go now, I think," he ground out. His mouth felt swollen from a none too gentle use. He reached up a hand to touch at his lips, to feel them - and then thought how callow that might look. He let it fall back to his side. "That's – best."

Duo stared; his tongue slipped out and wet his lips, as if they were suddenly very dry. His eyebrow raised slightly, as if to deny Heero's statement, but then he nodded agreement; and Heero left the apartment.

Heero wondered what the hell he was doing.

He'd been back to the gallery four nights out of seven, now. When he was at work during the day he thought about being there; he left earlier than usual each evening, to travel there. He ate fitfully; he cancelled date after date with both Remy and Quatre. He attended to business, but that was all he concentrated on.

He didn't want to admit that he didn't want to be anywhere else except there.

It was irregular, of course, even for a man like Heero Yuy, whose work and leisure time often overlapped. He wouldn't normally expect an employee to work long into every evening, except at times of crisis. He didn't often ask Malia to stay on – he didn't go round to Tony's apartment to discuss the upcoming exhibition.

But he went to Duo Maxwell's. He might have argued that it was because the man lived in the gallery itself – he might have pointed out that Duo's working habits were irregular in themselves, in that he worked from his own timetable; he wasn't always available to talk to Heero during the day. However, few people questioned Heero Yuy's actions, so he had no need to justify them to anyone except himself. So he sought out Duo at the gallery, and Duo gave him the time.

He would always knock now, on the door at the back of the gallery, and wait for Duo to come down and let him in. Was he afraid to find Duo with another lover? Each time he visited, he still carried the papers, the plans for the second exhibition. That was why he came round, wasn't it?

Each time they met, they sat around Duo's kitchen table, and talked about work, and argued ideas, and mentally circled around each other like predatory beasts before a battle. They would discuss the progress for an hour or so – they were still searching for a definitive theme for the show; a new approach that would both startle and affirm. Heero would pay earnest attention; he took more notes; he gave instruction on whom Duo was to meet, and whom he was to cultivate over the next week or so. He drew up letters to sponsors and contributors; he roughed out budgets and income statements.

Then Duo would groan that he'd had enough of fucking work during the day – that he'd had to listen to whining suppliers, and manufacturers begging for advertising franchises, and artists trying to wheedle inclusion of their work, when they shouldn't be allowed to illustrate anything more than a fucking milk carton –

Then there'd be a moment of silence; of some awkwardness.

Heero knew they were both thinking of the kiss. Or rather, he knew he was; and he hoped that the bright light in Duo's eyes at these times meant that he was too. The memory both warmed and tormented him; like the fire that had been lit inside him, so very, very recently.

Then Duo would offer Heero a drink, and lope into the studio room. He'd fold his legs up underneath him on the couch, and reach for his sketchpad. His concentration would pass entirely to the paper, it seemed, and the initially tentative strokes of soft pencil.

Heero would wander in after him, pull up the solitary chair, and sit and watch. He held papers and spreadsheets in his hands, but they didn't hold much interest for him. He had reserves of patience that stood him in good stead, because it might be a while before Duo would speak – before he'd acknowledge that Heero was still there. Then Heero would ask to see the work, and maybe make a comment as to how it appeared to him.

The sketches were bare, but extremely emotive. Heero didn't profess to be an expert, but he knew style and talent when he saw it. Duo never told him what they were of, or gave them titles; Heero never saw if Duo worked further on them after the initial composition, nor if he finished them. He rarely saw any specific figures or objects, though he often glimpsed the shape of a hand, or the twist of fingers, as a recurring theme; but he felt most vividly the raw passion behind the contrasting strokes. There were thick, bold movements – then the many, subtle shadings around and within, that led the eye a dance, or shocked and tricked the perspective of the viewer. Heero was amazed at what Duo could create and evoke in such a way with a mere pencil; he looked on such a mundane thing with a new respect.

He didn't know why he was so fascinated by watching Duo draw. He liked the sketches, that was genuine – but he liked even more to see the artist at work. The small furrow of concentration on Duo's brow – the flicker of conflicting emotions in his eyes as he thought through what he was trying to communicate. The flexing of his shoulders as he hunched over the pad – the quick, sure movements of his wrist as he shaded and stroked with his pencil.

Duo would seem to tolerate Heero's presence – sometimes he left enough space on the couch for Heero to join him; but Heero never did. So Duo would stretch out, and grunt occasionally, and barely notice Heero's company. Or so Heero would think, until the times that Duo suddenly became dissatisfied, or angry. He'd curse uninhibitedly, and the offending page would be ripped out ,and crumpled mercilessly to the floor. Then Duo would seem to notice Heero afresh. Irrationally, he'd be angry at the intrusion, there'd be harsh words spoken, and Heero would leave.

It's only been a short time that we've known each other, thought Heero, letting himself out of the gallery into the dark, after another of these nights. It's not like we have any routine. It's not like we're any kind of partnership – barely any kind of friends.

He rationalised it in many ways; for many hours. The fact remained that the atmosphere in the studio was both a comfort and a treat to him. He felt as if another part of him was taken out at that time, examined and unveiled and caressed. He couldn't explain what was happening to him.

His only satisfaction was that for most of the time, Duo seemed to feel the pleasure too.

It was a completely intangible feeling, though.

Duo rarely touched him, even when they muddled around together within the small apartment. He occasionally brushed against him; sometimes put out a hand to emphasise something he disagreed with; sometimes pushed Heero's hand away from a drawing.

But Duo had never kissed him again.

It was past ten o'clock when the knocking came. Duo stretched himself, yawning – he realised he'd been asleep on the couch. There were no lights on, and the candle had burned down to its last inch in the saucer, giving only a dim light around the room. He preferred the candlelight in the evenings to the artificial light – he liked the glimmer and glare from the town to seep in through the window unhindered.

The sketchpad had slipped from his lap on to the floor. The page was blank – there'd been no inspiration tonight. In a sleepy bad temper, he kicked it aside. He cursed himself and his vanity - didn't know why the fuck he'd ever thought he might start creating again! What or who had ever possessed him? It just confused him - frustrated him -!

He sighed heavily. His neck was stiff from the awkward position he'd been half-lying in, and his braid was awkwardly tangled against his neck. Then he heard the knock downstairs again, and realised what had woken him. He sat up and winced. "Come up – it's open!" If it were a burglar, the guy'd soon realise his mistake; if it were Trowa, he'd be welcome enough. If it were anyone else, he'd just take his chances –

He knew it was Heero even before the man appeared at the open doorway. He could sense him – maybe the firm footfall; maybe the waft of cologne. Maybe the increased beat of his own heart…

"Dammit, man, what time is it? Were we meant to be meeting tonight? Hell, I need my sleep, y'know, I've had a shit of a day, with Malia dragging me half across town to meet some agent, and then he wasn't there, and the pictures he had were too fuckin' gross for us –" He realised Heero wasn't listening. The dark-haired man just stood there, looking a little bemused.

Duo was sulkily angry with both Heero and himself. "Go home, Heero! I'm knackered – I daresay you are too. Ain't gonna be much sense coming from us tonight. Fuck off back to your cosy apartment and your cosier lady, and leave me to fester here. OK?"

Heero totally ignored him. His voice was low when he spoke. "There's been a fire at my house."

Duo was startled. "The apartment -?"

"No, my house out of town. They think someone was after the collection, because they'd tried to break into the security door. Then there'd been a fire in the office – it was started deliberately, the firemen think."

"You – you're OK?"

Heero stared at Duo as if he saw him for the first time. "I wasn't there – I rarely visit except at weekends. There's a sophisticated alarm system that alerted the fire department, and luckily they moved fast enough to prevent any real damage to the house. I don't have sprinklers, because of potential damage to the paintings. Dammit, Remy keeps ringing about an offer I made weeks ago, to show her around the collection; it was meant to be this week. Thank God we weren't there tonight." He moved towards the couch, then hesitated. For God's sake! growled Duo to himself. Invite yourself in, why don't ya? But he pushed some crumpled paper out of the way, and waved Heero over to sit beside him.

He wasn't sure what he was meant to do. Heero was in casual clothes again – he only had a thin sweater on over his pants, as if he'd been relaxing for the evening when all this happened; and then he'd just left his apartment as he was, and came here. He looked damned confused – and damned cute, though Duo fought down that particular feeling. So why the hell had he come round? He'd have assistants – he'd have contractors – he'd have friends, Goddamit, to sort all this out! What was Heero expecting of him?

"It's the fire, I think, that's so surprising," said Heero, suddenly. He sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, a stark contrast to Duo who was folded up casually on the other cushion, barefoot as usual. "Why? If it were just a burglary, I could understand that. Dammit, I've had three break-ins in the last year alone. But there's no need to set fire to anything – no need to damage anything. That's just malicious – dangerous…"

Duo felt the tremor through his body. It always happened, when the topic was mentioned. He thought he'd probably grow out of it – one day. "Fire… yeah. I know all about that."

Heero lifted his eyes, and Duo was surprised to see the stark distress there. "I'm sorry – I should have realised the subject might be distressing to you."

"'S your house – 's your fire," quipped Duo, shrugging. His voice sounded a little cracked in the still night air of his stark room.

"Tell me about it, Duo."

"Why? You obviously know the stories. Don't tell me your team didn't fill you in on all the lurid background to your new employee."

"I want to hear you tell me. If it's not too upsetting."

I don't do 'upset', thought Duo, fiercely. I did all that a year ago, and I've moved on, haven't I? I'm mature now; I'm balanced; I'm leading my own life without him.

So why am I still in pain? he screamed to himself.

He shifted on the couch, tucking his legs deeper underneath his body. He was wearing another of his amazingly skimpy vests, in a vivid orange fabric, and thin jersey sweats. He wasn't cold, but he folded his arms around his chest as if to protect himself. "There was a fire – he died. Solo, my brother – died. That's the gist of it really – you want a movie out of it?" He glared at Heero, but all he met were those deep, dark, still eyes that made him blurt truths out almost against his will.

Duo sighed as if he were bored with the whole thing – but that was patently false, and both of them knew it. "He was all I had – just the two of us, since our parents died; since I was a young kid. He was a painter – and I wanted to be one." Heero's silence was strangely encouraging, and he continued, slowly. "They said someone was with him the night he died. He'd been seen arriving back home with someone. He'd been at the opening of the gallery up town – they were showing the first four sketches that he'd just finished –"

"The 'Family' sketches," said Heero, quietly.

"Yeah. Guess you know all about that, too. He liked to party, Solo – he would've been out to celebrate. Christ knows who he brought home, could've been any bit of pretty ass he took a fancy to –"

"He had a lover -?"

"Sure, sure," said Duo. "But you know him, Heero – it was Trowa Barton. He'd been seeing Trowa for about a year, more on than off – but not so regular that he wanted him to move in with him. Not so caring that he wanted to acknowledge him in public. Fucked him about, of course, like he did everyone. Trowa was there for home comforts – but then my bro looked for more public amusements elsewhere. We were all there to gravitate around the sun that was Solo Maxwell…"

Heero noted the bitterness in Duo's tone; accepted the information about Trowa Barton, though he'd not known the connection before. He saw Duo's hands clenching at his arms; squeezing the muscles there.

"I knew he was seeing someone else. Probably more 'n one. Though the minute they caused him any hassle, he'd dump 'em. That was always his strategy. Fun, fuck 'n flee – that's what I called it! Trowa was the only one he ever really cared about." Duo's expression softened as he spoke of his friend. "He's my friend as well, you know."

"I know," replied Heero. Duo felt an alien shiver of emotion at Heero's obvious sincerity; it felt like comfort.

"Then somehow the fire started – they think some cleaner spilt, and then a lighter caught it, and it spread fucking quickly. The fire service didn't get there in time in Solo's case. Whole place burned to the ground. Him along with it – they think he may have been asleep; was overcome by the fumes. They never found evidence of anyone else, so whoever was with him had gone by then. They spent a lotta time reassuring me that he probably never felt a thing. The damned therapists liked to tell me the same thing, ad nauseam…"

"Did Solo smoke?" asked Heero.

Duo wondered what that was about. But he answered, regardless. "Nah. Hated it. Hated the smell of tobacco – the smoke. Ruined his pictures, he said. Wouldn't even touch a little weed now 'n then."

"And afterwards? The sketches?"

Duo's head went back against the soft cushions, and his eyes closed briefly. "This guy came up after he died – someone from Hong Kong or somewhere. Said Solo had sold the four to him – had a paper to prove it. I wasn't at my best, y'know…there were hardly any unsold pictures left – a fucking mammoth mess o' debt. I hate paperwork like that – I was a bit of a mess myself for a while."

"So you accepted the sale."

"Of course!" snarled Duo. "I needed money for the debts and the funeral 'n all. And for Trowa – though he's just that bit better with his money than I am, so he hadn't needed the Great Artist to support him like I had."

"You said the first four sketches. People say there were going to be six. You're entitled to the others…they'd be yours, surely."

"If they existed!" said Duo, sharply. "No sign of 'em. Probably a pile of ashes like Solo himself. Don't push me on that one, Heero, it was bad enough at the time with all the press coverage, and the whining artists and critics, and that guy in Hong Kong accusing me of hiding 'em someplace, musta been up my ass –!"

Heero lifted a hand slightly, as if in appeasement. They were silent for a moment. Duo wondered if this was what was meant by catharsis – he felt a strange, calm void inside him, having told the story again after so long. Telling it to someone other than Trowa; telling it to Heero Yuy, and more or less the whole of it. Less fucking expensive than therapists, he thought, cynically.

"What did you do, Duo? After he died? You had a career of your own…"

Duo shrugged. No-one had really been interested in him, except as brother to the prodigious talent so tragically ended. Everyone forgot Solo's less attractive character traits. His own paintings had sold while they were good and fashionable – then his grief got in the way, he couldn't turn out the goods, and fashion discarded him like soiled litter in the gutter.

"It was hardly fair to you, Duo…"

"Fair? What's life got that's fair?" he snarled back. "Fair that Solo burned to death? Fair that some days I loved him, other days I hated his guts? He despised my work, Heero, y'know? OK, he praised me like a guy would pat the head of his pet – I was a novelty. But he laughed at the style – at the colours. Said I was hiding from something – blazing my way out there with shock and splash, so's I'd never have to stand back and let people really judge what talent I had.

"And I guess he was right! Take away my paints, and I've got nothing to show any more. Made a fucking disaster of life, the pair of us. At least his was cut short – some would say it was a relief, before he gambled and whored it all away." He hoped to God the stinging in his eyes was something to do with his tiredness, and not the start of tears. That was another thing he'd left in the past!

"Why do you hate him like this?" asked Heero, as if from a long way away.

"I dunno." Duo's answer came instinctively and honestly. "I'm afraid to remember him – but I'm afraid when I forget about him, even for a few hours. It's a fucking mess, I told you…" He didn't really recognise where his last words came from. They sounded very pathetic. "There's nothing left of him. I have nothing left except all this shit in my head."

It was a sudden surprise when Heero stirred on the couch beside him. He'd leant down, and picked up Duo's fallen pad.

"Draw him, then. Make your own memorial. You draw with great perception and passion – I'm not sure why you chose paint as your medium at all, though your paintings are excellent, too. You must keep this up –"

They were both shocked when Duo leaned over and slapped the pad from his hands.

"Fuck off with the pity, Heero Yuy! I know what I am, I don't need you and your amateur psychology to tell me –!"

Heero's anger flared in return. "You're an arrogant fool, Maxwell! You have a gift! Christ, I wish I had something like that, something singular and precious like that! Look how you've just started this up afresh, and you can't say you're not excited by it -"

Duo stared at him – his eyes were suspiciously bright. "Fucking right, I'm not! I'm worn out with the whole fucking game, the painting, and the artists, and the damned hypocrisy and the money, money, money –"

"It's not all about money –"

Duo flushed. "Yeah – like they said they loved his work, and they loved him, and then they fell on his estate like carrion!"

"The creation, Duo!" Heero persisted. "The conception! The satisfaction, surely…you do it for that, don't you?"

Duo's passion bemused him; it fascinated him! He didn't understand it, but it echoed inside him, leaving a burning, throbbing trail along his nerves. He felt a tremendous rush of emotion – he thought it might spill out of his mouth unless he spoke quickly, to channel it. It was so unlike his normally inhibited character that he didn't know how to cope with it; this night was turning into one of the most amazing of his life. "Dammit, I watch you, Duo! You're absorbed into it – into the whole process. Your thoughts – your emotions. It's where you want to be – making your art. Isn't it?"

Duo stared at him; suspicion mixed with amazement. "I dunno. I just – draw. I just sorta sit here and – draw."

"You never thought about it before? Why you are as you are? Why you do what you do?"

"No. I never had an audience before, Heero. Never had anyone interested in knowin'." Duo felt himself flushing. "Certainly didn't seek too closely myself."

They stared at each other. Their thoughts were very plain in their expressions – but maybe some of the words weren't yet ready.

"Why did you come round tonight, Heero?" asked Duo, softly. He looked back down at his lap, and his eyes were hidden. His hand stroked at his thigh – plucking at the thin material. "Why do you come round at all?"

Heero was silent for a moment. Duo heard him take a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was steady and low – Duo felt it thrill through his own body in an almost unwilling response.

"Why do you let me, Duo?"

Duo's eyes lifted up again, and met Heero's. He saw the brilliant indigo of Heero's dark irises – he identified as many shades as he could until his mind was no longer objective, and his judgement was no longer under his control.

Heero saw the flicker of the dying candle flame in the two wide mirrors that were Duo's eyes. He was remembering the shocking firmness of Duo's mouth – the hot thickness of the strong, masculine tongue, probing into his own mouth, seeking out the corners, and drinking the tastes. He felt again the tight muscles of Duo's waist, flexing under Heero's grip. And he really didn't want to, but he also remembered the sight of Duo's bare legs wriggling between those of his occasional lover, the Latin boy – Heero's control threatened to desert him at the thought of Duo's hips rubbing up against another man's groin; the thought of his hand slipping into tight jeans to fondle another man's cock…

Duo's voice broke into his reverie; it was also low and rather soft. "Sooo…that brings us to a rather interesting place, doesn't it, Heero Yuy? But then I said before that we oughtta clear the air…"

"Yes," replied Heero. The word squeezed itself out from a tight throat. "You did. That works best for us, I think. I dislike deception –"

"And I dislike crap!" said Duo, his voice much firmer now. Heero tried to ignore the fact that Duo was shifting on the couch again – that he was unfolding his long legs, and straightening his back. That he was moving nearer to where Heero still sat on the edge of the cushion.

"We may be an odd couple, Heero, but something works, doesn't it? Something's pushin' all the right buttons, and I for one ain't gonna ignore it any more. Never been known for my shy and retirin' style, of course… and you're so fucking hot, you know that?"

Heero was stricken silent. He could smell Duo's warm scent; he could feel his breath on his arm, and the hairs rose in alarm. He could hear their breathing; two individual rhythms, but both fast now, and rather shallow. When he replied, his voice sounded quite alien.

"That's nonsense – and from your own mouth, Duo –"

"And so is this," murmured Duo, and he leant forward.

All Duo wanted to do was touch that mouth again – that firm, so often disapproving mouth – and plunder inside for a few more blissfully greedy moments. To see the pale thinness of Heero's lips blossom into a hard-kissed pink; to feel the controlled body underneath him slide into a reluctant enjoyment; to watch the rosy flush spread over the dark, smooth skin of his neck – and know that it had been because of him, Duo Maxwell.

He wanted to taste Heero Yuy, and pretend for a few seconds that he was his! He'd dreamt about their last kiss – dammit, it'd been a hell of a lot more than that! He'd re-lived it on a daily basis, struggling always to keep up the carelessness and insouciance when Heero was with him. The touch had been initiated by his own devilment – by his own provocative nature. He knew that. But the result had far exceeded his expectations – the impact had lingered with him in a sensual way that he'd never experienced with other lovers. It had blown him away – it had teased at emotions that he'd kept hidden for a long time; and most especially during his sexual encounters.

He'd nursed that memory of skin and tongue and breath – and he'd railed at it, too! He didn't need that kinda shit haunting him, did he? He fucked and fled – more like Solo every day, he berated himself. But there were many things to enjoy in life, and you didn't want them to distract beyond the momentary pleasure of pumping your load into a warm and willing body. If he questioned why his attraction to Heero was different, he ignored any unwelcome answer.

Now his lips met softness, and a moistness that he'd not expected – as if Heero had licked his lips just before they met Duo's. As if he were prepared for it; wanting it as much.

Duo sighed into Heero's mouth; that first taste was as gorgeous as he'd remembered! Like Heero was pliant under him; like Heero was challenging him; like a whole mess of conflicting thoughts and emotions! Then Heero's hand came snaking around his neck, pulling him closer, and his surprise left him more submissive under the possessive touch than he'd ever planned to be.

How long had they been touching like this? Heero wondered, full of hazy astonishment. The pair of them were laid out on the couch, and he felt Duo's lips at his neck, suckling softly. He couldn't believe how excited he felt – how loudly his heart hammered; how rasping his breaths were! He felt disorientated; there was a rushing noise in his ears. Every nerve he possessed appeared to be strained to the limit, waiting; anticipating. Duo's hands were all over him – they stroked at his chest, plucked at his clothing; they peeled his sweater up and over his shoulders.

Duo paused at his first sight of Heero's naked chest, and sucked in an appreciative breath; wide, tightly muscled shoulders, well-defined arms. A generous trail of dark hairs running from between the small, chocolate-brown nubs of his nipples, and down to a strong, lean abdomen. Duo's eyes ran greedily over the taut skin, drinking in the sensual stimulation, and from there to Heero's lap.

Then he smiled, with simple pleasure.

Heero knew how obvious he must look – under the restrictive linen fabric of his pants, his cock was rock hard, and straining to be freed! He knew he was more aroused by Duo Maxwell than he'd ever thought he could be. Thoughts of his past lovers whirled past, mocking him; he thought about his lukewarm response to Remy's fondling; he thought about the brief escapades he'd had when he'd been out with Quatre, a frenetic diary of parties and clubs and appointments with gorgeous young bodies of all shapes, sizes and genders – if he'd wanted them.

Quatre usually did; Quatre loved the attention and the transitory thrill. Heero had never been involved to that extent, although he'd enjoyed the illicit excitement, and the glamour. In the midst of his rather sterile life, it had made him feel alive in a way nothing else did.

Until now, perhaps!

He wished he knew what Duo expected – what Duo wanted! He didn't know if it'd be the same as his own desires. He knew less than zero about this whole damn thing! he realised, and it made him suddenly angry in amongst his thundering need.

Duo was sitting up now, and was lifting his own shirt over his head – for a moment his hand strayed down to his waistband, as if he wanted to shed the pants as well. Heero stared up at the smooth tanned skin that he'd admired before – that he'd wanted to touch. It was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, which glittered in the dying candlelight. Heero didn't know whether Duo was too hot, or too nervous, or what. The shadows from the fading light glanced off the planes of Duo's chest, and danced across his well-muscled torso. He had only a sprinkling of pale brown hair on his chest and belly – his fingers teased at a curl of it that peeped out from the top of his sweats.

The semi-nudity was incredibly erotic. The desire to touch grew inside Heero like a hungry parasite – he felt it would overwhelm him.

Meanwhile, Duo continued to stare at Heero's imprisoned erection. "This is where I ask you if you want some help with that –" he joked. His voice cracked a little on the words.

"That's a little corny, isn't it?" gasped Heero. He felt the uncertainty of embarrassment threatening. He felt Duo's eyes burning into his groin – the thread of memory of their kiss still on his lips. The cushions of the couch were so soft underneath him that he thought he might sink in, and never re-emerge.

"Guess so," sighed Duo in reply. His hand still ghosted around his pants; he hooked a thumb in over the elastic band. "How's about I just tell you how much I want to go down on you? How much I want to suck your cock, and feel it throbbing and swelling in between my lips? How much I want to have you fucking my mouth with it, and feel the taste of your cum on my tongue –"

Heero had heard plenty of dirty talk in his life – and he was no easy man to shock. But the moan that was wrenched from him was animalistic and instinctive.

Duo's eyes flashed with triumph as he heard it. He slid off the couch altogether, and dropped to his knees beside Heero's hips. His hands were smooth, and quick at the zip of Heero's pants – the expensive fabric was dragged open, and the waistband of the silk boxers underneath was tugged down. Heero's aching cock was pulled a little impatiently from its clothing; it was held by live flesh – it was circled briefly by eager fingers.

Heero felt the soft chill of fresh air against his shaft – he felt his cock springing heavily and eagerly from his groin, desperately seeking attention. He gasped at the touch of fingertips at his balls, cupping them possessively; his hips bucked hungrily, as the invading hand slid softly over the tip of the crown, spreading a thin trail of pre-cum in its wake. And then the fingers had gone, and there was something else warm and slightly rough at his arousal, teasing into his slit and supping at the leaking drops. Duo's tongue; Duo's mouth, caressing him. It was gorgeously warm, and his tongue slipped casually around the rim where Heero's cock narrowed, straining to reach the touch – to beg for it.

"'S very good…" murmured Duo. "Damned tasty, y'know…?" But the words were muffled now as he began gradually to draw more of Heero's cock into the cavern of his mouth – and to suck.

Heero thought his skin would burst – he didn't know it was possible to be so swollen with desire! His cock felt scorching hot, and his blood raced around his body like a wailing banshee. His sight was blurred, and his groin ached all over; his arms gripped so hard at the cushions underneath him that he thought the fabric would tear. He could feel the edge of his pants zip scratching at his thighs; the linen was bunched uncomfortably around the top of his legs – he just ignored all of it. He arched his hips up, to thrust into Duo's mouth – but the other man's hands came down sharply against his naked torso, pressing his hips fiercely back into the couch.

Duo's mouth was the one doing the thrusting.

"Soon, Heero…" he warned, tongue wrapped around the shaft, suckling almost mischievously up and down the raised and throbbing vein. He sucked with enthusiasm and obvious pleasure. A thin trail of saliva dribbled down his chin. If Heero had been able to focus at all, he would have seen a vivid light in Duo's eyes – the sparkle of pure, lustful delight. Duo's head slid slowly up and down, nuzzling closer and closer up to Heero's dark pubic hairs – his licking was loud and greedy. Heero shuddered, and Duo laughed at this evidence of a swiftly vanishing control; it was a low, humming laugh, reverberating around the painfully sensitive flesh of Heero's cock. "Guess – might be – very soon -!"

Heero groaned loudly – shivers of anticipation rippled across the exposed flesh of his chest. He'd never had a blowjob like it – he couldn't imagine why he'd ever thought one had satisfied him before! Then his body wrenched up uncontrollably, and his hips slammed into Duo's chin. He came – gloriously, fiercely, intensely! It all burst out of him, in an amazing, fulsome jet that must have filled Duo's mouth. In the brief second of clarity before the climax spun his reason right out of his head, Heero thought that he should have checked whether Duo would swallow, or whether he should have withdrawn. Then it was too late – he had no control over the seed that was pumping out of him into the braided head, buried in his groin. Nor could he stop his strong hands embedding themselves into that head, tangling themselves in the thick, soft hair, and forcing himself even deeper into the luscious mouth.

He swallowed a sob – he thought he might never experience anything that sweetly sharp again! His head swam, and he fell back into the soft sanctuary of the cushions again.

Heero thought he must have drifted into some kind of faint; his mind was only now registering reality again – a reality that found him forced up against the back of Duo's couch, naked to the waist, with his legs spread as wide as he could reach, and stretching the material of his pants. The clothing felt sweat-soaked; it wrinkled clammily around his thighs. His groin still throbbed with remembered ecstasy, and he felt the sticky trail of saliva and cum in the hairs of his groin – he felt the pressure scars of fingertips against the thin skin of his hips. His pants still lay flapped open at the fly, his shrivelling cock exposed. It nestled damply against the crumpled material of his boxers, cocooned against his leg. It looked as exhausted as he felt.

He struggled to sit up a little. There was barely any light from the candle now, though reflections from the city buildings outside arced through the wide studio window, and lit patches of the floor and table.

Duo was knelt up on the floor in front of him now, only inches away, and staring at him. His eyes were wild with some kind of shocked delight. As if he were waiting for Heero to gather his senses together, and pay attention to him. My turn, perhaps he was saying. My turn now, Heero!

His voice was chocolate-thick in the pregnant air. "Fuckin' tasty!" he purred. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Heero!" His tongue slid out to lick gently at his lower lip; perhaps there was a thread of cum still lingering there. If there was, he was savouring it. Heero had a fleeting memory of Remy in a similar position, but elegantly spitting out a stray drop of cum that had reached her lips when she hadn't pulled away soon enough; he saw long-nailed fingers reaching rather distastefully for a tissue.

This was so different that it rocked his world!

Then as he watched, fascinated and stunned, Duo grinned and pulled his sweats down to his knees, wriggling them down, and off his ankles. He knelt there, stark naked – and he seemed to have no inhibitions about it at all. But, of course, I should have known he wouldn't, thought Heero, without surprise. Not a man like him! He'll revel in it – be proud of it. He was consumed with jealousy for that self-confidence – and then consumed with an equally powerful lust, watching Duo wriggle and stretch his nude body; watching the braid swing and bat against his hips. Duo's body was gorgeous – it was young and fit, and used to allowing itself pleasure and attention; it was full of strong, masculine, sensual confidence. And it was being displayed for Heero to see – and to touch, if he wanted; he knew that. He could see the tattoo on Duo's hip now – a small palette-shaped picture with a slim paintbrush threaded through it. It was impossibly erotic, just inches away from Duo's naked groin. Heero's breath felt awkwardly tight in his chest; he'd not thought he was capable of so many – and such strong – emotions as he was feeling tonight!

Duo was watching Heero's expressions, in return – he'd tilted his head slightly sidewards, to peer round into the dark-haired man's flushed face. Pleased with what he saw, he folded his hand tightly around his cock, and he started to stroke himself. Steady and slow. He sucked in a breath. "Can't wait all night for you, y'know…gotta see to this before I disgrace myself up against your leg like a dog in heat…"

"Don't – " gasped Heero. "I want – to touch you –"

"You don't have to –" sighed Duo, but his whole body leant a little towards Heero, in yearning anticipation. Heero wriggled round - embarrassed by the awkwardness of his half-undone pants, surprised by the aching of his stretched muscles – until he was lying on the couch again, but his head was at Duo's groin. He reached out a hand, and slid it behind Duo's ass, tugging his lower body in closer. The skin was warm and smooth – he could feel the clenched muscles of Duo's buttocks against his palm. Duo's cock was rearing out from his body, thick and blood red with his need. Heero smelled the musky scent of him – the smell of sweat and soap and leaking cum. It was a heady brew.

He stretched his head forward, opened lips that were suddenly dry with his own anticipation, and his tongue darted out to lick at Duo's shaft. He bridged the gap between them with his mouth – he lapped at the stiff column, feeling the shifting skin against his tongue, and tasting the distant hint of fabric and fingers that had both been wrapped around it. He twisted a little into a better position, and his strokes became longer and stronger.

Duo whimpered. "Fuck, Heero, but you know what to do with that tongue…! Harder, man – no, not so hard – dammit! – I can't! – I won't last -" Duo flung his right hand out to grab at the arm of the couch, to anchor himself somehow. His knees shook underneath him, barely holding him still; his torso bent forwards over Heero's supine body, and his head dropped down. The pulse in his forehead was throbbing – his heartbeat was racing faster and faster. He watched Heero's arm laid across his hip, holding him tight; he watched Heero's dark head bobbing at his groin; he watched Heero's tongue rasp gently up and down his cock, teasing the skin up, and the pre-cum down, then repeating the torture again and again.

Then Heero's head lifted slightly, and the dark eyes looked up from under his tousled hair. He met Duo's gaze; his eyes sparked ocean blueness with the black of rock – his top lip was swollen, and a startling red against his face. Below that lip, his tongue laved at Duo's straining cock, strong and hungry, and caressing him like a succulent dish.

Duo had never seen anything so erotic in his life – he knew in that very second that he was completely undone. He felt things inside him unravelling, the threads racing away throughout the veins and nerves of his body, so quickly that he stood no chance at all of retaining any control. He shouted aloud with agonised surrender; the rush of his climax hurtled down through every conduit of his body and into his cock. Even as Heero's mouth slid away from the jerking shaft, the cum burst out of him, a thick, glutinous stream that spilled out in an arc and spattered all over Heero's mouth and chin, and dribbled on down his neck.

Duo shivered – he shook all over. He felt as if he teetered on the edge of a cliff! He thought he may have grabbed out at Heero, but the soft folds inside his clenched fist were probably the couch cloth, rather than Heero's skin. He thought that if he let go, he may fall over this virtual cliff, and his body would be smashed to bones and blood at the bottom of an equally virtual ravine. The waves of his climax kept swamping him, buffeting him – his body kept shuddering. His stomach felt like he was already falling, and he was suddenly very terrified that he'd be sick.

And then the madness was passing, and he could hear his breathing again, and it was harsh and loud.

He relaxed his hand, the fingers painfully tight against his palm, and he focussed back down on Heero. The man was fucking gorgeous! and he was damn near grinning back at him! His skin was that deeply flushed rosy colour that Duo had only seen so far under the open collar of his shirt – his hair was messy, and there were tufts of it stuck sweatily over his forehead. The depths of his eyes seemed to be swirling more like a whirlpool than the steady ocean of before. He lay back on the couch, naked to the waist, staring at Duo's reactions with a satisfied pleasure, and nursing the rather obvious signs of a returning erection; his hand lay on his thigh, the dark skin contrasting with the light material of his deeply creased pants. His finger teased at his twitching cock. His thick, rich, tasty cock! Duo's tastebuds whimpered in memory of it.

Duo also saw the glimmering trails of his cum over the firm line of Heero's jaw – and plenty more over the soft pulse of his throat. He felt suddenly uneasy. What was the guy gonna say to that?

Heero didn't say anything. He moved his jaw gently, as if he were testing its mobility. Then he lifted his other hand, dipped a finger into the pool of seed under his chin, and brought it to his mouth. Duo watched, fascinated, as he pressed the finger into his pursed lips; as the tip of his tongue licked at the residue, and sucked it inside. Duo shivered with delight.

"It's a pearl necklace, y'know, Heero," he murmured. His voice sounded shaky to his own ears; his smile was excited, but still cautious. "That's what they call it. Can't say I don't give you gifts, eh?"

"Sticky…" murmured Heero in reply.

"Uh-huh," grinned Duo. His whole body felt hot again; the pulse was thrumming through him. "So you want me to apologise for my poor aim –?" He caught sight of Heero's expression, and his voice tailed off.

"No apologies," hissed Heero, the sound clear and fierce. He was watching for the flash of eager response in Duo's wide irises. "Just clean it off, instead.

"Lick me clean, Duo…!"

Heero woke from his doze, and groaned a little, stretching a leg out that had cramped. Duo lay heavily against his chest. The pair of them were tangled together on the couch, Duo still completely naked, and Heero with only one leg of his boxers hanging from his ankle. Duo's cleaning task had been hot, and impossibly exciting, and he'd been erect again, faster than either of them could quite believe. Then Duo had laughed, and reached for him, to squeeze and stroke and pump lasciviously … Dammit, he'd barely had enough time to kick off his pants, and free his legs!

He wondered how long they'd lain there. The couch was deep and comfortable, but not made for two grown men to sleep on. Though he felt deliciously exhausted – his skin still tingled. He couldn't recall the last time he'd come more than once in a whole night – and he'd only been here a matter of hours! He shifted, experimentally. His skin felt tight in places, from dried fluids, and the enthusiastic lapping of Duo's tongue – there were a couple of sticky places in his hair that would need a good washing out.

Then Duo stirred as well, and yawned loudly. "Fuckin' bad place to sleep, man. Not going yet, are you -?"

"I've got to," replied Heero, with a strange softness to his tone that he didn't really recognise.

"Huh?"

"The fire chief's round in the morning. I've got to find the insurance documents. There's a mass of clearing up to do…" Hell, he thought, there were all sorts of reasons, and none of them sounded particularly persuasive at this very minute.

"OK…" sighed Duo. He groaned slightly, and unfolded his arm from under his body. "Got ya. Gonna pop out some of these twisted joints and find my bed –"

Heero rolled awkwardly from the couch, and groped around for his clothes. As he pulled them on, they felt damp and rough against his skin – like they no longer fit. When he was dressed again, and surreptitiously tugging at a sticky tangle at the back of his head, he heard Duo sigh loudly.

He turned to gaze at the other man, and the wide eyes stared back, deep with an unfathomable expression. Duo's face was still soft with sleepiness; their kissing had made his lips look softened and plump. Heero's nerves thrilled at the memory of them, on both his mouth and cock. Duo's long, lean limbs were stretched out against the soft cushions; his hips were twisted a little, and one leg was slightly raised so that it covered his groin almost coyly. Was he waiting to say something? thought Heero. He wanted to speak, himself – but what he wanted to say was too bold, and he couldn't think of what else might be appropriate.

Then Duo grinned, and the animation rushed back to his face and body – it was as if his very skin sprang awake.

"Sleep well, Heero! Let's leave it at that, OK?"

"OK – " Heero felt his throat tightening again. He watched the muscles of Duo's arms as he stretched them up above his head – he saw the glistening sweat in his armpit. Duo caught his gaze and held it.

"Heero, you were amazing…" Duo's voice was almost a whisper. His lids dropped briefly, covering the full impact of his stare. "Sooo… you wanna come round tomorrow night?"

I wanna, thought Heero. More than anything I can think of at the moment… "Yes," he said, slowly. "That'd be good."

"Real good!" replied Duo, his laugh getting caught up in another yawn. "So get lost, will ya? I need more beauty sleep than you, y'know?"

"There's only three weeks to go until the show," said Tony, tentatively. "And he won't let us see the final plans for the gallery. Mr Yuy will be furious!"

Malia tsked. "Don't worry, Tony – it'll be fine." She sat at her desk, and stretched out a foot, twirling the sandal on her toes. She felt strangely relaxed nowadays. Though bloody exhausted with all of the running around that Duo Maxwell demanded, and smoothing down all the feathers he ruffled in his wake! But the guys in the business were getting to know him and his ways – they were coming forward now, wanting to be involved. There were journals calling her daily – there were proposals arriving in large white envelopes on her desk with alarming regularity. There were even offers of sponsorship money. It was a while since she'd been so excited by a promotional project!

Personally, she felt quite enervated. She'd not needed her little pink pills for weeks now – she ate better; she slept better. She found she could think more clearly, could plan campaigns more effectively. She actually looked forward to each day at the Corporation! More than that, she was starting to realise what a cute boy that Tony actually was, even if he'd been rather a klutz in bed at first…

"It won't be fine," groaned Tony. "There are pictures arriving this afternoon for framing and hanging, both from Duo and from Mr Yuy – and I don't know which ones are meant to be taken forward and which sent back –"

"You'll find out, Tony. He'll tell you when he's ready. Didn't he pull it off last time at the last minute?"

Tony stared at her, curiously. "You're quite a fan now, aren't you, Malia? Of Maxwell?"

She shrugged carelessly, but the childlike enthusiasm in her eyes betrayed her. "Yeah, so I thought he was a spoiled kid – a dangerous distraction. What else was I to think, heh? But you know what it's been like, since the very first day he started – wham, bam, watch the man! It seems he knows his stuff. He knows what works – he knows what looks good. He bounces off people, and rides roughshod over them – and then I can see the charm leaking out from underneath, and suddenly they love him, and think he can move mountains, and they want to have his babies –"

She stopped, seeing Tony's amazed stare. "OK, that's a little extreme, I guess! But he's opened up, Tony – he's dropped that world-weary crap, and is really into the business. I guess I can see what he must have been like before he fell from society's grace." She shrugged again, unable to express it satisfactorily. "Dammit, he's fun to work for!"

Tony knew what it had been like, indeed. He knew that he'd followed the bold, abrasive Maxwell into what had appeared to be a ridiculous venture, clutching his draft resignation letter to his heart. Then after the first few weeks, he found himself offering suggestions, and sharing ideas with Duo – he'd been so caught up in the plans that the letter was filed away temporarily.

After the first show, and the grand opening, he'd been exhausted and thrilled and excited beyond his comprehension. He'd also found himself in Malia's bed, having the time of his sheltered life, and had been invited back there again, too! When the announcement came that there'd be another show, and the process started all over again, he remembered the alleged resignation letter – but couldn't seem to put his hand on it.

He thought that when he did, he might tear it up anyway.

It was late afternoon that same day, and several people milled about in the gallery. The ceiling hangings were draped with thin, translucent wires; there were a couple of mock stages built at the opposite corners of the room. The presentation wall was covered with a tacked-up dustsheet – and there were strange pen markings over the perspex wall that no-one understood but Duo. There was an air of anticipation in the room, but no obvious signs of how it would look at its approaching debut.

There were stacks of paintings up against the walls, many still packaged and labelled; they were awaiting delivery to the framers. Tony had brought in a couple of the younger assistants to help out, and he had Malia waiting back at the office to hear that it had all gone smoothly. He just needed Duo's final word, to check the numbers and the specifications -

"Why the fuck is this here?" asked Duo, loudly. Tony winced. He saw his boss standing before one particular unpackaged painting, his body rigid with emotion, and his face like thunder. Tony's heart sank – his voice squeaked.

"Mr Yuy – he sent it along –"

"Well you can just send it back, pretty damn quick –"

There was a rush of street noise as the door opened, then closed again behind Heero Yuy. Duo's head snapped up, and his eyes shot daggers at the other man.

Tony looked between them both, nervously. Everyone knew how they argued all the time – they were so damned different! Mr Yuy was so cool, and such a perfectionist – Duo Maxwell just went his own brash, volatile way. God knows how the business partnership had lasted this long! They probably hated each other – it was lucky they'd never come to actual blows. Tony had pushed the memories of the last show to the back of his mind, full as they were of tension and pressure. They now resurfaced rather abruptly at the back of his throat, instead. Malia was going to kill him, if they dropped behind schedule again…!

"I want it in the exhibition," said Heero. His voice was calm, but his eyes were fixed on Duo, flashing a warning. "It's one of yours –"

"I know it's fucking one of mine -!" Duo almost shouted.

Heero ignored his outburst. "I want you to show your work, along with the others."

The silence that fell was louder than a shout. Tony looked at Duo Maxwell, and was reminded of those cartoons where the steam comes out of the guy's ears, just before he completely blows up -

"Duo – the van's waiting –"

Heero's voice was low and calm. It brooked no argument. "Take the paintings, Tony. All of them. Tell the framers to begin with Duo's selections – he'll confirm the rest tomorrow."

Duo watched Tony and the couple of dumbstruck assistants grasp their precious bundles, and wriggle past him and Heero to exit the gallery. It was all done with rather indecent haste, and no-one dared meet the eyes of either of the angry men. They all had a strong sense of self-preservation.

The door swung quietly closed behind them, and Duo and Heero were alone. Only a couple of feet apart; it felt like miles.

Duo knew that self-preservation was something he'd left behind him a long time ago. He was incredibly upset – he could hardly believe the fury that bubbled below his skin, threatening to explode out and decimate anyone within reach. It took all his efforts to hold himself in until the guys had left.

Then he spoke first – his heart was hammering, and the words rocketed about inside his head. "Why? Why do you want my painting? It doesn't fit with the theme –"

"I think you can make it fit –"

"I think I don't fucking want to! And I think I made that clear enough to you before!"

"It's a fine painting, Duo. Your work has always been good – it is good! I want you to share the praise, and the publicity. You're drawing again – you may paint again –"

Duo felt the rush of anger like a thick red liquid, soaking over his sight. "Don't you dare tell me how my work is! Or what I will or won't be doing! Don't you dare come in here with that 'owner of the whole fucking place' act, and patronise me -!"

Heero was white, but his voice was steady. "You know I'm not patronising you, so I don't know why you act so childishly. I can only think it's because you're scared –"

"I'm what?" Duo's hiss was incredulous.

"Scared to show your work – scared to draw the attention again, the criticism, good and bad. Scared that there'll be an expectation of you that you don't want to meet. Scared that they'll compare you again with your brother –"

Duo swung a punch at him. It was a poor shot, and the only effect was the slap of his fingers on Heero's chin; but the noise of the blow rang out in the high, empty room like a shriek.

Heero caught his arm as it pulled back. His jaw was scarlet from where Duo had hit him, but he hadn't flinched away. He spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't ever do that again, Duo!"

Duo struggled to pull his arm away from Heero's grip. He should have known how strong the guy was – should have known he'd not be easily intimidated! He felt a complete ass; he felt a strange, angry betrayal. His voice was a loud, jagged sound, cutting through the tension.

"Stay out of my life, Heero Yuy! I knew it was a fucking mistake to work for you – you think I'm a possession – you think you bought me, not just my home and everything I fucking cared about! I'm just one of your 'staff' – you do what you like with me and mine -"

"Listen to yourself, Duo! That's nonsense, and you know it! You'll just humiliate both of us –"

Duo wrenched himself free, and whirled away to lean up against the wall. He was panting – he could feel his chest tightening painfully.

"Why that one, Heero?" he almost snarled. "Why 4:DRMS?"

"I – " Heero didn't know what to say. He didn't know the colour theme of this exhibition – but he thought he'd seen enough of the other works to recognise something that brought that particular painting of Duo's to mind. He was never quite sure what had drawn him to it in the first place. It was the most controversial painting in his collection, but – to him – one of the most prized. He had never told Duo this, of course - the occasion had never arisen. It was an abstract study of violent, unstructured movement – but underneath the vibrant slashes of paint, and the thick, sweeping brush strokes, Heero had seen the signs of two contrasting spirits, meeting in a middle ground. The illustrated feelings were awkward; maybe hostile. But they made the connection regardless – that was how he had interpreted the impact of the painting.

"I painted that one because of Solo," came Duo's voice; the anger appeared to have drained it of all emotion. "Just before he died – it was how he made me feel. You said yourself it expressed turmoil – dammit, we'd been so excited at the thought of the gallery, but then we were fighting again… it was a roller coaster of a time. Trowa was miserable – so was I. All I could do was paint it out of me…"

"I didn't know –" gasped Heero.

"How the fuck could you?" said Duo, wearily. One of his abrupt changes of mood was evident again – he was suddenly calm, though his breathing was still shallow.

"You didn't tell me," persisted Heero. "You could, you know. I want to know – I want to listen to you. Even now – you keep so many things secret. You don't really open up – not about yourself!"

"You wanna know what the theme of the show is," said Duo, wryly. "That's what you mean. Like Malia noses around every day – like Tony's running a betting book on what it's gonna be."

Heero shook his head a little. He'd noticed that Duo twisted conversations very skilfully when they became personal. "I'd like to know that, true."

"You'll find out –"

"On the night?" It was Heero's turn for a wry smile.

Duo gave a grudging shrug. His tone was still abrasive. "And anyway, why are you encouraging a mere employee to show in your own gallery? You sure this special attention ain't just 'cos you're fucking me?"

Heero's hand clenched at his waist, as his anger rose again. "You can be such a shit, Maxwell! I would never do that – and anyway, we - "

"I know," said Duo, and his mood swung again - he grinned suddenly. "We ain't actually doing that yet, are we?"

Heero gaped at him – he started a laugh that was confused and amused in equal measures.

"We're doing something," he said, cautiously.

"Sure are," replied Duo. His lids looked heavy over his eyes. "Just fooling around, maybe?"

Heero thought of the hours spent kissing Duo's mouth; licking Duo's sweaty, salty skin; nibbling the tasty buds of those generous nipples -

"We're fooling around indeed," he said. His voice had sunk to a sensual, throaty tone.

"Uh-huh," hissed Duo. His eyes were mischievous – greedily so. His thoughts were on the hours spent worshipping at the altar of Heero Yuy's groin; the musky sweetness of his flesh, taken eagerly into his mouth; the tart stickiness of his cum splashing against his tastebuds. Heero had been around night after night, and Duo was compiling a whole portfolio of memories; of clothes ripped off, of mouths clashing, and always the heat and the groans and that fabulous body under his hands –

It had been a damned amazing time!

"So maybe – " he murmured. "Maybe we want more, Heero?"

They were just staring at each other. Their breathing seemed loud in the deserted gallery. They moved back a step – they moved forward two.

Heero remembered Duo's fingers, gentle yet questing behind his aching balls; each night moving that little bit further towards his entrance; ghosting gently and teasingly over the protected, sensitive skin. He remembered the sensual, responsive way that Duo arched in his arms whenever he caressed his ass in return – when he ran his own speculative fingers between the tight buttocks. When he brushed against the shockingly gorgeous puckered flesh that he found there -

Duo wanted more – Heero knew that.

Duo felt as if he were panting, like some kind of hungry animal. He felt very hot. He wondered if the guys had locked the door behind them, or whether there was still a chance someone might walk in and disturb them. He really didn't want that to happen right now! He was so close to Heero that he reckoned he could have slipped out his tongue and licked at the trail of teeth marks he'd left just below Heero's sharp shoulder blade, only two nights ago…

His mouth twitched with a mixture of amusement and erotic anticipation. Heero's showed a similar response.

They didn't need to say anything else. Their whole bodies communicated, with silent cries of desire and need.

"Only us here, now," murmured Duo. His eyes still sparked mischief, as if he could see into Heero's vivid thoughts. He gazed deliberately at Heero's mouth – his tongue slid out of his own mouth, and licked swiftly at his lips. "You wanna do anything about it then, you being -?"

" – the owner of the whole fucking place?" Heero quoted back at him.

They grinned openly at each other now, eyes wide and shining.

That's when Heero knew he wanted more, too. Like he'd never wanted anything else in his life.

"Get upstairs," he growled. "I wanna do something about it, all right – and I want do it now!"

Duo turned and almost ran for the door up to his apartment.

Heero was moments behind him as Duo opened the door to his bedroom. Duo had barely enough time for a swallowed laugh, then Heero pushed him into the room and up against the wall. Their mouths were greedy – they were kissing, tongues probing around and inside, teeth nipping at swollen lips. Heero's hand was up under Duo's shirt, stretching it forcibly over his shoulders, trying to get at his skin; Duo's hands were behind Heero's waist, tugging his shirt out of his waistband, scraping the tight muscle in his eagerness.

"I want you, Duo!" groaned Heero.

"I've wanted you for a long time," gasped Duo, not to be outdone. "Just been waitin' to see –"

"To see -?" There was an ominous tearing noise as Heero was a little too aggressive with Duo's clothes.

"To see how you were with it – with me!" grinned Duo. He twisted his body away from the wall, and back towards the bed, dragging Heero with him, their mouths reaching for each other all the way, their hands touching and grasping and sliding away in frustration.

He started snapping the buttons of Heero's shirt, then cursed as one bounced off and spun into some forgotten corner of the room. The shirt was pushed rudely off the tense shoulders - Heero pulled his own tie off; Duo's hands were now busy at his pants, unzipping them swiftly.

Over recent nights they had spent long, sensual times undressing each other slowly; caressing each part of the body as it was uncovered; savouring the gradual exposure.

Tonight it was as if they'd melt away if they didn't get naked in the next forty five seconds!

Duo was shrugging out of his jeans and boxers, kicking them to the side, ripping off the remains of his torn shirt. Heero grabbed for him, and he laughed, pushing back at him. The dark-haired man fell back on to the bed, sitting down suddenly, with his pants round his ankles, and Duo's hand still trapped inside his boxers.

Duo's laugh was short and excited, and it echoed Heero's feelings perfectly.

He gazed up at Duo, and then Duo's lips were back on his, and the gloriously nude body was lying against him, pressing nipple to chest, warm groin to shivering thigh. The boxers went the way of all the other clothes, kicked and thrown to one side; now Heero was naked as well, and his cock was hot and thick and free, and tugging impatiently at its bed of dark curls. It reared out, seeking contact, and brushed against Duo's equally eager shaft – they groaned in unison.

"Fuck, that's good!" gasped Duo. "Rub me, Heero – hold me –"

Heero reached down a fumbling hand, and folded it around the two aching cocks, together – he felt Duo's hand come to meet his, sliding the warm, slim fingers on top of his own. They began to pump in tandem, kissing clumsily, their panting bodies clutched together on the crumpling bedclothes beneath them.

Heero felt the heat coiling up inside him – he'd never had so little control of himself in all his life as when he was with Duo! His groin ached – the skin of his cock was stretched and slippery. He felt himself swelling against Duo's flesh, and desperate for the increasing pressure of their fingers on each other, encouraging, caressing, cajoling, begging for completion. He wasn't sure any more where his cock ended, and Duo's began – their stomachs stuck together with sweat; their thighs tangled in a muscular mess half on and half off the bed; their free arms grabbed at whatever skin they could find, both to caress and to anchor themselves against the enthusiastic rocking of their hips.

"Wait –" gasped Duo. "Wait!" he cried, when Heero couldn't hear him for the rushing in his ears. "I'm gonna come too soon – want more, remember -?"

Heero felt his hand gripped – his fingers were prised off their precious target. He could feel the pulse of blood in his cock – feel the answering hammering in his chest. His hand felt numb; the palm was slick with pre-cum. Duo wriggled awkwardly out of his grasp, with the soft sucking sound of their flesh coming apart. Heero thought he might have groaned; he hoped he showed more dignity than that, but he doubted it.

"Duo – no – come back – "

"Hush, Heero," came the throaty chuckle. The bed rocked and creaked, and he saw that Duo had rolled so that he was facing away from him, now hitching himself up on to his hands and knees. He peered back over one shoulder at Heero – his braid hung heavily over his neck and down over the other shoulder.

"Take me, Heero," he hissed. "Put those hot, wet hands on my ass, and take me, now!"

Heero knelt up behind Duo's ass – a strong, fine ass, which he'd caressed many times. He loved the feel of the muscle here – the taut skin; the soft hairs. His fingers ran firmly over the shape of the buttocks, and he saw the muscles clench. Duo's back arched under his touch, and his head stretched back; his thighs instinctively opened a little wider. There was a dark, intimate valley between the cheeks of his ass – there was pinker skin, and sparser hairs, and the promise of something impossibly, earth-shatteringly sexual. He heard Duo moan; heard the soft murmurs of encouragement and impatience.

Then Heero paused, and Duo felt his hesitation.

"There's stuff in the drawer, Heero," he gasped. "Condoms – you know…is that what you want -?"

"I want you," groaned Heero. "Do you believe me, Duo?"

Duo looked back over his shoulder again, gazing down at what he could see of Heero's swollen cock – at the glistening purple tip; at the softly throbbing pulse.

"Guess I do," he said, breathlessly, with a rather twisted grin. He ached all over – every muscle, every nerve. He'd never felt so desperate or so aroused in his life! "So what's the problem?"

Heero struggled with words – he'd never seen anything so gorgeous as Duo's ass spread out before him; offered to him. His hands reached out for Duo, with plaintive, stroking movements.

Duo's breath hitched suddenly, as he realised. "You've never done it before," came his quiet statement. "With a guy."

He caught Heero's wary look – it made him seem vulnerable. Duo had never seen him quite like that before. He guessed that few people ever did.

"Fooled around," gasped Heero. He was swamped with a miserable, debilitating shock. His body felt suddenly, humiliatingly paralysed. "Never actually –"

"'S OK, Heero," said Duo, so gently that he barely recognised his usually bold voice. He shifted a little on the bed, slipping his flesh away from Heero's petrified touch. "It doesn't matter to me –"

"I want you," repeated Heero, as if he were in a daze. He felt Duo leaving him – pulling away. This wasn't going to happen, after all – the promise; the anticipation; the need -!

But Duo's voice was still murmuring – his face was still smiling. "Hey, man," he said, his voice more sympathetic than Heero had ever heard it before. "That doesn't mean I'm letting you off! Just means we'll go a little slower, OK? You happy with top? Or would you rather go bottom?" He caught Heero's look of startled shock, though he'd tried to hide it. "Another day for that, I think," he murmured. "Bottom's always great for me…"

He shifted again, this time turning fully to face Heero, and sitting back on his heels so that they were of equal height. His hands cupped Heero's face; his lips ghosted gently against Heero's frozen ones, and passed his own harsh, panting breath into Heero's mouth.

"Let me lead," he whispered. "I want you inside me. I want to show you how good it can be. Let me touch you, Heero…"

Heero ached all over as well, with need and anticipation, and this strange, overwhelmingly sensual fear. Duo's hands stroked him slowly, across his shoulders, along his sides. It was stimulating – it was comforting! He murmured nonsense into Heero's ear, he breathed warmth into Heero's body; he kissed him, often and passionately. He moved like a river flowed – like smoke enfolded. Heero couldn't dismiss the fanciful, unbidden pictures in his mind – he was lost to it all! Duo was in front of him, sliding hands across his chest; and then he was behind him, rubbing his chin on his shoulder blades, and tracing down the shape of Heero's backbone with his rough tongue. How did he move like that? marvelled Heero. How had he, Heero, lost the ability to judge time and distance in this way? He felt the increasing heat along his veins, and the promise of even greater pleasure shivering in his groin. His skin felt gently peeled away from his bones – his nerves were exposed, and panting for attention. When would it happen? What would he do? He cursed every second that Duo kept him waiting – and yet he had no choice but to leave Duo entirely in charge. He had never felt so adrift before – so disorientated from his own body and his actions.

He saw Duo reaching beside the bed, and tugging away at a small unit there; he pulled something out of the top drawer. All the time, he kissed Heero, and stroked him, and distracted him deliciously. Now Heero felt a confident hand back on his cock, and he shuddered with the delight of the strong, supple fingers caressing him. Duo made a swift movement, and then he was rolling a condom on to Heero, and smoothing soft, cool lube along its length.

"You – what about -?"

Duo sighed, softly. "Heero, I can see to myself," he murmured. Heero saw him toss a small tube away from him, down beside the bed. It fell with a gentle clatter on to the bare boards. His other hand had been busy at his hips – maybe between his legs. Heero couldn't see clearly – Duo's tongue was hot and slick in his mouth now, and he saw and felt nothing but a mess of desire and lust. He knew now – of course he did! - that nothing would stop him taking Duo tonight; not his nerves; not his inexperience. Nothing!

"Now!" he rasped.

"I ain't arguing…" hissed Duo, and the last thing Heero saw was his grin as he rolled back to his position on all fours, wriggling up against Heero's groin. This time, Heero pressed firmly up against him; this time Heero put strong hands to his buttocks, and split them apart, running his finger wonderingly against the newly lubricated hole.

"Jesus, Heero, I'm beyond want here – do it already -!" Duo spoke with a gargled mixture of anger and amusement and his own, urgent need. Heero was smiling, now – he was confident, he was eager beyond belief. He started to guide his cock into the tight, muscled entrance, nudging the swollen crown in, gripping Duo's hips to give him purchase. Amazed; fascinated; almost unbearably excited, he watched the pucker open almost reluctantly, and then swallow him gratefully as he pushed on in.

Duo yelped; he was beyond words for the moment. He panted, consciously relaxing his muscles – he made a deep, guttural noise with the delight of Heero slowly, steadily filling him. His legs and arms tensed up, holding him rigid; and then his hips relaxed back into the hollow made by Heero's body, and he felt the other man's warm, tight balls slap gently against the back of his thighs.

"OK?" he gasped.

"OK," came the low voice in reply. "Incredible…!"

"Uh-huh," grimaced Duo. "Preaching to the converted, Heero! Just get going, man – just start moving, or I'm gonna come all over the sheets before you've even pumped a coupla times -!"

So Heero moved; he slid himself gently out a little way, and then plunged back in. He gasped with the sharp, squeezing hold that Duo had on him, and praised the cool lube that allowed him to thrust in and out of the fantastic channel. Which he did – again and again! His hips began to slap against Duo's ass, and his upper body sagged over Duo's back with the effort. Their skin was slick with sweat again, and he slid easily back and forth against the other man's body. He could feel Duo grumbling, not knowing whether it was from frustration or anger or eagerness – the vibration of Duo's voice ran along his chest, and across his own, parched throat. He tried to reach under the braided man's body to caress his cock – to give him some attention - but Duo batted the hand away.

"Concentrate on what you're doing –" he groaned. "Can't – be – bothering with – mine as well…" So Heero continued to grip him, and to pump into him, feeling his senses catch fire, and slowly and inexorably losing any vestige of control that he'd ever had. Underneath him, Duo dropped his weight on to one elbow, so that he could reach a hand to his neglected, painful cock, and bring his own satisfaction.

"Tell me, Heero -!" came the excited gasp from beneath his bowed head, his body rocking against Heero's increasingly deep thrusts. "Tell me how it feels -!"

Heero had never spoken during sex – except for obvious requests to make it more comfortable, or perhaps to whisper an endearment. He wondered if he should have expected this also would be different with Duo – Duo talked a lot, of course, when he wasn't drawing. He talked while they necked, and he talked while they jerked each other off, and he talked…

Well, he obviously talked through sex as well!

"It's – incredible – I can't say –" Heero could feel his tongue swelling; his lips drying. Was it so fantastic because it was his first experience with a male body? Or because it was Duo? His brain wasn't operating with any degree of objectivity – so he cast any sensible thought aside, and gladly. He was approaching climax, he knew, and he was only holding off for this long because he just truly wanted this experience to last for the whole goddamn year…!

"You feel fantastic –" hissed Duo. "Thick – filling me – your skin is part of me… I want you to go as hard as you want, as deep as you want – shit…!" He gasped again, and Heero felt the body underneath him shaking uncontrollably. He held on more tightly – he felt the muscles of Duo's ass clenching almost painfully around him.

"Gonna – lose it, Heero – Jeez, I never felt so good!" Duo suddenly arched his back again, and slammed back against Heero. His free hand clutched desperately at the bedclothes, trying to support himself upright, and as Heero tightened an arm around his waist to hold him, he felt him shudder and jerk as he came. Heero felt the shock waves throughout his own body, as if they were coming from within his limbs and flesh – as if it were his own cock throbbing and bursting inside his hand. He imagined the hot, creamy liquid spilling out on the sheets, and on to Duo's legs – he cried out himself, and knew he couldn't hold out any longer.

"Incredible –" was the only word he could stutter out from his tortured lips.

"That'll do for me," came Duo's soft, hoarse reply, his hips sat firmly back almost on Heero's lap, Heero's cock buried primally deep inside him. "Come for me now, Heero – I must have you come for me…!"

And so – surrendering to it with relief and ecstasy -Heero did.

Heero knew for certain now that he was mad – mad for Duo Maxwell. He lay on his back on Duo's narrow bed, naked, his limbs draped around the other man's, and his body still shaking from climax, and overall sensory overload.

It was a feeling that was both shocking and very, very satisfying.

Pervading the room was the smell of paint – he realised he'd always smelled it, but never acknowledged it. It wasn't unpleasant; it was just there in the air. It wasn't only from the gallery below – it was stronger and more specific up in the apartment. Duo hadn't painted for months, and yet the tracks were still with him. Heero shifted the crumpled sheet a little impatiently under his legs; his fingers brushed a smudge of charcoal on the mattress cover.

"Sorry I hit you, man…" came Duo's smothered voice. He was pressed in close to Heero, his face against his chest, his hands stroking lightly at Heero's hips and thighs. Teasing a body that was already deliciously exhausted, but that still vibrated with the memories of an astonishing excitement.

Hit him? Heero could barely remember his own name, let alone what had happened an hour ago! He smiled slightly. "It's OK. It was a pathetic attempt, eh? I've had better."

He felt Duo's face twisting with his own smile. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he gently mocked. "The business world has its own share of fear and frustration, you know…"

"And clumsy boxers," muttered Duo. "Never punched a guy before like I meant it."

"Me neither," admitted Heero. He'd been threatened, that was true; but he'd never had to strike back. There'd always been someone there to call a halt.

There was a moment of wriggling while Duo got more comfortable, and Heero arched gently against his naked, sweat-streaked chest.

"You fooled around with many guys before me, Heero?" Duo's voice was a little softer. It sounded younger.

Heero took an extra breath before replying, which wasn't just to help him get more comfortable himself. "Maybe. Some. I never wanted to go this far before. That's what matters, surely?"

"Sure, that's cool. Guess you're bi, then," replied Duo. His body shifted further down in the bed; Heero could feel his lips move against his belly, damp and tactile with a smile - the wide, lazy smile that Duo often wore.

"Guess you've shown me that," Heero sighed. "I wouldn't think of it like that. I wouldn't give it a name."

Duo was making a soft, humming sound; a sound of pleasure and mischief. "Whichever you choose, Heero Yuy, you're a loss to the other, y'know? This body is magnificent…" His mouth nibbled at Heero's groin – his tongue lapped gently at the thin flesh. Heero shivered. He didn't see how he could be aroused again! His mind protested – but his body gleefully responded.

"You like both, don't you, Duo?"

Duo snorted quietly, and the breath tickled up against Heero's stomach. "You jealous, Heero? Can't deny it, I do – I like it all. So we're much the same, aren't we?"

All Heero could see now was the top of Duo's head, the hair mussed, the haphazard parting bobbing under his hands as he guided him down over his aching groin. He laughed softly at Duo's words.

"I can't think of two people less alike, Duo! Yet you were the one who said there was something that worked between us…"

"Uh-huh," mumbled Duo. "Got no complaints in the mechanics department…" He nudged Heero's legs apart; wriggling a body between them that was smooth and soft with sleepiness and satiation - almost.

"But our desires aren't the same, are they?" asked Heero, piqued despite his growing desire. "I'd like to think I'd sleep with either gender because it's the person that matters to me…"

"… and I'd sleep with either gender because there's no person that matters to me," said Duo. The bitter tone was back in his voice. "Let's leave this, Heero, OK? It's enough that we're here, and that this is damned good."

"Damned good…" echoed Heero. He gasped as Duo's head slipped under the only corner of the sheet still draped over them. It rippled up and down as Duo licked at him – as he laughed softly, and nipped and sucked his mark on to the inside of Heero's lean, muscled thigh. Heero winced, and the erotic shiver ran all the way through to the back of his neck, and beyond. He'd never experienced such an aggressive, passionate time! Duo's body didn't seem to calm, even as they relaxed after climax. He still seemed to be restless, to be seeking – now there was a kiss, and then a touch, and a bite, and a moan…Heero had never known sex could be anything more than a careful, mutual stimulation, to produce satisfaction and relief. Exciting – but in a controllable way.

Duo Maxwell wasn't controllable in any way at all!

Heero was shocked at how much this pleased and excited him – how much he welcomed this. What the hell was happening to him?

"What about your girl?" mumbled Duo, suddenly. "Don't wanna upset y'all…"

Heero dragged his attention back. He'd never known anyone talk like this -before, during, and after sex – the way that Duo was doing. His voice was an accompaniment – it was obviously part of the package. It was teasing at Heero – demanding things of him, before he could decide what he was prepared to give voluntarily.

Should he accuse Duo of jealousy too? he wondered, but silently. He wasn't sure he knew Duo well enough to know how far he could tease; not in this situation, anyway. "I haven't seen her for weeks. Well - not like that, anyway. I've seen her at social events, of course – at exhibitions; at a couple of product launches. But that's all; and I don't think either of us would ever have called her my girl. Remy is her own mistress."

"'S over then, y'mean?"

"Maybe," said Heero, slowly. "And if not then, it is now."

"Huh?"

"I wouldn't sleep with anyone else at the same time as you," blurted Heero, frankly. He thought he blushed; would Duo think him foolish?

But Duo was suddenly and momentarily becalmed, his lips just a breath against Heero's skin. His words were just as slowly delivered. "You're an honest guy, Heero Yuy. Guess I feel the same – though no-one believes it of me. Duo Maxwell doesn't equate to faithful; to the finer emotions."

His head suddenly appeared above the sheets, his face flushed, and his eyes stripped of his cynicism and aggression. He looked very young, and very wanton, with hair astray all over his neck, and lips swollen red with their fierce kissing. Heero felt a sharp ache for him that he found a little frightening.

The longhaired man's voice broke harshly through Heero's thoughts. "I don't want this to be good for the wrong reasons, Heero, y'know? I don't want it to be good because we fight – because we're always in conflict – and only because of that. That we use that aggression to get off – and then we fuck and make up."

Heero felt a need to be honest about everything; to make some sense of all this. He couldn't tell Duo how they would be tomorrow, because he didn't know that answer yesterday, did he? He felt in a kind of limbo, and he didn't know what it was that Duo wanted him to say. In the same breath, he was afraid to say what he wanted to, in case it broke the spell.

This uncertainty was alien to him, and he fought against it – it hurt, in some way that he couldn't describe clearly. This wasn't his world; this wasn't his domain! He suspected that if he'd died and gone to heaven, this would be what he'd hope to find – but then, what would be the chances of that?

He spoke as carefully as he could. "I don't believe it's like that. I don't think it has to be. You're too harsh on yourself, Duo! We're adult, intelligent people, aren't we? We're not enemies, for God's sake…"

Duo didn't seem to acknowledge the conversation any more; instead, he sighed and rolled sleepily under the covers again. Perhaps he was embarrassed; perhaps he was scared of any more talk, now. Heero struggled with a spurt of anger – a need to clarify things. Duo was too frustrating!

Then Duo's voice spoke, muffled against the pillow, and the thick richness of its desire overwhelmed any other feelings in him. "Forget it, Heero, OK? Forget the crap I talk…Just come here and fuck me again!"

Heero's breath halted with delighted shock. Quickly, he wriggled up to his knees and reached for the slim, lithe body beside him. He rolled Duo on to his back so that he gazed down on his face again. His hands clutched Duo's knees – he spread his legs open, and pressed the thighs gently back towards his hips. His eyes flickered down to Duo's groin, and his heart froze with eager excitement.

"You're gorgeous…" came his throaty, sensual growl.

"Just lookin'?" purred Duo, wriggling his hips in gentle encouragement. He flushed with pleasure at Heero's words. But he was hot, and he was impatient – he was swelling fiercely again, and he wanted Heero to pull his legs up and apart, and get knelt between 'em, and thrust that deliciously thick and shiny cock so deep inside him that he felt it throbbing at the back of his throat -

"Come on, Heero," he groaned. "Mattress – me – you – fucking… anything take your fancy on the menu? Supplies in the drawer… Dammit, man, do it already!"

Heero smiled slowly. "Too much talkin', man…" he murmured, mockingly.

He leant steadily down towards Duo so that the heat from their bodies started to saturate the close air of the small room again. He moistened his lips, and Duo felt his own mouth ghosting towards them – begging. His cock thrust harder and higher, and started to press insistently on Heero's belly.

And Heero, yet again, did what he was told.

"You're sleeping with him, aren't you, hon? Your artist boy?" Quatre's drawl was vibrant with inquisitiveness – and a mix of other emotions.

Sleeping with him? Heero wondered just how many of the intimate hours spent with Duo had actually been spent in sleeping. His skin felt warmer at the mere thought.

They both sat at the bar of Heero's apartment block, awaiting dinner as they so often had before. Quatre toyed with a tall, tempestuous cocktail that scorned plastic umbrellas, and promised nothing but the kick of pure alcohol. He sat on a high stool, legs encased in tight chocolate-coloured leather, kicking his boot aimlessly at the counter. His shirt was open at the neck, and made of sheer white silk. Deceptively simple; totally seductive.

But for the moment, he knew that the focus was not on him.

He watched the expressions flicker across Heero's handsome face, and he smiled broadly.

"Yo, sweetheart! You've got it bad! That good, is he? Guess I thought he might be – he's a wild child, but a very bright one. Damned fine legs, too…"

Heero glared back at him, ready to protest that his love life was – as always – a private matter. But then, this was Quatre, wasn't it? A smile started at the edges of his mouth – it was both wary and rueful.

Quatre gave a low whistle. "Don't get me wrong – I'm glad for you!" His hand was light on Heero's arm, and his tone unusually serious. "Y'know I tease, hon – but I don't mean it. This is important to you, eh?"

Heero saw no reason to deny that honesty to his closest friend. "Yes, it is."

Quatre grinned with genuine pleasure. His eyes sparkled still with rampant curiosity and a million questions, all of which he knew would remain unanswered. Damn the man – damn the pair of 'em! He'd waited years to hear Heero Yuy admit that someone was important to him.

And it was a guy!

"So what about you and the super-skin, boy? Can we safely assume she's history?"

"Remy?" Heero ignored Quatre's habitual contempt of the model. "I've seen little of her, to tell you the truth. I assumed she'd found other – diversions. That was cowardly of me, I suppose."

Quatre snorted, and waved at the barman for a refill. "That girl lives for diversion – she ain't gonna be short of a few. You owe nothin' to her, Heero. She's been chasin' you since months back, and I for one am glad to see the back of her."

"Come on, Quatre, not that old debate again. I must admit, I don't know why she took up with me in the first place, we hardly move in the same circles –"

Quatre was looking at him a little oddly. "She's been lookin' for ya, this last month. Askin' after ya. She knows you two ain't an item any more – but she's slidin' in those snide little whimpers wherever she goes, askin' when you'll be around."

"You can tell her –"

Quatre laughed out loud, and a couple of people in the bar area turned to stare at him, attracted by the sound. "She'll be damned before she asks me anything, hon! I'm just warnin' ya, that's all. Does she know you're seeing Duo Maxwell?"

Heero looked bemused. "I don't know. We haven't actually advertised it to anyone, Quatre. Does it matter? What is this problem you have with Remy?"

Quatre shrugged, but his eyes were unusually evasive. "She's a leech, hon. A serial one! She's selfish, obsessive, greedy –"

Heero broke in, surprised at his friend's vehemence. "She's had little enough off me! She's harmless –"

"She's a viper, Heero!" Quatre's voice was sharp. "Some time I'll tell ya some home truths about that madam. I knew a coupla guys at the track that she got her claws into, and seems they're the worse for it. They're humiliated, and tryin' to make up with wives and lovers – while Ms de Haas has a few new pieces to add to her collections of diamonds and gold and pretty pictures… and nary a wrinkle on her silk frock! I've been lookin' into that girl, and what she's about - "

"What the hell are you talking about, Quatre?"

He saw Heero staring, and his expression slipped into rueful caution. He took a deep mouthful of his fresh drink, and allowed his tone to settle back to its usual equilibrium. "Guess that was rude of me, since you dated her. Ignore me, hon. I know what I'm doing."

"Which is more than I do," mused Heero. "Nowadays I can't seem to decide if I'm doing the right thing or not –"

"In what way, Heero? Working with Duo Maxwell? Sleeping with him? I can see it may be a brave new world for a sheltered child like y'self." He laughed, softly. "You need some technical advice from the master here?"

"Quatre," sighed Heero, eyebrows raised warningly. He'd barely touched his drink, and the restaurant manager was on his way over with the menus for the evening. "You're on the borders of offensive, friend…"

Quatre grinned back unabashed, knowing it would take more than that to offend Heero Yuy; but his voice grew calmer. "So why did you choose him for the job in the first place, Heero? Answer me that – truthfully."

Heero thought for a moment, but his answer was almost instinctive. "I knew he could do a great job – I knew he would inspire the gallery. He would bring out the best in it – he would demonstrate a flair and skill that it needed."

"He failed before."

"Yes, but he was younger then, and he really just wanted to paint – not to be a businessman."

"Didn't have your corporate support and experience behind him…" murmured Quatre, a little dryly.

"Yes, I suppose that's what I mean," said Heero. "I offered him the job, because this time he could make it work."

"To make the gallery successful commercially –"

"Well, yes, of course, but also –"

"But also?" Quatre prompted, persistently.

"I think that I admired so many things about him, Quatre. I still do. His talent – his creativity. His ability to bring art and colour and vision into everything he does. His disregard for convention – for a sensible, measured view of life. His flagrant provocativeness…" Heero laughed a little self-consciously. "He's so much the opposite to me."

Quatre was shaking his head. "No, hon. He's the complement to you. That's how you've gotta view it. You have your own considerable talents, and a creativity of your own – they're just not the same as for Duo Maxwell. I suspect that's why you were drawn to him in the first place."

Quatre took Heero's arm, and squeezed it affectionately – offering some support to his friend. Heero looked up at him, almost in surprise. His mind was occupied with other thoughts.

"He's had a bad time of it, Quatre. Losing his brother – losing his popularity in the art world. His work is still as good, you know. Just – different. That business of the fire, and Solo's death – it really was horrifically shocking, God knows how things like that can happen. And then the sketches – they should have stayed here, they should have been his…"

"The sketches? You mean Solo Maxwell's work?"

"Yes – they should have been Duo's, I understand. He was grief-stricken – he wasn't thinking straight after the fire. Someone took advantage of that, and his inheritance was sold out from under his feet."

"That's business…" said Quatre, softly. His eyes looked a little unfocussed, as if his mind were also occupied elsewhere.

"Sure…" agreed Heero, but he sounded unconvinced. "Do you know the guy who bought them, Quatre?"

"You think I know the world and his damn Pekinese dog –" grumbled Quatre. But then, of course, he did, didn't he? "Let me get back to you on that one, Heero, OK? I'm still tryin' to pump you for salacious details on your wrinklin' of the sheets with the young Master Picasso, aren't I -?"

Heero continued to toy with his drink, and smiled his opinion of that. But his thoughts still plagued him – he felt the strangest desire to talk. "I don't know what he wants, Quatre. I – it's an unusual feeling. I thought I knew the motivation of everyone who came to me for something."

Quatre was silent beside him now, allowing him to talk it through.

"But he's different. I don't feel that he came to me for anything at all – rather, I went to him with an offer. Did it make any difference to him, whether I entered into his life or not? Would our paths ever have crossed otherwise?" He grimaced, as if he fought with his emotions internally; as if some feelings were anathema to him. "It's – not just the sex, you know? That's good – that's very good. I just don't know him well enough. Sometimes I feel as if I don't know him at all."

Quatre was tired of watching Heero roll that drink back and forth on the bar – it was a waste of a fine rum! He took the glass gently from his hands, and pushed the stale drink away. Looked like he'd be choosing the meal tonight – Heero had also ignored the menus.

"And that bothers you, sweetheart?"

Heero focussed on Quatre as if the man were speaking total nonsense. "Of course it does!"

Quatre's blue eyes were bright, but a little grave. "First time I've ever known you be concerned for that, Yuy. You date, and smile, and maybe you bed for a while – but you don't bother to understand what's really going on inside their heads. Am I right, or am I right?"

Heero stared at him. He wanted to deny it – to say that his behaviour with Duo Maxwell was no different than his behaviour with past lovers.

His honesty prevented him.

The manager cleared his throat behind them, and Quatre waved him back. "You ready, Heero?" he smiled. "It's time to see to the appetites of the belly instead of the balls! But this thing with Maxwell - I ain't harassing you, OK? I want it to work for you. "

"I don't know if it will," said Heero. Even as he spoke, he was shocked at the stark tone of his voice; the pain inside his chest. "It's hard, Quatre. To know what to say – what to do. How to avoid ruining things…"

"I know, hon," came the low drawl in sympathetic reply. "Why d'you think I live on the fringes – why I avoid the connections? But you want him…"

"Yes."

"OK, and you're as determined as they say, Heero Yuy!" announced Quatre, swinging his leather-clad legs over the side of the stool, and standing up. "If you want him, you'll have him. I just hope he'll be good for ya, boy." He scrawled a flamboyant signature on the bar bill, and stretched the long limbs that had been cramped for too long. "So after dinner, you comin' out with me to relieve that tension you're always complainin' about?"

"No," said Heero. "No thanks."

Quatre couldn't say he was surprised. He hadn't had the pleasure of the Ice Prince's company at the clubs for a while now. Good thing he could amuse himself, wasn't it?

"You've changed, hon, y'know that? But it's good to see." He smiled to soften his complaint, and the two of them walked into a dinner that neither was particularly interested in. The restaurant manager nodded respectfully as they were seated – the staff looked a little nervous. Quatre knew it wasn't on his behalf – Heero Yuy's reputation as a demanding client preceded him! "Maybe this new Yuy image ain't common knowledge yet, though," he murmured, intending a joke.

"That's what they say about me, though, isn't it?" said Heero, tight-lipped. "That I'm ruthless – that I'm unforgiving of anything less than the best. That I'm cold. That's not me really, Quatre!"

Quatre's eyebrows raised. "I know that, hon. You just want the best."

"Duo says that I think of success all the time –"

"You've had to, Heero!" said Quatre, sharply. "It's what you do well; it's what nourishes you. It's what you've needed, to keep your life on track – and it provides for the guys that work for you, doesn't it?"

"Yes…"

Quatre sighed, and looked longingly towards the wine list. All this soul-searching was damned distractin'… "But success is a greedy mistress, Heero. Or master. You're gonna have to let other things in – share your time with other claims. I've always said you've been looking for something; for someone – "

"And I've always argued with you about that," countered Heero.

They both stared at each other, briefly.

"It doesn't always work, does it?" Heero's voice was very soft; very low. "Being determined – that's not always enough. It doesn't always get me what I want."

"You never fail, Heero. Do you?"

Heero's head shook very slightly. "That's with money, not people."

He sat there, unmoving, while Quatre nodded through the table d'hote menu for the sake of something to do.

"Not people."

Heero sat on the couch in Duo's apartment. He wore a loose tee shirt, and casual pants. He nursed a glass of some kind of juice, but he seemed to have forgotten to drink it. His other hand clenched lightly at the cushion underneath him; his eyes were concentrated totally on the man sitting beside him.

There was only a week to go to the opening of the second exhibition. They'd spent the morning in conference with Malia and the team, then Duo had left them all to go and work on more of the preparation for the show. He persisted in keeping the final details secret. His team were resigned to this bizarre approach – and if they found it strange that Heero Yuy also seemed tolerant of it, they didn't like to comment.

Heero had other business to occupy his afternoon -then he'd also gone to the gallery. By now, it was early evening, and upstairs in Duo's apartment the candles had been lit in the studio room.

Duo was sketching – but fitfully. His attention wasn't entirely on his work. His braid was rather scrappily tied, as if it had worked loose during some activity; his vivid yellow vest had a button mismatched. His shorts were barely gathered round his waist. When he shifted, so did Heero; when he coughed, Heero stirred.

Finally, Duo smiled slightly, and put down the pad. "You gonna fidget there for much longer, Heero Yuy? Or you got something on your mind?"

"Only you," replied Heero. He stared at the small droplets of water at Duo's throat, left over from an earlier shower. He wondered at his confidence – at his ability to say something so personal, and so honest, so very easily. He felt an entirely different person nowadays. "You're not drawing so much this week, Duo. Does your inspiration come and go? Is it a problem for you?"

Duo didn't meet his eyes. "I'm just busy. With the show, y'know? Only a week to go…"

"You've bought some paints," Heero said. He'd seen the careless jumble of stuff in the corner of the studio when he arrived. He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but even so he saw Duo tense up.

"So?"

"I – thought you might want to paint again. Will you leave your job here?"

Duo sounded irritated. "Christ, Heero, it's just a coupla tubes of colour that I wanted to think about – just an old canvas I found round at Trow's. I've not touched a brush for months! Don't have me runnin' out just yet."

"You must do what you want to, Duo."

"You think I won't?" Duo's expression was wry as he looked into Heero's deliberately blank face.

Heero looked back into the deep, wide, complex eyes, and sighed to himself.

"Maybe." He thought there were too many secrets. He understood discretion better than many – but there was too little understanding in him for there to be any kind of peace. He felt a fool, most of the time. Perhaps Duo had tired of him – of his body. Of his company. Perhaps he felt that Heero cramped his style; his creative flow.

He wondered what he'd do if Duo didn't want him round any more; in his bed; just watching him.

Duo saw the flicker of uncertainty in his lover, and his smile was a little forced. "You have no idea what goes into a work, do you? The fact that it's work. That often it's pure torture. That it's also often the greatest joy; but there's no way of knowing when a day starts which one it'll be! I felt that with every one of my paintings. It's no way to be, Heero. It eats away at me…"

"You want to be something else? Is that why you took the job at the gallery?"

"To join the ranks of normality, you mean…"

"I don't see it," smiled Heero. "Not you." There was no way he could resist touching Duo any longer – the day for him had been one of aching, awkward frustration, and he'd been more than pleased when Duo welcomed him round. He didn't know what was wrong with him nowadays – he seemed so uncertain of things; so easily disturbed. He also seemed to be constantly horny; constantly dreaming of Duo's slender, muscular body underneath him, hot and sweating with desire; his yelps of pleasure when Heero caressed him; his growls of hunger when he wanted Heero to go faster, harder…

Heero reached forward, and brushed aimlessly at a thread of hair on Duo's shorts. God, he adored those shorts! They were so damned short, left so little to the imagination, and were so easily removed -

Duo gasped, as if Heero's touch had carried a current right through him. And then he lifted his hand, and held it up in front of him, palm facing Heero, fingers outstretched. "Touch me, Heero."

Heero was bemused, but pleased that Duo had responded. He lifted his hand in return, and touched his fingertips to Duo's. The longhaired man's skin was creased from gripping his pen for a while; Heero felt the warmth of the slight sweat from his palm. He ran his finger gently along the small lump on the side of Duo's middle finger – a legacy of gripping his pencil too tightly as a child. They sat there for a moment, palms a fraction apart, their fingerprints pressing gently against each other's. For a second, Duo closed his eyes.

Heero felt as if something were being passed between them. Something shared; something beyond the mere touch of whorls of skin. Perhaps he just wished it…

Duo opened his eyes abruptly, and gazed into Heero's. His expression was an astonishing mixture – it was vulnerable, and it was scared, and it was caressing. Heero felt his heartbeat miss.

Then he leaned forward, and touched Duo's lips with his own. Kissing Duo continued to be the most astonishingly good feeling he'd ever had – the slight hesitancy in that first second, then the glorious lips moving under him, and opening ravenously to take his tongue. The heat and the taste and the joyous promise of where it might lead – Heero felt his cock swell in anticipation, and his knees spread open a little to accommodate it.

"You wanna go to bed again, Heero?" hissed Duo. He pushed his braid back over his shoulder, so that he could lean into Heero's kiss, and slide eager arms around the dark-haired man's waist. They'd been in bed for an hour before this – Duo had greeted him at the door with a beer, a total lack of clothing, and the invitation to introduce him to the mattress springs again. Heero had responded as expected.

"Greedy, greedy man you are…" Duo's voice was a low chuckle.

"Who needs a bed?" whispered Heero. "I'm going to fuck you right here – unless you need the comfort of your mattress –"

"Managed without it before," gasped Duo, allowing Heero to push him down off the couch on to the bare floor, flat on his back. He opened his hands in a kind of submission, and his pencil fell out of his palm, rolling away towards the wall. "Too much comfort's bad for my back, y'know –"

Heero kissed him, a deep, passionate kiss that possessed his mouth, and threatened to remove his tonsils. It certainly cut off his vocal chords for a while. When Heero finally lifted his head, Duo's senses were whirling.

"Get those damned clothes off –" growled Heero. He knelt down beside Duo, and tugged at the fabric of the shorts until he could see the tip of the mischievous tattoo, his impatient hands dragging Duo a little way along the boards. "Such a stupidly inadequate green shirt –"

"It's canary yellow, y'know –" gasped Duo, but he lifted his arms, and let Heero peel it off him regardless. Heero sat back on his heels, and his head plunged down to nip at Duo's chest; to lick the large, erect nipples. His hands went unerringly to the other man's waist, and tugged the loosened shorts down, so swiftly that they snagged on Duo's painfully aroused cock. The longhaired man's legs flailed inelegantly in the air as Heero pulled them down off each ankle, making small sounds of need and frustration. Satisfied with his work, Heero watched the glistening shaft spring free from the fabric, straining out from the chestnut curls of Duo's groin; weeping softly and tantalisingly. His eyes lit up with desire and admiration.

"What have you been thinking about, Duo Maxwell? That's an impressive reaction from some harmless sketching –"

"You think it's from thoughts of you?" smirked Duo. His hand reached out and grabbed at Heero's neck, trying to tug him down on top of him. "Damned right it is! I've been hot for you since two hours before you last fucked me, Heero Yuy! You think I greet just anyone with beer and bare flesh? I was achin' for it all through that session in the bed –"

"- and in the shower –" murmured Heero.

"- and back in the bed –" grinned Duo. Heero stroked a warm finger along the swollen shaft, and he yelped. "And now I can't even seem to keep the damned thing under control when I'm meant to have my mind in creative mode…"

"You need help," murmured Heero. Instinctively, he licked his lips. "You need assistance; to release your needs…"

"Man with tongue of the devil speaks truth!" groaned Duo. "You got a number I can call?"

But Heero was already shifting, turning his head towards Duo's groin, and reaching down eagerly to lick at his cock.

Duo moaned, loudly. "Closer, Heero – come closer -! Wanna be inside your mouth -"

Heero let his tongue slip gently away from the shaft, watching the thread of saliva stretch from the purple tip until it broke, and dribbled down the wrinkling skin. The cock bobbed and beckoned to him, shamelessly. Resisting Duo's blindly waving arms, he climbed between his outstretched legs, and lifted the strong, tanned limbs so that they draped over his shoulders. Duo gasped, and was shifted even further along the floor in the process. But when Heero bent back to his work now, his head nestled comfortably at the level of Duo's groin; his mouth nudged at his balls. His tongue slipped out, and swept slowly up the swollen flesh that stretched up in front of him; he licked up the droplets that oozed from the slit in angry frustration.

He took almost three quarters of its length into his mouth at only the first attempt.

Duo groaned, very loudly. Heero had told him once that he was glad that the gallery was in the middle of the business district, rather than residential. Duo had made it pretty clear that he was a screamer – in fact, he was a moaner, a groaner, and a curser! He enjoyed announcing his pleasure every step of the way, saw no reason to inhibit himself.

Heero had also confessed that he found it an almost unbearable turn-on.

Duo yelped now, with the ecstasy of being nearly deep-throated – dammit, he felt like wailing at the top of his voice! "Suck me, Heero – Jeez, that's so damned fine -!"

Heero sucked and swallowed the juices, and his hands clutched fiercely at Duo's thighs, tensed on either side of his face.

So damned enthusiastic! moaned Duo to himself. His head swam, and his body screamed for more – it was a delight he couldn't see he'd ever tire of. He was so fucking responsive, the minute Heero touched him – he'd never known anyone to have such an effect on him before! Heero's mouth attacked him – the lips sought out every crinkle of sensitivity; the tongue slid into every crevice of his nerves. One day he wanted that tongue up his ass, and he hoped it'd be one day soon…

Only trouble with Heero going down on him was that if he wasn't careful, he came way too quickly!

"Heero!" he gasped out. "Clothes off – now! Don't wanna come in your mouth – I want you inside me, bringing me off –"

Heero's mouth slid off him again, and Duo moaned with the cool air of the room back on his over-sensitive flesh. The dark-haired man sat back, struggling out of his shirt, fumbling with the zip of his pants. Duo thought he should help, but his fingers didn't seem to follow orders – his heartbeat was way too fast; his mouth was watering way too easily – it took all his willpower just to draw himself back up on to his elbows, and then to drag himself back up to a sitting position.

Then Heero had wriggled out of the pants and boxers, and was as naked as Duo, and the two of them were sat, panting and wild-eyed, on the polished floor.

"OK here?" growled Duo.

"OK anywhere!" Heero snapped back. He reached across, but with a grin, Duo twisted his body, and was leaning over him now. It was Heero's turn to be tumbled down on to his back, and Duo's mouth was on his, latching tightly as his hands pressed Heero's arms to his side.

"Want you –" gasped Heero, through the skin, and the teeth, and the hot breath.

"Gonna get me," Duo replied, hissing his reply through swollen lips. "But my way, OK?"

Duo moved his hands to Heero's thighs, pressing the legs back in, close against each other. His legs straddled Heero's hips – he knelt up over him, his knees shifting to find the best purchase on the bare floor. He felt Heero's cock straining against his groin; impatient; needy. He'd been teased back to a full, aching erection – and Duo knew exactly what he was thinking right now! What he was thinking he needed… and that was Duo's hands on him – his mouth – his body, swallowing him whole…

Duo pressed his own hips down, bobbing low over Heero's groin, his thighs straining gently as he stretched his legs wider apart.

Beneath him, Heero gazed up at the long, tight torso, and the skin pulled taut over the bony hips. He saw the jutting cock, still glistening with his saliva – pointing at him out of its bed of hair, calling to him; protesting against his neglect.

Heero stretched his own hips up to try to meet the gorgeous body above him. For a second, his balls met Duo's, hanging down between his legs; they brushed together heavily, and both men groaned. Heero thought he may never find words again, but he did. "Duo – I need –"

"Leave it to me, Heero," Duo hissed. "I know what you need, don't I? Just like you know what I need as well!"

Heero peered up at him through eyes half-closed with lust. Duo was sucking on his fingers now – drawing a couple in and out of his mouth with a wet, soggy sound; in and out; rhythmically. Greedily… Heero's eyes darted from that erotic sight up to Duo's face; the longhaired man was staring at him, a bright, mischievous light in his eyes. He was challenging him to watch.

Then the fingers left his mouth, and ran swiftly down to his groin. His other hand stayed at his chest, teasing at a nipple, tight and erect – he brushed gently at his side, as if he tried to tickle himself.

Heero moistened his dry lips. As he watched, fascinated, Duo reached his wet hand under his heavy arousal, and back behind his balls. They shifted slowly; tightened up in anticipation. He moved his hips once, dipping his shoulder a little to get a better reach, and then his arm flexed as he pressed his fingers into himself. His body shook – his mouth fell open slightly. He began to pant, and his arm began to pump gently.

Heero couldn't stop the moan escaping. Duo focussed his eyes back on him, though they were clouded with his growing pleasure. "Still slick in there from last time, Heero – felt damned good, you filling me… fucking me… I wanna get ready for more…"

"I –" Heero felt the words filling his mouth, begging to be spoken. "I want to fill you, Duo – I want to make you wet inside, feel you squeezing around me – come here now -"

Duo groaned. His braid swung softly against his waist, his torso jerking with the stretching movement of his fingers up inside his ass. His own cock was so aroused it must have been painful, swollen with blood, calling for a fierce touch. "I want that too, Heero – I want you pumping up into me, spilling out into me, warm and thick inside of me –"

Heero made a strange, guttural noise in his throat that didn't sound human.

"But not today, OK?" sighed Duo. "Best be careful – use a condom. I don't do it without protection, either way. That's my way – and the best way, I think. Until –" He paused; he didn't finish the sentence.

What was he going to say? thought Heero. 'Until I know you? Until I trust you?' What had his expression meant earlier – that keening emotion in Duo's eyes when they touched fingertips?

However, he found it difficult to concentrate - his balls ached like they'd been in a vice. "So back to the bedroom -?" he groaned. He wasn't sure he'd be able to walk…

Duo smirked, and shook his head. With his free hand, he reached back up on to the couch, and snagged his shorts, lying half-on, half-off the furniture. A quick scrabble in the pocket, and he found the condom and lube that he'd obviously tucked in there earlier. Heero watched his even white teeth tear the packet open – watched his slim, nimble fingers twist off the cap of the tube, one-handed. Then he let them drop gently to Heero's stomach.

Heero took them in his hand, he knew he did – but his fingers felt twice their normal size, and half as agile. He slipped on the condom clumsily – and too damned slowly! - splattering lube anywhere he could reach, anywhere he could touch without crying out with the desperation. All the time, Duo was watching him; panting; preparing himself with his fingers.

"Ready?" he hissed.

Heero's eyes were wide and they shouted 'yes, dammit'! Duo was still smiling; he slipped his fingers out, and lifted himself up straight again, directly above Heero's groin. His balls sagged briefly against the straining flesh of Heero's cock, and they both gasped with the touch. Then he gripped at his thighs to steady himself, and he lowered himself down on to the slick, thick crown.

A loud gasp escaped Heero as he breached the still tight hole; as he pushed on through the initial reluctance of the flesh; as he sank deliciously, and possessively, into Duo's channel. His buttocks clenched – the muscles of his legs strained; his back arched slightly off the smooth, cool floor.

Duo grunted with satisfaction. He forced himself down further until he was seated on Heero's groin, then he slid his way back up again, tugging at the greedy shaft. Just before he dragged his body completely off, he was stopped – Heero's hands grasped his hips, and the fingers were so strong that they both knew there'd be bruises in the morning. Heero growled, softly; but dangerously. He wasn't going to let him tease for long.

Duo smiled. Heero knew that he liked that impatience in him – that it turned him on.

"Tell me, Heero!" he sighed. "Tell me how it feels! I wanna hear you tell me – it's fucking brilliant to hear you – so damned exciting! You ever suspect you were so good at dirty talk? You could make me come with that alone –" He began to wriggle his hips, stimulating the head of Heero's cock, still securely lodged inside him.

Heero felt a cry escape him – he suspected it was the tattered, fleeing remnants of his inhibitions. "I want to fuck you, Duo! I want to feel myself so deep in you that your skin melts into me, and covers my bones!"

"Yeah…" Duo began to move in earnest, encouraged by Heero's passion, and secured by the tight grip on his hips. He sank lower, his ass clenching at the base of Heero's cock, then sliding itself back up, and down again for another assault. "Tell me, lover…"

Heero released a hand, and reached up to take hold of Duo's rearing cock. His voice was firm and confident and he saw Duo listening to him, intently, eyes shining. "I want to come inside you, Duo – I want to swell inside you, and stretch your ass to fit me, and all the time I'll be pumping you along with me, so that you'll beg the same as I will, and shout the same as I will, and then your body will shudder along with me, and your ass will tighten up around my cock when you come –"

"Heero!" gasped Duo, his cock throbbing inside Heero's fist, his hips slamming down hard on Heero's body as he rode him. "Damn, you're good! Make me come, Heero – take me with you –!"

Heero felt the ache so deep inside him that it seemed to come from below the floor. He'd climaxed already today – several times – he'd throbbed and ached and laughed and burst into Duo –!

But this was something more again – sharper, sweeter, more poignant. More devastating…

He came, wrenching himself up off the floor, and grabbing hold of Duo's waist to try to hold himself on the planet. He came, crying and shouting, and with something that sounded like sobbing. He could hear Duo's laugh – Duo's cry of surprise and pleasure and ecstasy as he landed heavily down on Heero, responding to the throb and the rush through Heero's cock, and releasing his own, long-awaited climax. Heero felt the muscles of his lower body seize in delight and shock; he felt Duo's braid dip low over his chest and brush against his face; he felt the spurt of warm cum over his hand and his belly as Duo shuddered over him.

He thought he might let go of Duo, and let himself fly off the planet after all.

He thought he probably already had.

It might have been minutes later – or an hour.

What's happening here? thought Heero. What the hell are we becoming? He was folded deep into the couch again, as he very often was. He thought he must have drowsed for a while, because the light outside had almost gone, and the candles were half the size they were when he'd arrived. He felt Duo's slow, sleepy breath on his neck, and he tightened an arm around him. His own breath was calm, and astonishingly content.

He was that, all right. Or should be.

His thoughts wandered more deeply.

Duo yawned gently, feeling the comfortable pressure of Heero's body against him. What time was it? He shook one of his feet, which had gone to sleep. He felt the delicious stickiness of Heero's skin against his, and another type of stickiness between his legs - a combination of excess lube, and the rambling trickles of his own unruly cum. He sighed. Should have cleaned up straight away, rather than napping like that! But what did anyone expect after an afternoon of hot play, and a necking session in the evening as well that had turned into some pretty athletic fucking? The springs of this faithful old couch had already been strained almost beyond redemption – and the sweaty skid marks on the wooden floor tonight were the testament to further careless enjoyment.

"Feelin' OK, Heero?" he asked, drowsily.

"I don't know how I feel," came Heero's unexpected reply. Duo stirred clumsily, and groaned at the pressure of a cushion seam in the small of his back.

"Wanna drink? Wanna go to bed instead of here -?"

But Heero didn't seem to be having the same conversation. "I don't know how I feel when I'm with you."

"Um – is that good or bad?" asked Duo, his brow furrowing. He scratched at his belly, absent-mindedly.

"I feel damned excited – desperately horny. Because of you. Then I sometimes feel confused, and disorientated, and almost irrational. And that's because of you, too. I've never felt that way before, Duo."

Duo laughed, a little nervously. "You're scaring me somewhat, Heero. I thought we were having a damned good time, and it's better than arguing, don't y'think?" But Heero didn't seem to get the joke.

Duo wasn't sure he did, either. Heero's words were an ominous echo of his own feelings. But then, he wasn't gonna be admitting that to anyone, was he?

"What are we doing here, Duo? I mean – I know what we've just done –"

Duo moaned slightly, and stretched out with remembered pleasure like a lazy cat. His soft, limp cock bobbed damply and gently against his thigh.

"But what are you doing here, Duo?" Heero persisted. "What am I to you?"

"Ahh – Heero –" protested Duo, weakly. "I don't sorta do that introspection thing –"

"What do you feel, Duo?" Heero's lips ghosted against Duo's, as if he wanted to taste the reply. Duo wanted to reach out his tongue, and lick at the warm skin in the corners of Heero's mouth – but he knew that Heero wanted something else from him at the moment.

Something he couldn't give. Or wouldn't give?

"It's pleasure, Heero," he murmured, slowly. He twisted his head round – he was millimetres away from a kiss… "It's just fucking, isn't it? But it's the best I've ever had."

There was a short silence between them.

"It's just pleasure," echoed Heero.

Duo felt his heart sink when Heero's voice sounded so flat. He'd probably said the wrong thing; he'd fucked up again. But this was the first time in his life that the fear of it cut him so deeply – that the poignancy of regret stabbed through him. He knew he oughtta find some way back – to redeem the situation. He knew he didn't feel up to the task.

"I don't know what to say, Heero. What do you want me to say? I want you, and I'm excited by you, and I meant it – this is the best I ever had. But I don't know any more 'n that. I –" he flushed. "I gotta tell you, I've never been with anyone more 'n a coupla weeks – not sexually. Not any way, really. Never really wanted to."

"Sure…" came Heero's deceptively calm voice. Duo had heard this tone before – when he'd been talking to his staff. When there were performance issues he needed to address – delays to a deadline – things happening that didn't meet his strategic plan. Stuff like that… Duo knew it was the calm before the storm.

"But you want to, now?"

"Yeah!" said Duo, hotly. "Sure I want to now! You know I do! This is the best thrill of all, in amongst everything else going on; all the other shit going on in life."

There was a short silence. Duo thought he might be holding his breath. He waited for Heero to blow up at him.

But he didn't. "It's just a diversion, then," he whispered. "Like you say."

Duo had his head rested on Heero's shoulder; not quite knowing what to say, his tongue came hunting for a mate. Heero opened his mouth to accept it, though a little reluctantly at first; his limbs shivered with instinctive delight under Duo's touch; Duo felt his cock stir against his thigh – a little weary, but optimistic at the thought of more intimacy. He wanted Heero to ignore his thoughts for a little longer; so much better to relax into pure sensation!

"A fucking marvellous diversion, at that," he moaned, rolling over slightly, and folding his leg over Heero's hip. The crisis had passed, hadn't it? He'd suck on Heero's tongue, and Heero's cock, and they'd be the same together as before – wouldn't they?

You sure about that, kid? whimpered a voice in his head.

For God's sake, grow up…

Trowa entered Marty's bar with a little trepidation. He hadn't met Duo here for weeks – not since he'd last half-carried him home, in fact. Mind you, it had been Duo who'd called him this time – not Marty. And it was a long time before closing up.

The bar was quietly busy with business people and young couples, and Trowa nodded to a smiling Marty as he made his way through to the booths. That was where Duo liked to sit; where Duo liked to watch the world go by. He looked around for a moment, trying to find his friend – and then Duo was on his feet, waving to him.

There was a glass in front of him, half full of something. Trowa glanced at it.

"It's soda, Trow, don't make a fuss. Let me keep up the image, OK?"

Trowa smiled then, and it warmed them both. Duo looked brilliant, he thought; his eyes were bright, his skin flushed with health. He stood confidently; his arms came out and hugged Trowa briefly to him. His welcome was always like this now – Trowa could scarcely remember the ragged scrap that he'd been after Solo's death. Duo's life appeared to be recovering.

"Not champagne Duo? I thought you'd still be sailing on the success of the show! I heard you on the radio that time – read about you in Art and Artists."

"One-hit wonder," dismissed Duo, but he blushed with amusement.

"No, no," Trowa shook his head. "This next show will be as good, I know it. I know you. You have the tenacity that's needed – the commitment."

"Just haven't shown it for a while," murmured Duo.

Trowa laughed softly, and waved at Marty for a beer of his own. It was good to be out socially with Duo again – like two friends should be. "So are you ready for the show? It's Saturday, isn't it?"

Duo didn't answer directly. "You're coming, aren't you, Trow? Need my family around me…"

"Sure. Of course! I enjoyed the last one tremendously. Heero is very impressed with you, Duo – he thinks a lot of you."

"He said that, did he?"

Trowa tried to read Duo's expression – it was edgy; it was ambivalent. "Not in so many words, perhaps. I saw it in his face – his attitude. Duo – what's happening with you these days? I've barely seen you for the last couple of weeks, and I assumed that was because you were so busy with the gallery. Don't get me wrong, that's fine, I'm not hassling you – but if there's something wrong, and I can help –"

"Nothing's wrong, Trow," sighed Duo. And everything's wrong, he thought to himself. "What did you think of him – of Heero Yuy?"

Trowa felt the undercurrents; he was deliberately unprovocative. "I liked him. He seemed honest – he was frank with me. A man who won't stand for nonsense. A man who expects to get what he wants."

"Yeah – he does. He expects success –"

"Yes, I guess so. He certainly inspires it. Look at you, Duo – look at what you've achieved!"

Duo made a snorting noise, but Trowa ignored it. Instead, he drew a breath, and deliberately broached the most provocative subject he knew.

"You're drawing again, I think."

Amazingly, Duo didn't explode – or snarl. Or call for another drink.

"Sure," he sighed. "You think right. You usually do. Something stirred in me, Trowa, and I just thought I'd give it a go. No painting – just the pencils." He silently thanked Trowa for not comparing him to Solo. "I dunno what got me going again. Indigestion, maybe!" His accompanying laugh was false; it sounded forced.

"There's nothing wrong in it, Duo," said Trowa softly. "You have a talent – you want to use it. No-one would criticise you for that."

Duo looked at Trowa, but his eyes seemed to focus on a spot just north of Trowa's head. His mind was racing somewhere; and it wasn't here with them at Marty's. "I ain't much of a bet, am I Trow? I had a family – lost it. I painted stuff – gave it up. I owned a gallery – fucked that up."

Trowa wondered what this was all about.

"Like I say," persisted Duo. "There's been fuck all success in my life so far. I'm – I don't want anything to spoil the show for Heero. He deserves the best – he deserves success. He is honest, Trow. He's trusted me, and he's supported me –"

"And now you're scared you'll let him down. Is that it?"

Trowa saw the light in Duo's eyes, and he cursed his own blindness. Duo and Heero Yuy were together in some way – he could see it in Duo's face; in his body language, as he hugged himself close against the table; in his halting words. They were drawn to each other; perhaps more than that. When had this all happened? How had he missed such an important thing in Duo's life?

Things were moving on for them all, it seemed.

"You can be just as successful, Duo," he said, slowly. "Listen to me! Be yourself – give your own commitment. That's success in itself, however it all turns out. You're as caring and sincere as anyone else – your gifts are as good as anyone else's – your company and friendship as rich. Dammit, probably more so!" His voice had risen in some passion - he knew what he said was the truth, but he was afraid that it sounded trite; that it sounded patronising. That Duo wouldn't listen to him.

"As good as anyone else?" came Duo's hesitant, wry comment.

Trowa's heart ached to see how much the younger man wanted to believe him. How much he hid that with his cynicism and apparent carelessness. "Would I lie to you?"

"No," replied Duo, and his sudden grin appeared. "Though when you told me I looked good in that orange shirt you may have stretched the truth a little…"

Trowa laughed, then. "Dammit, Duo, Heero will see what you're worth, as well. He must already do! He trusts you – he's relying on you. You won't let him down, of course you won't."

"I'm wrong for him though, aren't I?" said Duo, sharply, as if Trowa would know what he was really trying to say, but didn't have the balls to just yet. "I'm bad for him. Unreliable. Not part of his structured life – best I keep my distance, eh?"

Trowa knew exactly what he meant. "He wants you, Duo. That's all it takes to start with. Christ, I can't say I know how to live a good and satisfying relationship – I can't say mine was much better than stormy! But I know what it means to want someone, and how strong that can be. How exciting; how rewarding – for you both."

He put a hand to Duo's arm, and the younger man smiled gratefully. Trow was one in a million; Trow had always been his rock...

"You can trust Heero Yuy, Duo, I'm sure you can. You must."

A rock, thought Duo. Just like Trow had been the rock for his brother, too…

Trowa's words continued, but suddenly his voice seemed quite a distance away. "You care a lot for him, Duo, don't you? For Heero. I'm very pleased for you. Why won't you let him know that? Why won't you accept it – and enjoy it?"

"So what would Solo think, Trow?" Duo thought his own voice sounded very harsh, and younger than his years. He wasn't quite sure where the words had come from, but the source was deep and painful. He didn't want to see the flash of grief in Trowa's eyes again, but he knew that these things had to be said. And now – before anything went any further.

"Solo?" Trowa was brought up sharp at the thought of his lover; at the ripples of agony and bittersweet joy the name still engendered in him. "He'd be pleased too, I'm sure." He saw how still Duo was – how he seemed to have withdrawn into himself. A chill teased at the back of his neck.

"Is that what you're worried about? What you're scared of? That it somehow detracts from your relationship with Solo – conflicts with your love for your brother? Christ, Duo, that's nonsense -!"

"Enough of the outrage, Trow!" Duo growled. "I can't help how the fuck I feel – I thought you felt the same y'self. We both suffered the same pain – we both lost the same loved one – let him down…"

"But you don't have to sacrifice your life for him, Duo!" gasped Trowa. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. It had been the worst time of his life – and Duo's, too. But never had he thought that Duo would carry that through all of his life; that he'd put everything else on hold forever! He expected that of himself, of course – but not Duo.

"Is that what this is all about?" he repeated, trying to calm his voice. "Guilt? God… You couldn't have helped him, Duo – you couldn't have saved him. It was a terrible accident, and you lost something precious, but it's gone now. You can't get it back, whatever you do; however you behave!"

"There's that Kindly Friend approach again…" sighed Duo. "Sometime I gotta help you move on out into the real world, Trow!"

Something about his feeble joking sparked another concern in Trowa. He gripped his bottle, and stared fiercely into Duo's face. His eyes were downcast – Trowa couldn't quite read the expression.

"What about me? Duo, you don't think you have to look out for me as well, do you?"

Duo's eyes came back up to face him; he looked abashed and startled, as if he'd been caught out. "No! Think you manage OK on your own, Trow. Of course you do. F'r God's sake, I'm no kinda guardian, am I? No kinda role model…"

Trowa ignored the words, and went instead for the jagged emotion in Duo's expression. "I didn't manage – you know that. If I hadn't had you as a friend – as a 'brother' – I don't know how I would have gone on. You know that, don't you? We helped each other – supported each other. Still do!"

"Apart from the fashion advice…." growled Duo, trying for another joke. His eyes shone a little.

"But we're separate guys, aren't we?" persisted Trowa. "You must make your own way now, Duo. You've got such potential – you've got so much to offer! You can be something different from him – something better than him. He's held you back enough – alive and dead! I want you to move on, now. Solo would, too. I knew him well enough to know that."

"And you?" said Duo, very quietly. "You gonna do the same? You talk a good game, Trow – am I gonna see you walk it too?"

"This isn't about me, Duo! Not today! This is about you and Heero." Trowa sat back in his chair and sighed deeply. Damn, if he'd known today was going to end up like this -!

"Caring for someone else doesn't mean you stop caring for me, Duo," he urged.

"Or him!"

Duo stood with Trowa for a while on the street corner outside Marty's, ready to set off back to his apartment. He'd enjoyed the evening out; Trowa's company was sometimes a hard thing to handle, for he challenged Duo, and he spoke very directly about what he felt was right. But he was fiercely loyal, and no-one knew or cared for Duo as well as he did. They'd been in the bar for another hour or so; the chat had been less strained, and the jokes more forthcoming, and Trowa had persuaded him into discussing the exhibition. They'd laughed at the memories of the last show – and then at some of the phrases used about Duo in the publicity articles for this upcoming event. Duo had been there before, of course – he recognised the fulsome praise, and the overblown descriptions of him and his talent. He also knew how quickly they would be wrapped round tomorrow's dirty boots.

He knew a lot more now than he had done a couple of years back – that was clear.

He turned round to cross the road, and saw the man standing at the other side, watching them. He didn't look like a stalker; he wasn't hiding – rather, he looked like he'd been on the way over but had paused, waiting respectfully for them to finish their conversation.

"Who is it, Duo?" asked Trowa. "Someone for you?"

Duo watched the man's eyes flicker to Trowa, and stay there. "You met him once, Trow – at the first show. It's Quatre Winner – Heero's friend, and Mr Rich Playboy. And I think it's you he wants to see."

The traffic had stopped, and Quatre was walking steadily over towards them. Duo pressed Trowa's arm once, then he was gone, dodging a group of office workers on their way home, and cutting across the opposite line of cars and cabs to get across.

Quatre Winner paused in front of Trowa, and smiled slightly. "Mr Barton? Sorry to butt in – I called round at your apartment with a note, but the guy in the downstairs room said you'd be round here at the bar. It wasn't far… I thought I might catch you before you moved on elsewhere."

Called round with a note? thought Trowa. What on earth did he want to send me a note for?

"I wanted – to meet with you," continued Quatre, obviously seeing the surprise on Trowa's face. For the first time he looked uncomfortable. "Dammit, I thought it'd be too easy for you to turn me down on the 'phone! I wanted to explain what I need to discuss. Wanted to see you face to face, I guess."

Trowa stared at him – he was as tall as Trowa himself, though fuller in the figure. Quite stunning, thought Trowa, just remarking on the truth. Striking, classically handsome features; light blond hair cut back over his ears, but longer over the forehead and into the nape of his neck. Wide shoulders – he carried himself very confidently. Yes, thought Trowa again, and rather unnecessarily, definitely a stunning-looking man. Dressed to perfection in dark linen pants and a silk shirt; well-cut raincoat; soft leather boots. Footwear like that must have cost a fortune…

Heads turned as the crowd ebbed and flowed around them on the sidewalk. The admiration was all for Quatre. Trowa looked back at the man's face, and saw the amusement sparking in the large, bright blue eyes. It masked the flicker of uncertainty that had been blossoming there as well.

"Will you have a drink with me? Since Mr Maxwell has now left?"

"Here?" asked Trowa, bluntly.

Quatre shrugged – it was an elegant, attractive gesture, and Trowa suspected that he knew that well enough. "Beer tastes the same wherever, I find. I'd sure appreciate your company."

"Is this to do with Duo? Why you want to see me?"

Quatre bit at a full, soft lip. "Partly. You have a most direct way about you, Mr Barton. I must admit I have a quaint distaste for discussin' my personal business on the sidewalk –"

Trowa nodded, as if he'd come to some kind of a decision. "I'm sorry Mr Winner – I must seem very rude. You just caught me by surprise. Let's go back inside and have a drink – unless you'd rather reconsider the venue?"

Quatre's eyebrow rose very slightly. He looked across the pavement at the entrance to Marty's, appraising the dull windows, and the thick panelled wooden door, and smelling the slight aroma of stale beer on the breeze. He looked back at Trowa Barton, and was interested – surprised? – to see amusement in the slim, dark man's eyes as well. Something stirred in his gut – something that piqued his curiosity.

"No," he said, slowly. "Marty's will be fine. Lead the way." His smile was easy, though cautious. "You can buy the first round!"

Quatre nursed an ice-cold beer that had brought tears of surprise to his eyes when he drank from it. It was refreshingly good. He sat fairly comfortably in a booth at the back of the bar, with Trowa Barton half a foot away, sat beside him. He'd offered for Trowa to call him Quatre – but he'd not been offered the friendly gesture in return.

"So – what did you want to talk to me about, Quatre?"

Quatre felt the reins of control slipping out from fingers that he'd always thought were pretty strong. His fingers – his control. Trowa Barton was that unusual person – someone who didn't immediately fawn over Quatre Winner, and was unfazed by his money, his sophistication, and – most especially - his facile wit.

"I need to talk to you about something – to ask for confirmation about things that you know, and I don't. Because…" Quatre paused. His fingers ran slowly down his beer bottle, wiping the condensation on to the tabletop.

"Because you knew Solo Maxwell."

Trowa's eyes flashed suddenly, and his hands tightened on the table as if he braced himself to rise.

"Hold on," said Quatre, softly. "Hear me out. I know you were his lover –"

"And he was mine," said Trowa, his voice a thread of strain. He spoke to no-one about Solo – no-one except Duo.

"Yes," said Quatre. "And he was yours. I understand that."

Trowa looked at him, a little more closely than before. Something about his tone was sincere – something that made Trowa consider overlooking the shockingly good looks and the affected mannerisms; that made him listen to the man beneath.

"What's it to do with you, Quatre? Did you know him?" His voice was calm and low – but it was as sharp as if he'd shouted in violent anger.

"A little. I own racetracks that he used to visit – I knew of his lifestyle." Trowa appeared to have relaxed back on to his seat – so Quatre pressed on. "And whilst I understand that you two were lovers, I know that he was also seeing another person at the time of his death." The gorgeous green eyes snapped up to meet his - he was surprised at how disturbed he was, seeing the pain in them.

But Trowa's voice was still calm. "So did I, Quatre. I always knew whom he was with. So what?"

Quatre sighed. He wondered if he would get the chance of another drink with this man – he decided to make his first one last as long as he could. "I want some information about it – about that person – and I know no-one else to ask."

Trowa seemed to weigh up the situation, like he had when he first met Quatre. The blond man watched the way his mouth pursed; the way he laid his hands gently on the table, fingers long and outstretched. "Does it concern Duo?"

"It concerns Heero Yuy. You know that they -?"

Trowa nodded, curtly. "But Duo?"

" – and therefore Duo as well," finished Quatre, determined to regain some advantage.

"I won't have Duo hurt," Trowa stated.

"I don't want either you or Duo disturbed, Mr Barton," said Quatre, slowly. "I don't want to stir up painful memories for you –"

"I don't matter."

"But of course you do, for God's sake!" retorted Quatre. They stared at each other for a moment. Behind the bar, in amongst the babble and laughter of the other customers, Marty looked over at the booth, wondering when to offer more drinks. He saw the tension in the two bodies sat there. He turned back to polishing the glasses

Trowa's eyes dropped away from the irritated blue gaze opposite him. He nudged his empty bottle and drummed his fingers against it.

"Talk then, Quatre."

Quatre bit back the exclamation of surprise that rose to his lips. "Thank you, Mr Barton. I appreciate that."

Trowa leant back in his seat as if he was preparing for a long session, and he suddenly smiled. Quatre – like many before him – was astonished at the beauty and warmth of that smile. "Call me Trowa," he said. "And the next round is on you!"

Those two are still talking! thought Marty. It was a damned surprise – he'd thought at that early stage that Barton would walk out. He knew the guy – he knew that tightness in his body; the set of his chin when he was angry. He rarely shouted – he never caused any trouble at all in the bar. But Marty had seen him angry with the kid – and he'd seen him so low that he'd been afraid to leave the bar, even for a minute, in case Barton left and he never saw him again. Marty wasn't one of your jovial, fatherly types of bar owner, but he was fond of Barton. His opinion had often been that the kid needed a good slapping, but Barton was a man carrying a heap of misery – he deserved better.

So there'd been that awkward moment between Barton and his mystery friend – then Barton had relaxed a bit, and the two of 'em had talked seriously for twenty minutes or more. Then the mood had eased again, and it seemed they'd got their business done, and were just two guys chatting over a beer. The blond one looked like a good talker. He kept Barton's attention well – he rarely took his eyes off 'im in return. And Marty liked the way that Barton had been smiling. He'd been smiling a heap of a lot this evening.

Marty knew the blond guy was someone different – there was money there; an arrogant, pampered type. A type that didn't often sit in Marty's bar with its feet up on a stool and stand its turn at the bar for an hour or more. And he didn't know many who'd tip quite so generously; in Marty's experience, those who had the riches, held on to 'em!

"You'll have another?" asked Quatre, gesturing at Trowa's empty bottle. "Marty keeps lookin' over like he thinks I might mug you for your wallet, or steal the non-matchin' glassware."

Trowa smiled slightly. Quatre noted – again – the attractive way that his mouth creased at the corners. Christ, but this man oughtta get happy more often! He wondered what brand this damned beer was – he seemed to feel just a little intoxicated tonight.

"We finished discussing your business a long time ago, Quatre. Don't you want to be off somewhere else?"

"No," said Quatre, rather too quickly. "Blame my curiosity – though Goddamit, it's all but jaded nowadays. But I'm enjoyin' talkin' to you, Trowa. It's good to meet someone who knows the artist boy."

"You've known Heero for a long time? What's your opinion of his relationship with Duo?"

"Uh-huh. A long time. I'm pleased he's seeing Duo – of course I am. Guess I'm hopin' he knows what he's doing, though. For both their sakes. There's a need there for each other – but there still seems to be some kinda barrier… " He laughed softly. "Guess I hope he's not too jaded himself to recognise what he wants and to go for it."

"No…" said Trowa, slowly. "It's more than that. Duo is resisting it as well. He hasn't ever given his deepest affection to anyone except Solo. Solo was all he needed; all he relied on. Then life knocked him back too much, too young. He's mislaid his one talent – lost his one anchor. He's a mess of guilt about Solo…"

"But Heero likes him a hell of a lot."

Trowa paused to think about his reply. Quatre liked that in a man; it was one reason he got on with Heero Yuy so well.

"Yes – I can believe that. And he likes Heero, probably just as much – when he lets himself. But for Heero – is that all there is?"

Quatre sighed. "Heero has never given his deepest affection, period. This is a wild and scary time for him – he's not used to anything where he isn't in control. Where he can't plan or anticipate the outcome."

Trowa wondered briefly why he was sharing so many of his personal thoughts and opinions – it was a rare thing for him to do. "I think it's because of Heero that Duo is drawing again. It's opening him up – socialising him again. That's so good for him. I welcome it."

Quatre saw the effort that it took for Trowa to admit that. To admit other devotion into his precious Duo's life; to consider it all objectively. Trowa Barton was a scarily honest person!

"You care a lot for him, Trowa," he said, carefully. "Strikes me you'd kill for him – but you won't live his life for him. Hey - that's how a true friend should be!"

"You're a lot sharper than you like people to believe, Quatre Winner, " said Trowa, gently.

"You're one of the better knives in the box y'self," came Quatre's quick response.

They stared at each other, until Trowa lifted an arm to call Marty for another beer, and broke the mood.

"So… you wanna do dinner some time, Trowa?" said Quatre, in his lazy drawl. He leant forward so slightly that only Trowa would have noticed. "No strings attached…"

"You can drop the act, Quatre," smiled Trowa. "It does nothing for me."

"I can see that," replied Quatre. "Maybe you'll let me know sometime just what does."

Trowa stared at his blatant approach, as if amazed that he'd try it. But something about Quatre's frank look made him bite back the sharp response he'd been considering. Something that made him want to smile, instead, with genuine amusement. Astonishing!

"A drink, then, maybe? Another day, another place?" Quatre persisted.

Trowa meant to say 'no' immediately. He'd said 'no' to an offer or two in the last six months, and always meant it.

"I don't date," were the words that he actually said.

"And I don't ask very often," came Quatre's amused reply. "They usually come to me if I want 'em." In his soft, seductive voice it didn't sound so dreadfully arrogant. "You're safe from me, Trowa Barton – if that's what you want!"

Trowa did laugh, then. Quatre exulted in the rich smile – the way the man's face lit up. "I'm not scared of you, Quatre Winner –!"

"No, hon, I know. I think I'm scared of you…"

"Ridiculous!" scorned Trowa.

"Uh-huh," agreed Quatre. "It is. But you're an unusual, attractive man, Trowa. I think anyone would be a damned fool not to be faithful to you –"

Quatre knew at once that he shouldn't have said it, even before he saw Trowa flinch. Of course he could see that Trowa Barton was a very private person – what the hell had possessed him to practise his frivolous banter on him? He was private – and very controlled. God knows what he'd be like if he let that control go a little…

"And you, Quatre? How are you with your lovers?" The response came back very quickly – but the tone was very cool.

"Mine?" Quatre sighed. He didn't know whether he'd been scolded or scorned for his clumsy remarks. But he'd answer Trowa - what did he have to lose? "I like my lovers tall, dark and silent, Mr Barton. Preferably laid on a bed – preferably without overnight bag; without any baggage, to be honest. I apologise deeply – I'm not qualified to comment on anyone's relationship when I've had so little experience of my own."

Trowa raised an eyebrow – it was a sincere apology, and he was impressed despite himself. He'd noticed that while they talked, Quatre had dropped many of his mannerisms, and his lazy affectations of speech. "So there is genuine breeding under that flippant charm, Mr Winner! I appreciate you showing me that – I suspect that you enjoy your act just that little bit too much to let your guard down very often."

Quatre didn't answer – there was a slight flush on his cheeks. He turned towards the bar and raised a hand for his turn at the beers; when he turned back, Trowa was still gazing at him.

"Do you always get your own way, Quatre?"

Quatre's eyes were level with his, and steady. "No. But I'll always try." He thought that his name sounded different on Trowa's tongue – like a fine wine; like a delicacy to be savoured. He wanted to hear it again.

Trowa's eyes flashed. "Hasn't anyone ever challenged you? Ever tried to tame that wild arrogance you trade on so confidently?"

Quatre blanched at Trowa's blunt, personal criticism. Guess it was payback time! "I don't do 'tamed', Trowa."

Trowa laughed – and then Quatre realised that he hadn't intended any real hostility towards him at all – it was just Trowa's way to be so direct. "So I imagine! And if you did, I can't think you'd be as much fun, would you?"

"So -?" asked Quatre, his mouth a little dry.

"So another drink will be fine, another day. Some time after the show - I think that we still have to get through that day, for the sake of both Heero and Duo. Then we'll see. But just that - a drink." He could feel the smile lingering on his face as he met Quatre's pleased expression. He felt he was smiling a lot, tonight. This man was most amusing – an unusual challenge. It had been a while since he'd been interested in anyone else at all – for whatever reason.

"I'm not looking for anything else, you see, Quatre."

Quatre looked at the handsome, confident face and his heartbeat quickened. "But neither am I, Trowa." His voice dipped lower.

"Neither am I!"

It was the night before the show. Heero stood alone in the darkened gallery, and wondered why he felt that things were going wrong.

One of the issues was, admittedly, that the gallery was still shrouded as before. None of the exhibits could be seen – all of the displays were hidden. He'd argued fitfully with Duo over the last couple of weeks, demanding he show him what was planned – Heero wanted to know what to expect; what to be prepared for. He wanted to know whether 4:DRMS had been finally included or not. But Duo hadn't relented – the final preparations were his alone. Of course, thought Heero, I could just pull off the dustsheets and see for myself!

But he didn't.

Was that the problem? That he was worried about what Duo may do with his gallery? That he'd argued with him? Surely not! They argued all the time, didn't they – they were in agreement only when they let the passion take over.

Was that all there was to it - to their affair? The physical passion?

He hadn't seen Duo for the last forty-eight hours; not even spoken to him. He'd been called away to an acquisition meeting up north – even so, there were always 'phones; Duo had replaced his cell phone some time ago, and he could have contacted him at any time. Instead, knowing that Duo would be busy on the show, Heero had convinced himself that the artist wouldn't want to be disturbed. Maybe he'd never wanted to be disturbed in the first place; had never really wanted any connection with the Yuy Corporation, let alone Heero Yuy himself. Their last meeting had opened up all sorts of confusion and contradiction; passion and pain. There'd been such physical ecstasy – matched with emotional discord.

But then he'd already been warned how Duo felt about it all, hadn't he? Duo had told him once, had confessed to the way he fucked –'plenty enthusiasm, but fuck all commitment!' he'd said. Heero couldn't deny he knew how things stood.

He wasn't used to this sort of thing – this personal conflict. His only strategy had been to take himself away, and try to regain some perspective.

For the first time ever, he hesitated at going up to see Duo. There was a sliver of pale light under the closed door up to the apartment that suggested that Duo was at home – just feet away. Quite deliberately, Heero turned back to stare around the gallery instead. They always met here, didn't they? The gallery felt like neutral territory in the middle of a war zone. They planned here; they argued here; they discussed here. Duo drew here; Heero watched. They fucked here. He wanted Duo to come to his apartment sometimes; he wanted him at his house. There'd never even been the suggestion of it.

There was a rustle of noise behind him then, and a slice of the low light spread out across his feet. The door up to the apartment had opened. He didn't turn back to face it. When Duo spoke behind him, it wasn't a surprise, though the tone of his voice was. He sounded a little drunk.

"Heero Yuy – now there's a surprise! You've been Mr Busy for the last coupla days, I think. It's a little late now for checking the hold, isn't it? The pirates have been and gone – we sail tomorrow, with or without your blessing!"

"Is that how you see me?" asked Heero. "Checking up on you?"

"I'm an employee," mumbled Duo's voice. "I do what I'm told –"

"You've never fucking done that in your life!" snapped Heero, suddenly furious, and he whirled round to face Duo.

Duo stood, framed in the doorway, backlit by the gentle upstairs light. Heero saw the tall frame, the casual way he leant against the door; the grimace on his face. He saw the lean, tight body, barely dressed as Duo so often was; the naked chest and legs; the soft jersey shorts.

He realised suddenly that in his brief time away he'd gained no perspective at all where Duo Maxwell was concerned. He realised for the first time in his life what it felt like to want to jump someone's bones. He realised how damned miserable he was going to be if all they ever did was argue; he realised how it didn't matter a flying fuck to him where they met, so long as he got to touch him, and be with him, and listen to that sharp, bright, vivid voice…

He was lost to it all!

"Whoa, Heero – we don't often hear you swear, do we?" Duo's eyebrows were raised, as he stepped out into the gallery. His footing was sure, even in the semi-darkness; he wondered if Heero had smelt the drink on his breath, and assumed he was drunk. Heero should know better, of course – he should know that Duo wouldn't have risked that, the night before the show. Heero's show.

But he'd had a couple of disturbed nights, and he'd needed a quick pick-me-up tonight – his regular sleep had been broken by the return of nightmares. They'd been very frequent just after Solo died, but the therapists had all said they'd pass. He hadn't had them for a while now, and not since he'd been working at the gallery. They just came back occasionally – when he was at his most tired. At his most stressed.

That's all it was – stress about the show.

"Guess that's true, about me not doing what I'm told," he said, more coolly. "Is that why you've been avoiding me, then? Scared of what I'll be unveiling tomorrow?"

"Of course not!" snapped Heero. He looked around the gallery, seeing dark shadows and unidentified stacks of equipment. The whole room looked cluttered, full of display materials and discarded packaging. Pictures were already hung on the walls, but covered in sheets that shone dull and grey in the night time. Some lay stacked against the walls for the time being – there were careless piles of paper and tissue on the floor. The perspex wall was completely shrouded – there were only a couple of mysterious little bumps under the fabric. The ceiling wires hung down, glinting emptily above their heads like thin, metallic snakes.

Duo noticed how Heero held his hands tightly at his side – as if he had to stop himself reaching out. He was a little shocked to feel how strongly he felt the same - the sight of Heero had been a shock that rippled through him, speeding up his heartbeat and shortening his breath. Looked like he'd come straight from work – smart suit, a little creased from travel; hair a little less than perfect; that habitual cologne, a light, musky smell that was all Heero. Duo felt as if Heero were all around him; the warmth of his presence suffused the cold night air of the gallery, its teasing tendrils creeping out towards Duo's body. His skin shivered in response.

"Looks to me like you're worried about it…" he said, a little sulkily.

"I want the show to do well, Duo!" Heero protested. "I want my gallery to do well –"

"Your gallery?"

It sounded like Heero cursed under his breath. "I didn't mean –"

"But that's what it is, isn't it?" Duo heard his voice rising in both volume and pitch. "Your gallery."

"It's part of your life, too!" Heero's expression was startled - he was rushing out his words. "Your life will have a share of that success too –!"

"You took my life away with your damned Corporation and your bills of sale and your heads of leases –!" spat Duo. He wondered where the hell that had come from, but he couldn't bite the words back now. He glared at Heero, instead – the dark indigo eyes met his in return, darkening in anger.

"Damn you!" growled Heero.

"And what am I now?" Duo continued on, relentlessly. "On a salary – on a leash to the great God of Commerce!" He felt like he'd opened his mouth, and words were falling over themselves to escape. "I'm nothing but an employee – nothing but a surplus-to-requirements Mr Ordinary. Everything else has gone. Everything I cared about - everything that was mine! My dreams, my plans, my talent, my independence –"

His eyes were blurred with dampness and anger, and for a brief moment he felt as distraught as he had when Solo died. But this was nothing like it, of course it wasn't!

What the hell's going on, kid? he asked himself, in the one small corner of his mind that was still sane. Why are you giving the guy such a hard time?

He didn't have an answer.

"Why are you like this, Duo?" came Heero's cold voice, echoing once again his own thoughts. It was uncanny, that… "Full of self- pity… picking a fight with me. What's happened? Have I upset you somehow?"

"Christ, Heero – you are so –!"

"So -?" Heero scowled.

"So – " Duo floundered – his throat was too tight to speak properly. Look at the guy there! Even when he was angry, he looked so cool – so in control. So self-confident, so together. So gorgeous – so right!

Heero stared at Duo's furious face for a second or two more, and then his body seemed to tense up. He buttoned up his suit jacket – tugged absentmindedly at a wrinkled cuff. "I don't have to stay and put up with this, Duo, and you know it. If you think I've got something to answer, OK, we can talk about it. But you don't appear to be in that kind of mood, so I'll go." He turned on his heel to stride back to the door. "You appear to hate me too much to listen –"

"I don't hate you," said Duo, loudly; abruptly. Heero paused, his back still to Duo.

"I missed you like shit," said Duo. He didn't know what else to say, and his words sounded bleak and pathetic in the deserted room.

"I was only away for a couple of days," said Heero, quietly.

"I can fucking count!" said Duo, sharply.

And then Heero started laughing.

Duo broke his mouth away from Heero's, gulping a deep and desperate breath. They'd fallen against each other just after Heero started to leave – they'd grabbed, and grasped, and reached for each other like parched men would snatch water from its source. Now they leant against the wall nearest to the apartment door, still standing, still wrapped around each other as if they were one person. The only light was from upstairs, and from the greedy shine in their eyes. Their hearts hammered fiercely – their hands gripped tightly to each other's clothing. They'd been crushed against each other for what felt like hours, but what was probably actually only minutes. Heero's jacket was now on the floor, his shoes kicked off and rolled to the side of the room, and his tie was loosened. Duo's shorts were still on, but they hung dangerously loosely at his hips, as if there'd been some abortive tussling by a couple of pairs of eager hands.

"I'm not going anywhere now –" Heero laughed and moaned at the same time. "Let me breathe –!"

"Maybe," gasped Duo. "Maybe not!" There was more laughing – more hunger – more mouths reaching, and sucking, and licking -

"Did I scare you, Duo?" Heero sighed and smiled, and relaxed into the soft taste that he'd never forgotten, not even in his sleeping hours; the taste that he couldn't imagine surviving without. "Thought I was running out on you?"

"Like you'd dare…" Duo hissed. "But then you ain't scared of anything, are you, Heero Yuy?"

I never used to be, thought Heero, to himself. I think I am now. His hand gripped Duo's waist as if to reassure himself of his reality.

"Of course, you might be scared of somethin'," murmured Duo playfully, running his teeth along the lobe of Heero's ear. "Scared that in a coupla days I've forgotten all about ya – that you won't get another taste of my sweet ass this side o' Christmas…"

"Like you've kept me at arms length tonight!" Heero scowled, only half joining in the teasing.

Love that scowl, thought Duo. Love the way his mouth purses like that! Love the way he tries so hard to make sense of the total crap that I fling at him –

He felt the shame wash over him like a sudden, ice-cold wave.

"Is this arms length, then?" He tightened his arms around Heero almost aggressively. He saw a slight bubble of salty saliva at the edge of Heero's mouth, and he quickly licked it away.

Heero grinned – and growled. He wanted him - badly. Duo felt the increased heat between his legs – the pressure of Heero's swelling erection against the front of his shorts.

They held each other tightly for another few seconds. Duo thought that it felt like a damned good fit. He reached to kiss Heero again – and again! He could feel the coil of mischief and lust stirring deep inside his groin. He slipped a hand down and gripped the straining arousal in Heero's pants.

He snickered softly, and felt Heero's breath hitch.

"Duo –"

"Want you, too, Heero. Let's do it here!"

"Here? – what do you mean? Don't you want to go upstairs -?"

"What I want, Heero Yuy, is to strip that tired old business suit off your luscious limbs, suck the outline of my name all over your belly, and then spread myself for you to fuck. Right here!"

"Here?" re-echoed Heero. His voice sounded weak with lust at the mere thought.

"Uh-huh!" grinned Duo. "Right at the scene of the crime, eh? Where tomorrow we'll either see my victory or my commercial crucifixion!" He started to peel away at the buttons of Heero's shirt; he tugged mischievously at the tie, until it slid out from under Heero's collar.

Heero felt the shudder of desire launch itself through his body. "I don't –"

"You do!" muttered Duo. "Whatever excuse you have – whatever inhibition you've re-learned up north – it ain't gonna resist me!"

Duo's mouth slid hungrily along Heero's chin, licking at the slight evening stubble he found there. He started to lap at his neck, sorely tempted to suck a mark there, but just restraining himself at the last minute. He had a terrible longing to devour Heero – to possess him – to absorb him into his very being! Heero's skin was hot and wet under him; the dark-haired man arched himself back, gasping – his neck was bared to Duo, as if he begged for more attention.

"You're mad, Duo –"

"Uh-huh," Duo agreed, but he couldn't have told Heero exactly what he was admitting to. It was just so perfect to have Heero back under him, squirming and gasping and willing! He had, indeed, missed him – he'd fought the alien feeling, and he'd despised himself for the strange weakness, and he'd tried to immerse himself in the preparations for the show… but he'd still missed Heero like shit.

Damned man was addictive!

He didn't allow into his memory the thread of fear – the night time horror of waking, and imagining that Heero wasn't coming back at all; at the very least, not to him.

The nightmares had been nothing to do with that, had they?

Heero stumbled in the semi-darkness over a pile of stacked palettes, and two packing cases. He swore at the sudden pain in his shin. "Christ, this is awkward, Duo –"

"Plenty of space!" grinned Duo. He could hear his breath panting now – his cock was aching inside his shorts. With one hand he grasped at Heero's neck, drawing him back in for another bruising kiss. He slid the other hand down the front of his own shorts, rubbing some relief to his arousal.

"I want to do that," came Heero's growl. Duo smirked - it worked every time!

"Be my guest," he murmured, and sucked in his breath as he felt the long, slender fingers sliding in under the thin fabric, and wriggling around his damp pubic curls. Heero took a steady, yet reverent hold of his cock, and Duo groaned.

He leant back against the wall, and now it was his turn to arch his neck and rub up against the firm caress. He kicked away a roll of wiring at his feet – he saw Heero's hand push out at a trolley that had somehow come rolling up to greet them. Heero's body came tight up against him, the two of them pressing close to the wall.

"We can be seen from the street –" gasped Heero.

"Like – if they get down on their knees and peer under the blinds and have a relative with bat-sight –" moaned Duo. "I got no problem with that –"

Heero started to pump him – lazily; carefully; deliciously. "Fantastic…" he sighed. "Never got this up north…"

"Should fuckin' well hope not!" whimpered Duo. He'd peeled Heero's shirt open – now he pushed the cloth back off his shoulders, wanting to feel the naked skin against his own. It fell to the floor with a crumpled whisper. The door to the upstairs was ajar - it shifted gently from a distant breeze, and the cooler air swept across their chests, nipples springing erect in sudden response.

"Goddd…." groaned Duo. "I wanna be naked, Heero – I want you to touch me, to hold me – to fuck me -!"

"No sucking?" murmured Heero, his arm around Duo's bare shoulders, and his eyes fixed on the protesting tent in his lover's shorts. Duo grabbed at his other hand, pulling it up to his face, and drawing the fingers into his plump lips.

"Can't wait that long! Only these!" he growled. "I'll suck 'em – if you'll put 'em where I most need 'em -!"

"Looks like you've been missing this down south, as well…" said Heero, throatily. He swallowed heavily, just the once, then watched as Duo sucked enthusiastically on his fingers, soaking them with his warm saliva. Duo's voice moaned around the fingers and his own busy tongue – his legs moved apart; his hips strained against Heero's groin, feeling for the response he needed.

"You want me to get on the floor -?"

"No," hissed Heero. "You're the one who said we'd do it right here. So turn around –"

Duo's eyes flickered in the dim light, full of excitement and surprise alike. He let Heero's fingers slip noisily out of his mouth, and he slowly turned on his bare feet, to face the wall. He put out tentative hands, to brace himself. He was breathing heavily; he was unusually tense.

Heero's body was close up against him, the naked muscles of his chest covering Duo's bare back. Duo felt his braid moved gently to one side, and fingers running down the raised surface of his spine. He arched up against them, wondering if he really was purring like a cat, or whether it was just his desire calling. He felt the soft brush of Heero's hair against his neck, and then there were teeth and soft lips against his skin, making the shape of bites all across his shoulders and down to his shoulder blades. He was a mess of sensation; his arms threatened to shake and lose their hold; his skin leapt with goosebumps.

Heero's hands came to his waist, and tugged gently at the shorts. Not gently! gasped Duo to himself. How the hell was he meant to cope with this if Heero touched him gently? He felt the flimsy fabric start to slip down his thighs – he felt the inexpressible joy of his cock springing free, and the fresh air stroking against the weeping tip. The material pooled around his ankles, and he stepped quickly out of it, kicking it to the side. He was naked – he felt every breath of air in the room, every whisper of movement from the soft, rustling tissue around the patiently waiting pictures. Heero's fingers were tracing softly against his hip – Duo knew he was following the pattern of his tattoo. Heero liked to touch it; to kiss it; to stroke it, as his fingers meandered their way down Duo's hips towards his groin.

Duo arched his spine again and stretched his head back towards Heero's – his hands dropped a little way further down the wall, and his ass was pushed out against Heero's hips. He could feel the rock hard shaft between Heero's legs, forcing itself impatiently against the fabric of the smart pants; rubbing against the cleft of Duo's buttocks, as if it were looking for its home away from home.

Duo groaned aloud. "Now, Heero – God – get on with it -!"

Heero's hand pressed firmly on his back, making him lean further forward. Both arms were braced against the wall now, his back straightening out and his head dropping down between his shoulders. A hot, clothed thigh thrust itself between his own, kicking his legs further apart. He was panting even more heavily now. He felt the frisson of fingers at his entrance – a palm gripping his buttocks, and prising them wider open. The fingers were still damp with his saliva – with his sucking. He heard Heero catch his breath, and then one of the fingers slid possessively into his ass.

Duo moaned – he wriggled up against it, trying to suck it into him even more deeply. To seek its companions – to encourage its exploration. There was a soft laugh of pleasure from Heero, and another finger joined it. This time, it was hooked – this time it probed at him, looking for a place to bring him even more delight; even more agony.

Duo yelped as Heero found the place – as he pressed against his prostate, his body already sensitive with anticipation. His legs started to shake.

"Tell me, Duo…" whispered Heero's voice at his ear. He was panting, too. "Tell me what you want –"

Duo didn't have the time or the energy to examine this reversal of roles – the loss of his usual verbosity. He just ached for Heero – his mouth felt full of unspoken pleas; his chest felt strangled by his neglected needs. The sound of Heero's zip rasping open was music to his ears. The muscles of his hole flexed; his ass throbbed with the anticipation. He could feel the hot, damp flesh of Heero's groin at the back of his thighs.

"Lick me first, Heero…" he whispered hoarsely. "I – please –"

He felt Heero hesitate for a second behind him, and then kneel down on the floor. The hands still played at his buttocks, but now the invasive fingers slid out, and he felt his muscles tighten back up without them. Heero's lips touched at his thighs – licked at the clenched muscle of his buttocks. The fingers returned to his ass, pinching the flesh, opening up the crevice between his cheeks. There was hot breath between them – there was something hard, and slick, and demanding up against his entrance again. Duo was almost speechless – his throat was gripped with excitement.

The tip of Heero's tongue pressed its way inside his ass.

Duo shuddered with something deeper and more shocking than he'd ever felt before. His response was animalistic – his body surrendered every ounce of sexual control it had ever had. He couldn't understand how he could still be standing, when every nerve was reduced to liquid, leaking its sensual way all through his body. When Heero started to withdraw, and then plunge his tongue back into him, he began to wail.

"Hush," came the warning; he could feel the shape of Heero's smile against his skin. "You want the traffic out there to hear you and call the police?"

Duo thought they could sell fucking tickets and he wouldn't care! Slowly, tortuously, Heero fucked him with his tongue, gripping hard at his legs to hold himself in place, and burying his face into the sweetness of Duo's ass. Duo wailed some more – he cursed aloud at the need for more stimulation for his agonised cock. He yelled when Heero slid a finger in beside his tongue, and started to probe for his prostate again. Heero sucked, and licked, and thrust, and Duo was a blubbering wreck.

"Didn't want to miss out on the sucking, Duo," came the muffled words. "And now? What do you want now, Duo?" His lover's voice was a damp, musky breath against his buttocks.

"I want you, Heero –" he gasped. Why did the words feel different in his mouth tonight? Why did it seem more than just the usual banter – the usual begging for physical satisfaction? He felt disorientated; it wasn't just his physical nakedness making him feel exposed. "Heero… please…take me now! Fuck me now -!"

When he heard the slight rustle of a plastic package being opened behind him, he realised that he'd not yet asked Heero to use protection – it hadn't even crossed his mind! Desperate times, he groaned to himself. He was so impossibly fraught that he'd have taken Heero's cock as it was – in all its uncovered glory. In fact, the vision of that sent shivers down an already shivering body. He wondered when the hell Heero bought condoms – when he'd started to carry one with him. 'Praps it was one of the quaint customs he'd brought back from the alien north…

'Praps Heero was as much involved in this relationship as he was himself.

Duo wondered – yet again – why tonight felt so strange; so different.

Then the physical excitement swamped him; the crown of Heero's cock was pressing insistently into him. It was damned hard – but the touch was frighteningly soft. He bit his lip as he tried to stretch his legs further apart – as he felt Heero's body bend slightly to get a better angle.

This is where we meet – he thought, wildly. Heero was forcing himself in deeper – Duo could hear his gasps of concentrated breath. Looking down under his braced arm, he could see the shapes of the gallery behind them; the place that he knew so well; the preparation for the show that was so much more his than Heero's. Where things were familiar – where he could continue to hide for as long as he was allowed. This is where we fit together! he thought. Heero's hands were tight on his hips now, pulling him back and forth on to his shaft. This is how it's always gonna be…

Isn't it?

Heero groaned above him – there was a sudden throb to his cock, a swelling that heralded his imminent coming. He slid a hand under Duo's belly, where the muscles were taut and stretched; he grasped at Duo's cock, and began to pump him. Duo knew he wouldn't last long either – his climax already threatened, his cock bobbing out thickly from his groin. His whole body was as tight as a wire with the thrill and the need for Heero. He wanted to call to his lover – he wanted to tell him how he felt. To ask him to join in the amusement and the joy.

He said nothing – instead, he clenched his muscles around Heero's cock, and allowed the waves of ecstasy to flood his nerves. The floor creaked very slightly underneath them – there was the sound of sweaty, slapping flesh as Heero thrust in and out; Duo felt the muscles in his calves straining in protest as he held himself up for Heero's best comfort.

Duo gasped – "Shit, Heero –" and then his climax ripped through him, bursting out of his cock and straining against the boundaries of Heero's strong hand, the cum sending its steamy, thick trail over Heero's fingers, and splattering down on to the bare boards of the floor. He shook under Heero's body – his limbs jerked with the force of the reaction.

There was a sharp, sweet urgency to this coming – not that he hadn't been desperate before, many other times. But there was an emotion much deeper this time; much more than just the passion and lust. His chest was too tight – his limbs too weak. There was a pain inside that felt like heartache; the suspicion of tears springing to his eyes.

Heero shuddered above him, his hips slamming tightly up against his buttocks. He gave a deep, guttural groan of satisfaction as he came, and Duo felt him throbbing deeply up inside – felt the muscles of his torso tighten fiercely against Duo's supporting back. His arm clutched tightly at Duo's body, anchoring them both in the sensation.

Don't leave me, thought Duo, hearing the thread of a new desperation in the words. He didn't want Heero to hear him – he seemed to have little control over his voice tonight. But he couldn't stop the emotion itself. The anguish came from nowhere – and consumed him.

Don't ever leave me, Heero!

Duo's legs buckled as Heero drew out of him, and he sank down to sit on his ass on the cold boards. He felt exhausted – he felt exhilarated! He felt as if he'd run a marathon and then jogged up and down a mountain for additional entertainment. He felt like months of need and desire had just been released.

Heero turned his back to the wall and slid down to the floor beside him. For a while, they sat there, panting, trying to regain their normal breathing. Duo was completely naked – Heero had his pants on, but they were open, and snagging halfway down his hips. He dragged a handkerchief from his pocket – he pulled off the condom with a satisfied sigh.

Duo sneaked a look out of the corner of his eye – Heero looked good! He looked flushed, and his chest heaved a little after the exertions, but he looked damned happy. Physically satisfied; content.

Heero looked back at him; caught his gaze. His tongue licked out at his dry lips. "Water?" he murmured.

They both stared over at the corner of the gallery, where there was a faint glint of reflection from a water cooler. Then they both looked back at each other; propped against the wall, their breathing harsh in the still air, their bodies shining with sweat. There were clothes in a heap beside them and their critical muscles were still screaming complaint. Neither looked as if they'd be moving any time soon.

"Not bothered," said Duo, lightly. They both laughed a little; a happy, weary sound.

"Remember, Duo, you said you fucked with plenty enthusiasm -?"

Duo flinched a little beside him.

"Love the enthusiasm!" sighed Heero. His head went back against the wall – his hands were limp at his sides.

A grin broke out over Duo's face; his eyes sparkled. "Welcome back, Heero," he teased, a little of his mischief returning with his wits.

Heero grinned back. It was a companionable feeling, sitting here with Duo, in the afterglow of fantastic sex. Of course, the evening hadn't exactly started out very promisingly…

He shifted, as if to get more comfortable. His foot knocked against the trolley, causing one of its wheels to squeak. "Look -what you said earlier, Duo –"

Duo's heart sank. "It was shit!" he said, sharply. "Forget it. I was outta order, OK?"

Heero ignored him. "Everything has gone, you said. Everything that matters to you. I want to know if you meant it. What you meant."

Duo rolled his eyes, and rested his own head back against the wall. "I don't know what I meant, Heero. I don't know what to think, half the time. It's all just words to me – matters; cares; wants. Just words! I ain't got time to talk it all out."

Why did Heero's silence seem to drag the answering words out of him?

"I've had a coupla bad nights, y'know? Cut me some slack, I just - look, I'm just nothing. While you were away I thought and thought around it all – me; you; the gallery. Stuff. But I can't get away from the crap. I'm nothing on my own. I've nothing to offer. Things just don't work for me."

He sighed. "I wanted to be different from Solo, y'know? Loved him – but didn't wanna make the same mistakes. Wanted to be different…"

"You are," whispered Heero. "You're so much more than nothing that I can't find the words to describe it!" Duo was shaking his head, but Heero continued. "You're bright, and bold, and you speak your mind, even –"

"- if it's crap?" grimaced Duo.

Heero tsked. "You're honest, and talented, and you've worked damned hard for something that you've committed to –"

Sounds like you, Heero, thought Duo. Sounds like you… Are we that alike after all?

There was a short silence. Duo felt one of his calves cramping up – his ass felt a bit numb.

Heero's voice had become soft, low, and very chill. "Do you want to leave, then? Do you want to finish this? If that's part of the problem; if it's causing you such grief; I – I can let you go from here…"

Duo let his head hang down, staring at his own lap. He didn't want to meet Heero's eyes for fear of – well, for fear of something. "You'd do that?"

What? thought Heero. Let you go from the job? From me? He felt nauseous. His words felt like hot, dry sand in his mouth.

"If that's what you want. No point in having a hostile employee…"

"I'm an executive, I'll have you know –!"

"Yeah," smiled Heero, a little sadly. "So you are."

There was another silence.

"OK," said Heero. He slid his legs out in front of him; let loose a small groan as a joint creaked. "I'm going to say this, whether you listen or not. I didn't mean to take everything from you – it was never meant that way. I just saw the gallery deal – saw what I wanted."

"I know that," grumbled Duo. "You didn't take it away from me, of course you didn't! I acted earlier like a spoiled kid. You just bought it – it was me who gave it away."

Heero was ignoring him again. Duo didn't know whether he liked that or not. It confused him.

"So take it back!"

"Huh?"

"Take back the gallery!" said Heero, sharply. "It can be yours again – all of it."

"Don't be fucking stupid!" protested Duo. "I can't ever afford that, even at the stupid rates you pay. And there's no other way I could take anything off you."

They glared at each other for a moment.

Then Duo made a grunting noise and reached out for his crumpled shorts.

Heero felt the warmth of Duo's body rolling away – he felt the withdrawal even more deeply than that physical sign. Duo had wriggled his shorts on to his ankles, and was now kneeling up, pulling them back up to cover himself.

Heero sighed; he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm finding this difficult, Duo – carrying on like this. I don't want to, but it's the way I am. It's hard…never knowing how you'll be – never knowing how you feel towards me."

"You're – we're great, of course…" Duo's voice sounded hollow. "Anythin' else is just more words, ain't it?"

"No," said Heero, deliberately. "There should be more, I think. That's the problem. More than just this overwhelming lust…"

"Nothin' wrong with lust," muttered Duo. "Damn sight more reliable than all that love 'n devotion stuff…"

Heero smiled, a little sadly. "You may be right, of course. But I care for you as well, Duo – I care a hell of a lot." Not just words, he thought, but feelings. That's what overwhelms me.

He sighed, deeply. He ran a hand through his tousled hair again; didn't seem to know what else to do. Duo's disapproving silence was like a fist around his windpipe, throttling him. He was determined to speak, though – even if it were the last time he had the chance.

"You've changed me, Duo – just meeting you; just being with you. I can't describe it, because it's been a revelation to me, and I haven't really got my head round it yet. Christ, that's half the problem, isn't it?" He laughed, self-consciously. "My difficulties in handling this properly – trying to offer you what you want. But it's been magnificent! I want you to know that…"

Duo had turned back to stare at him. His hand paused at the waistband of his shorts; he sat back on his heels. His eyes were wide, and fixed on Heero's mouth, like he was trying to understand words in an alien language. He looked almost stricken.

Heero struggled on. "You see, I don't want to be always hiding away in the gallery, meeting only at night, fucking in the dark – you know, just as we have been. It's exciting – God, it's exciting! – but I don't want that to be all there is. Getting off on the conflict – ignoring everything else for the sake of fabulous sex." Hadn't Duo said that to him once – that he didn't want the intimacy to be good for the wrong reasons? Had all that been forgotten?

"Duo, I want to spend the days with you, as well." He thought he'd forgotten to breathe, because his chest was hurting so much. "I want to be with you – openly."

He saw Duo shift again beside him, and he realised how hot he felt – how his head was hammering. "I know you're not looking for that, Duo, but it's something I have to say for my own peace of mind. I've never known anyone like you – I've never had anything like this before. Hell - I don't want anything like this again, at least, not with anyone else! I want to spend months learning more about you – "

Years, sighed his inner voices. Years…

"I've never felt this passion before." His voice was wondering; it was softening further and further. "The colour blindness extended to more than my sight. I never saw such colours in life – never saw the things you show me."

He couldn't find any more words. He thought he should probably get up and make his way home now, before Duo had to ask him to. But it was Duo who spoke next. His voice was suspiciously quiet.

"You're astonishing, Heero Yuy. You're – I never met anyone like you! You say I've changed you – I doubt it, man. I'm just a bit of rough for you -something a bit different…"

"No," replied Heero. The pain in his chest was very sharp now. "You misunderstand. You have no idea of my experiences before you met me – and I'd thank you not to assume you do. That's not what I meant at all. I know what I want; but I understand that you don't necessarily feel the same –"

Duo flinched beside him. Heero's words had been harsh; but then, his had been patronising. "Sure. You understand – yeah, of course you do. I can't give you more than this, Heero. I guess that's what I've been trying to say all this time."

Heero's pain was still acute, but he felt quite calm now – he felt a great relief for having spoken his true feelings. He knew that he wouldn't get the same from Duo – and he'd make sure he didn't ask again. He could live with the misery, he thought – for a while, anyway. It was all about managing his expectations, wasn't it?

He'd wanted to tell Duo that he'd take whatever was on offer, for as long as it was on offer. His feelings didn't really matter - it'd be enough for him. But he knew that was a lie – just as he'd known that his pride wouldn't let him do that.

But he didn't know where to go from here.

Duo's words were almost a whisper now. "I wish I knew what I wanted… I wish I were you, Heero."

"Stupid idea," Heero snapped. "Stupid ambition, too –"

Duo was still musing aloud. "Your confidence – your assurance. It's fucking attractive. I wish other things, too – other stupid things! Like I wish you had something else of mine other than those two old pictures. Wish I could give you something else…"

"I don't want anything like that from you, Duo," Heero sighed. "Though I'd like to share my collection with you some time – see your reactions to it – see what tastes we may have in common."

"After the show, then," said Duo, so softly that Heero almost missed it.

"You want to see it?"

"Sure."

Heero wanted to shout, I want to show it to you! I want to show you how I feel – show you how I really am. He didn't. He rather thought he'd spoken more than his fair share already; if he said any more, he thought he'd run the risk of breaking everything up completely. He'd not had a definite response from Duo about whether he wanted to leave or not. Dammit, he didn't want to hear!

Duo turned away from Heero again, groaning slightly as he struggled to his feet, pulling up his shorts properly and wincing at the returning circulation to his legs. "Gotta go now, anyway. Gotta get some last things ready for tomorrow. You'd better go home tonight – I don't need any more distraction!" He smiled gently as he spoke, trying to relieve the harshness of the words.

"Leave me to finish up here, Heero."

He stared at Heero, as if he were disturbed to see the effect his words were having on the other man. Wishing, perhaps, he'd chosen another phrase; something less dismissive; less ambiguous.

"It's been a hell of a night, hasn't it?" he said – there was a plea in his voice, barely hidden.

"You're damned right it has," replied Heero, softly. He got carefully to his feet, trailing his creased shirt in his hand; zipping up his pants. For a moment, Duo seemed at a loss for words.

"I - need to think things through, Heero. Y'know?"

"I know," said Heero. "So do I." He looked up at Duo whose hand was on the apartment door, ready to open it wide and go through. He didn't say anything to try to stop him.

Duo sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow then, OK?"

He closed the door very quietly behind him.

Duo stood back from the far wall of the gallery, cloth in hand, roll of masking tape around his wrist, and he sighed. Difficult with the pen in his teeth, but what the hell! There was dust on his shoulders and his braid was fraying in several places. His sweats had almost worn through one knee, but he'd spent the afternoon kneeling down and scrabbling across the floor regardless.

He didn't know what time it was exactly – he didn't know when he'd last had a watch, or where he'd left it. It never used to bother him.

There was a tentative voice behind him – Tony's. "The staff are on their way for the final run-through, Duo. And the caterers – and the preview photographers."

"And?" growled Duo. He reached out and shifted one of the paintings slightly to the right.

"You've been here since 5 a.m., Duo," came Malia's voice, behind Tony. "We're all here now – you can hand over and get yourself ready."

"'S OK," he mumbled, not really listening. "I didn't sleep well, anyway. Easier to get up and do some work down here."

There was a draught from the door to the outside – Duo's head snapped up, as if he were expecting something. Or someone.

"It's the catalogues, two boxes –" called Tony, dashing over to take in the delivery.

Duo's head sank back down against his neck.

Malia's hand appeared on his arm quite unexpectedly. "Duo," she said, almost gently. "Have you heard anything I said? It's almost five p.m. now, and you need to get ready, unless you're greeting your public in those!" He glanced at her smart suit and carefully made-up face, and then down at his own sweats and skimpy blue vest. He smiled slightly.

"Sweetie," she said, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Unless masking tape is the new accessory, and dust an artistic statement, you'd better shower and get dressed to kill!"

"There's plenty o' time –" he started again, but she was gently pushing him towards his door. He yawned; he moved a little sluggishly.

"I'll send for more coffees," said Tony, even before Malia had to suggest it.

"Is it OK, though, Malia?" asked Duo, abruptly. She couldn't see where his eyes were focussing – whether he meant one particular item, or the whole damned place.

"The show? Of course it is! There's no doubt, y'know? It's gonna be a riot, Duo – an absolute success. Like last time, but better! Dammit, but haven't you done it again? Just look at this room!"

He looked round, but she could see his eyes darkening with indecision again. "Get the hell upstairs and make yourself the enfant terrible again, OK?" She softened her voice. "Duo, honey – we're proud of you. We're proud of what we're doing here. Please let us help you out…"

She watched him lope slowly up his stairs and vanish into the apartment. She sighed with some relief. The vans would be arriving any second with drink and canapés, and dozens of barely-brained temporary staff who would need supervising every step of the way. Hadn't she done this very thing for all of her working years?

Tony had paused beside the perspex wall, and bit at his lip. "So what are they gonna think about this, eh?"

Malia looked up at it herself, and shrugged as elegantly as she could in the severely fitted jacket of her suit. "They'll love it – he'll make them love it."

"Sure," smiled Tony. "Duo knows best."

Malia turned back to find cloths for the refreshment tables, but Tony called to her again.

"There's still a picture here unpacked – do you want me to -?"

Malia's voice was sharp, and caught Tony unprepared. He hadn't heard such a tone directed at him for months now. "Leave that, Tony! Duo said that he wants to hang that one himself – though I don't know if there'll be time, before the first guests arrive. But he wants no-one to touch it but him."

They both stood and stared at the small package, still propped against the far wall, covered in paper and bubble wrap. Neither knew quite what to say for a moment. Then the cell phones started ringing again, and yet another gum-chewing delivery boy was pushing through the door, nearly colliding with the harassed assistant struggling in backwards with a tray full of strong coffees. The team was called back to its own preparations – no-one had any more time for mysteries!

It was two hours later, and the gallery had just opened. The invitation list had been twice as long as the first show – and the invitations were twice as eagerly accepted.

There was a slight sprinkle of rain outside, and the first group of guests fell through the door, laughing and cursing and shaking their coats, and reaching for the very welcome drinks. They were mostly journalists again, and several representatives of the art journals. Quatre Winner was with them, arm in arm with his favourite Assistant Editor, though his attention seemed a little distracted. He looked splendid in a sapphire blue silk shirt and satin pants that were moulded perfectly to his shape, all covered by a well-cut raincoat. He shepherded one of the sponsors into the building with some witticism or other; there was more laughter, all underlying a barely suppressed excitement.

So closely after Quatre that any ingenuous spectator might have thought they arrived together, Trowa Barton appeared. More modestly dressed – and yet he'd taken care with his appearance, as anyone who knew him would have noticed. He had an innate style that allowed him to wear ordinary clothes, and yet look extraordinary himself. He didn't like to attract attention – but to discerning people, he did.

And they all turned for their first view of the exhibition.

"Shit!" came from one of the younger journalists. Quatre turned, to catch Trowa's eye – the brown-haired man was already watching for him. He nodded; Quatre raised an eyebrow and grinned.

It was a riot of paintings again – but the theme wasn't of colour or hue, as before. It was of people - and touch. There were pictures of hands praying; hands waving; hands striking; hands embracing. Pictures of children, men and women – offering comfort; offering help; offering derision. People clasping each other in friendship; in anger; in lust.

Families; lovers; solitary people. Everyone and anyone. Any age; any gender; any race.

"Hey…" whistled another journalist.

"Fuckin' brilliant!" gasped an art student.

Someone else laughed with delight.

The pictures were on the walls, and also hanging from the ceiling, as before. What was different this time was that in amongst them, Duo had arranged a network of threads and cords. Hanging from these was a fabulously varied selection of personal effects – gloves, rings, watches, hair bands, hats, socks… they were placed so that they didn't detract from the pictures and the story they had to tell, but instead they added their own perspective to it. This was an exhibition of people and their lives and their relationships, and the objects were part of that.

Quatre laughed out loud – an expression of his own pleasure. "Maxwell – where are you?" he called. "It's magnificent! Come here and accept your congratulations as the talented man you undoubtedly are!"

Duo appeared from behind the perspex screen – the only part of the room that wasn't covered with paintings and brightly-coloured, shiny, swinging items. His face was slightly flushed – he'd dressed in the black suit again, this time over a vivid red shirt. He had a small cord around his neck, with a silver cross hanging from it. His hair was glossy; his eyes were bright.

"Washes up well…" Malia murmured to Tony with a smile. He squeezed her hand, and despite the table of drinks and catalogues that she was fiercely guarding, she let him. The people were flocking in now, bursting in through the door and swirling around the edges of the room like a river undammed. There was a loud burst of applause, cameras clicking all around, and Duo was engulfed by well-wishers and a steadily growing band of fans.

And then Heero Yuy arrived.

The cameras were flashing again - the owner of the gallery had arrived! - and there were several women around him, gushing effusively. Malia attempted to keep them at bay, pressing a catalogue into any hands that got too near – drinks into the others. He was apologising for being held up in traffic, on his way here from another meeting. He was smiling, but it seemed as if it were rather an effort; he was leaning away from the free hands that reached out to shake his own. His eyes flickered above all the heads, several times.

On the other side of the room, with guests milling all around, Duo looked across and caught his eye. For that second, there was no-one else in the room for him. A programme was opened in front of him, obscuring his sight; a glass of wine was almost spilt down his black suit. An enthusiastic art student clapped him on the shoulder.

Duo saw none of it. He saw only Heero.

Heero raised a hand from his side as if to wave. Then Quatre was beside him, embracing him and taking him over to meet some of the sponsors. The contact was lost.

"Duo?" Trowa was beside his friend, taking his arm and firmly extricating him from an over-enthusiastic admirer. "It's great, Duo! Such an innovative idea – and such a superb collection of complementary art! I suspect that you'll hear that from hundreds of others tonight –"

Duo greeted Trowa affectionately. "So glad you came, Trow! You're lookin' good, as well. The jacket's new, isn't it? It suits you – brings out the green in your eyes. Took some fashion advice from the Lord of the Track, eh?"

"We had a beer, that's all –" said Trowa, knowing full well that Duo was provoking him. He'd not spoken to Duo about his evening with Quatre Winner, and hadn't seen either of them in the few days running up to the show.

"You like him, though, don't you?" said Duo, softly. He saw Trowa's eyes following Quatre tonight; saw the thoughtful expression on his face as he watched Quatre dispense his unique brand of charm and bonhomie throughout the room.

Trowa was characteristically frank. "He's not the type I'd want to get close to."

Liar, thought Duo to himself. "Too much of a handful for you?" he grinned.

"And Heero's not?" Trowa was sharp with his riposte.

"Maybe…" sighed Duo. What did he know, anyway? This was his first sight of the damned man since last night. No word, no call, no message – all day. All Duo had to console himself with was a headache from lack of sleep, and sore calves…

"Quatre's different, Trow. He seems outrageous, sure. But he's damned clever underneath it all – and he's Heero's friend. That's a good enough reference for me."

"What is this – a dating agency?" Trowa looked a little flushed.

"Who mentioned dating?" said Duo, slyly. He put a hand to Trowa's arm – drew him closer. His voice was a little hoarse. "Look - he's not Solo, Trow."

Trowa looked at him sharply. "I know that! I'd not want –"

"- another one like him?" said Duo, perceptively. "I'd be glad if that were true, y'know? You deserve much better 'n my brother gave you. Sure, he loved ya – but that ain't no reason to trample all over a guy like you…"

"Christ, you talk nonsense," sighed Trowa. "I only had a beer with him!"

"Guess the nonsense is on both sides, Trow," Duo replied. "It's one of those nights!" Malia was bearing down on him, waving a catalogue with a look on her face that implied she was selling both pictures and potential like they were going out of fashion tomorrow. Trowa started to move away, acknowledging Duo's need to be elsewhere for a while.

"Be here for me, Trow, will ya?" asked Duo, just as he turned to go and help Malia with the paperwork. "Just to the end of tonight?"

Trowa nodded. He wasn't going anywhere else just yet.

Barely an hour later, the gallery was full. The drinks were flowing and the food fast vanishing. The place was full of the noise of chatter and calls and cries of delight and surprise. The cameras still flashed – Duo had given several brief interviews. Quatre had spun sponsor after investor after connoisseur in front of him, until his head whirled and his tongue threatened to suffocate inside his mouth if it didn't wrap itself round some iced water. Malia was heavily flushed, with wisps of her perfect hair escaping from the pins, but her central catalogue looked well-thumbed, and her Filofax was significantly thicker with new contacts' business cards and brochures.

There'd been a late arrival, about half an hour earlier. Remy de Haas had arrived as one of a group of people from her latest photo shoot, and her sponsoring fashion magazine. Duo hadn't seen her arrive, though he heard the sudden flurry of cameras and notebooks waving – he just saw Quatre moving swiftly to the opposite end of the room, face like thunder, as if he couldn't put enough space between him and the model. Even more surprising, he saw Trowa moving after him. From the look of their subsequent conversation, Trowa was calming down the lively blond – he had a restraining hand on his arm.

Well! Duo had thought, with a secret smile. So that's the result of 'only having a beer'!

He'd watched carefully, without appearing to, to see how Remy greeted Heero. It had been brief, and immensely civil. An air kiss or two; and when she put out a hand to him, he'd taken a catalogue from Malia and offered that with a bland smile. Duo had been ridiculously reassured.

For the moment, he stood against a wall, drawing a reviving breath in between the gushing and greeting that was going on all around him, and trying in vain to camouflage himself into the painted plaster itself. Malia and her staff were valiantly fielding the press and the columnists and the dealers – but everyone wanted to see Duo Maxwell himself! They wanted to talk to him – to ask his opinion – to pump him for information about the exhibits. They wanted to be with him!

He wasn't such the 'new boy' this time around.

"Taking refuge?" came the low voice, tinged with amusement. Duo both smelt the light cologne and felt the body warmth, as the other man came to stand beside him. Heero handed him a glass of sparkling iced water, matching his own. He mumbled thanks. They both stared ahead of them, out into the gallery – but their senses were on each other alone.

"Are you pleased with it, Heero?" he asked abruptly.

They hadn't exchanged a single word since Heero had arrived, but he didn't seem to be offended by the blunt greeting. "It's brilliant, Duo – it's magnificent! It's a visual feast; and a startling theme. They can't stop talking about it – Quatre will dine out on this for weeks to come, appointing himself your unofficial agent!"

"You thought I'd fuck up –"

"I never did," said Heero, rather sharply. "You're doing me an injustice again. I knew you'd deliver. I was just never sure what…"

"You wanted me to tell you all about it!"

"No – but I would have liked to have shared more of it with you."

Duo flushed, and his eyes dropped momentarily. "You just had to trust me – y'know?"

Heero turned his head fully and stared at him. "I know. And I did. It's a great success – you're to be congratulated on that."

"But –" Duo swallowed some water, to ease his painfully dry throat. "But are you pleased with it?"

Heero looked bemused. Duo looked at the tiny furrow in his brow when he did that, and the tightening of his lips. He remembered how delicious those lips were – how skilled at both taking and giving pleasure. How it had been his pleasure, for weeks now.

"The theme is for you, Heero!" he blurted out. His words sounded rushed – he wished he could remember just one of those million trite little speeches he'd practised since he last saw Heero. "It's because of you! No particular insistence on colours – instead, I concentrated just on the emotion; the feelings of the artists; of the subjects. The impact on the guests. Those who look – those who really see!"

He reached his hand up, like he had in his apartment last time they'd been there, palm towards Heero, fingers outstretched. Heero seemed to be struggling with some response, but he stayed silent. He lifted his own hand instead, and touched his fingertips to the other man's.

"Connection," sighed Duo. "That's what the exhibition is called."

With a smile, he moved away from the wall and Heero's startled, confused expression, and he rejoined the throng.

In the centre of the room, the perspex screen shone out, backlit by carefully placed spotlights. It was completely blank – completely clear of any markings or signs. At the sides were attached small, shallow troughs, a row of them one above the other, from almost floor level up to the height of the tallest man in the room. Trowa leant past one of the staring guests and peered at the troughs – he could see the glimmer of paint in each one.

There were murmurs amongst the crowd as they passed the screen, even as they praised the rest of the show. Snickers of scorn…

"What the hell's wrong with this? Just gets in the way, unless he's gonna use it –"

"Guess he missed a few here…"

"Ran out of pictures, more like! Couldn't get the sponsors he'd wanted –"

"So he's still an erratic performer, eh? Still untried…"

Heero himself stood there, and when Duo worked his way to his side, he turned to him with a puzzled expression. What the hell did Duo mean by this strange vacuum in the middle of such cluttered activity? People would surely remember this empty, aching window long after they remembered the glory of the other displays.

Duo grinned as if he knew what Heero was thinking. "Still trust me, Heero?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Heero. He was glad that he found it very easy to say.

"So watch!"

As Heero, Trowa and several other guests stared, Duo stepped up close to the screen, and dipped the fingers of his right hand into one of the troughs of paint. Then he reached up towards the top of the screen, and carefully pressed his damp, green-streaked fingertips to its cool surface.

He left the perfect mark of his fingerprints; of his unique individuality.

The noise level fell around him; there was a confused silence. Tony appeared discreetly at his side with a smile on his face and a box of wet wipes in his hand; he offered one to Duo to wipe his hand clean of paint.

"Now you," smiled Duo, his hands waving for Trowa and the others, but his eyes solely on Heero. "Connection – remember?"

Trowa grinned his fabulous smile and stepped forward to copy Duo's actions. Some of the other guests laughed nervously; some moved a step forward too. Tony stood hovering, with wipes for those who'd need them.

Heero gazed back at Duo. The smile started very slowly at the edges of his mouth.

"What colour shall I choose, Duo?" he murmured. There was a burst of delighted laughter and a girlish giggle around the screen. Others were pushing forward, to see what the fuss was about.

"Ain't they all one to you, Yuy?" said Duo.

"Some are brighter than others," said Heero.

Duo smiled broadly, as if they spoke a language that wasn't obvious in the words. "Choose what you like, Heero. The colour's not important, is it? It's the print you leave behind that is."

Heero's breath caught in his throat. He made as if to move towards Duo, and then a pair of students pushed between them, crowding round the screen and jostling Duo.

Duo grinned ruefully as he was swept back to the other side in a crowd of people. Heero followed his eyes for as long as he could, smiling with him. Then he moved in to the screen to make his own mark.

The gallery was a laughing, chattering mess of glamorous people, dipping fingers in paint and daubing evidence of their personalities all over a perspex wall. The clear screen was covered with multi-coloured prints – smudges – drips. Some of the fingerprints touched at others – some overlapped like the fingers had entwined. People were pushing and shoving to find a space – coming back to look at their contribution, and to play the game of guessing whose the other prints were.

Never had this city's art world had such fun!

"Brilliant idea, hon," smiled Quatre. He stood for a moment at Duo's shoulder. "Audience participation, eh? No-one else would dare!" His eyes lost their cynical glaze for a moment, and he watched the participants with unadulterated amusement. A corporate executive roared with laughter, and dabbed the remains of his painted fingertips on to the nose of his expensively dressed mistress. A journalist shrugged in embarrassment, but pushed another person aside to get to the colour of paint that he preferred. A couple of young students, obviously in love, refused the wipes to clean themselves, and instead moved away from the screen with painted fingertips pressed together, frowning with their concentration on maintaining the touch.

Duo smiled along with the blond man. The gimmick had been taken up far more enthusiastically than even he had hoped! "They gotta join in, Quatre. No point offering connection unless there are people there to accept it. Both sides gotta be involved."

Quatre looked at him more carefully. "You talkin' about art, hon?"

"Of course," replied Duo, evenly. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

He felt Quatre tense beside him, and wondered if he was going to say something else. Or perhaps he was worried that Duo would start to pry into his meeting with Trowa. But he saw the real reason why, a moment later – Remy de Haas had stepped up to the screen, and was making her mark in a particularly sickly yellow coloured paint. She had the female publishing editor of the fashion magazine hanging on to her left arm, and the younger son of one of the sponsors for Heero's gallery on her other side, his arm curled possessively around her miniscule waist.

Her cronies from the magazine cooed and fluttered around her, offering the wipes that she used quickly and thoroughly – as if the paint might poison her skin. And then, as she dropped a soiled wipe into the sycophantic hands of the younger son, she glanced across at Duo. Her mouth smiled at her fans; a wide, even-toothed, professional smile. But it was her eyes that reached Duo, and he was shocked to see a deep, naked fury in them. Christ, he'd never even met the girl, had he? Seen her at the first exhibition, though she'd arrived late, just to accompany Heero to the after-show party – and he'd read plenty about 'em in the papers, most of it crap, of course, created for the sake of sensation. Then she and Heero had parted – amicably, he'd thought.

Was that what that look was about? Jealousy? Could Heero have misjudged the situation that badly?

He looked around further, and saw Heero standing by the front door of the gallery. The dark-haired man had left his prints and then moved himself away from the screen quite unobtrusively, leaving Duo to his admirers and the fascinated finger-painters. He wasn't looking for Remy, for his eyes passed swiftly over her. Duo wondered if he were looking for Quatre – the blond man had also left his side, possibly to avoid being too close to Remy himself. It was obvious that he disliked her.

It's time, kid, Duo told himself. Now or never…

He looked quickly over towards the door to his apartment. It was, of course, locked today, and a low table had been drawn half across it, to separate the private areas from the public. The table had been used for more catalogues and a few of the free-standing exhibits. Duo's eyes flickered to the wall beside the door; there was a space there, as if the picture hanging had stopped short of that area – as if the private areas extended further down into the gallery. Six foot up that wall was a single picture hook. There was nothing hanging from it.

He caught at Tony's arm as the boy almost rushed past him. "Show time, Tony," murmured Duo. "I need to put that last picture up, OK?"

Tony nodded, and smiled. They both went over to the table and Tony reached under it, pulling out the wrapped picture that he and Malia had looked at earlier. It had been safely and secretly stored there whilst the guests wandered past and marvelled at the wealth of other exhibits. He helped Duo rip off the packaging, keeping him a little sheltered from the people still filling the room behind him.

Duo held the picture in front of him, looking down on its uncovered face. Tony tried to peer round, but couldn't see properly. It looked small – it looked like just a black and white print of some kind.

Duo looked back up at him, and Tony was startled to see the expression on his face. If he didn't know Duo Maxwell's reputation better, he'd have said he looked scared of something! "It's time to come out of whatever artistic closets I've been hiding in, Tony, y'know? I've done it for myself – but now I must show that I have."

Tony grunted – he didn't know what the hell was going on, but then that summed up most of his working life so far, so he was used to it! He trusted Duo Maxwell – he liked Duo Maxwell; whatever he did, it was OK by him. "Sure, Duo. Here – let me help."

He held the picture steady as Duo fixed it swiftly on to the hook, and they both pulled away to look at it on the wall.

Tony sucked in a breath.

It was a pencil sketch of a pair of hands, slightly larger than life size. Solely the hands – palms facing each other, fingertips just touching. But it was so much more than just a sketch! There was something about the fluidity of the pencil lines – something that breathed in the veins and the tendons of the hands as clearly as if they were living. The shading was careful, yet it flowed easily; the colour scheme was frighteningly simple, yet it implied far more depth and tone than ever a single graphite pencil had promised before. The skin on the hands seemed to wrinkle and glow; the whorls on the tips of the fingers were individually crafted.

When Tony looked more closely, he realised that the hands didn't really match; as if there were two different people involved. One hand had long, slender fingers, with the slightest nub of a lump on the side of the middle finger. The skin looked healthy, but there were creases of regular use on the fingertips. The other hand had a slightly darker tone, with skin that looked better cared for; nails that looked carefully shaped. There was a tiny fleck at the base of the ring finger, in a crescent shape – like the memory of a scar.

The hands touched at only a few points – and yet Tony felt a slow, sensual shiver as he gazed at the picture. Unlike some of the other pictures on show today, it was not a picture of hands praying; or of hands touching in passing. Instead, there was deep emotion there – there was raw longing. The hands were coming together – they were embracing! He felt an unmistakably sexual charge from it; from a mere drawing…!

It fit the theme of the exhibition perfectly, of course. But Tony felt that it stood alone for some reason; that it represented something more than – and different from – every other painting here today. Not like me to be so fanciful, he thought. His heart was beating far more quickly than before, and there were goosebumps up his arms. Some of this art appreciation stuff must be rubbing off on me -!

He felt the slowing down of the crowd behind his back, as they caught sight of the new addition. He turned to look at Duo – to ask, naively, who'd drawn it - but the man had gone from his side. He glanced quickly round the rest of the gallery and saw heads turning towards him; the sudden buzz of interested chatter around the room.

When his eyes ranged past the doorway to the outside world, he saw his boss, Heero Yuy, still standing there, though now his eyes were riveted on the picture.

Tony wondered why he looked so pale tonight.

Many of the original guests had left, but there was still a sizeable crowd remaining. Almost all of them were clustering around Duo's new picture, or trying to get a better view of it. The comments were many and varied; but mostly impressed.

"Whose is it?"

"Christ, sweetie, you should stay on celebrity interviews, and leave art reviews to us! It's his, isn't it? Duo Maxwell's! Must be…"

"You'd know it was a Maxwell, wouldn't you? Even without the colours. Look at the pen strokes –"

"Too delicate – more like a sketch –"

"More like his brother's work, you mean –?"

"There's a boldness here that you never got in Solo Maxwell's stuff, dammit! You could admire Solo's skill – but this stuff of Duo's grabs you by the balls, and you gotta feel it –"

"I always said that about his work, didn't I -?"

"Makes my stomach turn, y'know… in a sexy kinda way…"

A couple of journalists huddled together in front of it, muttering; a young boy – obviously a trainee – and a more confident woman who may have been his features editor.

"If it's a new Maxwell, this is a hell of a story, kid. Gotta have a headline! But what's the damn title? See anything?"

The boy peered at the corner of the picture. "Says 4:Y. Nothing else. Duo Maxwell always titled his paintings cryptically like that, didn't he?"

"4:Y? 'For why'? What the fuck does that mean?" The boy beside her winced; he gripped his notepad so tightly the bindings twisted. She terrified him…

She peered at it herself, as if she were trying to see behind the canvas. "Some kind of philosophical crap, I expect, like all these artists favour. Just painters, ain't they, at the end of the day? For why – it's probably California-speak – probably a confused cry about the state of his personal angst. Like we're bothered…He needs to get a proper job, that'd tell him for why –!"

She never heard the growl behind her. The boy did, and he flushed. He was new to the city pages, wasn't he, and he'd never done any time on the arts – but he was keen, and he'd read up on the Maxwells, both of 'em, as soon as he knew he'd got the exhibition job. And dollar to a cent, he knew the guy standing directly behind them was the man himself – Duo Maxwell!

Both Duo and Heero stood behind the viewers now; Heero had moved very swiftly to stand at Duo's side. Both listened carefully to the conversations around them. Both had growled at the journalist's comments. But as Duo reached out his hand to attract her attention, Heero's grip stopped him.

Duo turned to look at the strong, lean hand on his shoulder. He particularly stared at the tiny, crescent shaped scar at the base of Heero's ring finger. Heero had told him it was from a rather unexciting household accident when he was young – but it had never faded completely. Duo remembered licking at it, many times - softly lapping up drops of spilt beer; sucking up the sweat on Heero's hands after an energetic session in bed; cleaning off the sticky threads of warm cum, after climaxing deep inside Heero's fist…

He had a fascination for it, similar to the way that Heero caressed his tattoo. It was one of the marks of Heero – one of the things that were just his.

He shivered.

He pulled back his hand, and sighed. "Ah, Heero, I just wanna tell her –"

"Leave it," urged Heero. "Leave her. What do you want to waste your time on her for, anyway? This is your day, Duo – your show! Don't you see it now? It's my gallery, OK – but this is all you – all yours! You're the one they love – the one who's a success!"

He drew Duo back a little way from the chattering crowd – knowing they had little time or chance for a private conversation here. Especially since Duo had unveiled that picture.

His voice was urgent. "I arrived late tonight, deliberately – because I knew you'd have everything in hand. I wanted to tell you I trusted you – to show you –"

Duo frowned slightly. "No, man – you've always been clear. It's me that's been giving the mixed messages, remember?"

"Duo…" breathed Heero, ignoring him. "That doesn't matter now." His eyes were drawn back to the picture as if it were a magic charm – like a Circe calling sailors to its doom – like a Shangri-La calling to abandoned survivors. "Look at it! How could you bear to keep it hidden until now? Of course it's your work – it cries out everything about you! And it's – it's fantastic! I can't believe how beautiful it is – how rich – how vivid! But when did you -? How -?"

Why didn't you tell me? he was saying, Duo could see that. But Heero didn't actually say it. Duo wondered wryly when they'd lost their taste for argument. They'd always done it so well!

He reckoned it was just about the same time that he started to feel as tongue-tied as a six-year-old kid in front of Heero. That was about ten minutes ago.

"Heero, I couldn't let you see it until it was finished; if it were finished! That's why I've not been drawing other stuff recently – I've been working on this."

Heero remembered the evasion – the irritation Duo had shown whenever he questioned him about his painting and drawing. Whenever he'd tried to get closer to him. "I thought you were pulling away from me," he said, softly.

"I know you did." Duo's voice was equally soft. "'Praps for a while I thought I should…"

"You wanted to?"

Duo smiled. "No – that's not what I said, is it? I just needed to think things through. Did that all through last night, to tell you the truth – and started to make sense of a lot of other things I've been thinking and feeling over the last few weeks."

He didn't look directly at Heero – he swallowed hard, but his voice was calm and steady.

"When you talked about breaking up last night - I was shocked! Dammit, I'd never stopped to think whether we were really together to start with; so the thought of parting was a horror I hadn't considered. But then the horror was there…"

"Duo –"

"Hush," said Duo. "It's my turn for the words, OK? I tried to pretend it meant fuck all to me – it was all just for the pleasure of the moment. But you made me think about you, as well as myself; about all that I wanted to do for you. Made me think about why I was up nights and early mornings, doing this picture; why I've been sweating bricks over whether it's good enough; why it's so fuckin' important! And then I had to look at myself. At what a shit-faced little coward I was, all over you like a rash on the one hand, yet keeping you away from me on the other. I was scared, y'see – scared of what was happening to me; scared of what I wanted to say and do."

He rolled his eyes up; took a deeper breath. He didn't know how long he'd have before Heero was swept away from him again; or whether he'd come back. "I don't wanna be scared any more – not of Solo's memory; not of myself. Not of caring. Not of us…

"I want to be with you, Heero. I don't want to leave – not the gallery; not you. Things feel good with you – I feel good! You've connected me with the world again, and that was against my own inclinations. I can't get enough of you – I can't feel comfortable without you. You're my connection! And you're the best fuck I ever had, of course –" He grinned, almost nervously, and now his eyes glanced up sidewards to meet Heero's.

"Dammit, you're the best everything!"

Heero's eyes were very bright and sharp and fixed on Duo's mouth like he was waiting for something to spill out and frighten him again. They sparkled with every word of Duo's that didn't. "You said 'caring'," he said, very softly. "I thought that was just one of those 'words' you have no time for…"

"Sure, that's what it was," replied Duo, a little testily. He looked a little flushed; as if he were scared that he'd gone too far. "But now it's a word for you. From me. You deserve a better response from me than you've been getting – something for all that you've given me."

He lifted a hand and pointed to the painting in front of them. "And this gift is to speak for me as well. A gift for you."

Malia was calling for Duo – one of the sponsors wanted Heero, and was striding across the room towards him.

Both Heero and Duo ignored anyone else. They drew themselves into the shadow of the door to the apartment, where they could still see the picture, but keep their eyes on each other. Duo looked relaxed, now that he'd spoken what was on his mind – his face was soft, and his lips moist. Heero wanted desperately to kiss them. He wondered how long it'd be before he was allowed to do that again.

He reached out and stroked at the silver cross round Duo's neck – it was slim and cool, a vivid contrast against the warm pulse of Duo's throat. Duo's eyes flickered half-closed at the touch; then he opened them wide and grinned back at him. His expression was hungry – he was seeking even more.

"So you like the picture?"

"I like it," said Heero, softly. Duo flushed – the tone of Heero's voice told him so much more than the words. He needn't have worried – Heero understood what he was trying to say.

"And I see where you hung it –" said Heero, slowly. His mouth twisted with a barely suppressed smile. The pair of them looked instinctively to the floor beneath the painting. They both knew that underneath the table, there was a small, dark stain on the expensive polished floor.

"Thought I'd mark the occasion…" murmured Duo. "But I guess you'll want me to pay for the cleaning, since it was from my cum –"

Heero was proud of himself, holding back the sudden, violent flush that suffused his whole body. "You can come any time you like," he said, quickly and passionately. "I don't want any of it cleaned away."

"I …" Duo wondered why he wanted to hug the guy. Or jump his bones, here and now.

Heero's dark, aching eyes gazed back at the picture – he still looked entranced. "But you didn't have to do this for the show, Duo. To start working again – to produce a new picture from Duo Maxwell after so long away – it's a hell of a commitment! You could have shown 4:DRMS instead. You told me once that your art could be pure torture – "

Duo smiled. "Yeah – hard labour, right? Guess I made rather a meal of that at the time. This wasn't like that." He sighed, gently. "You've sorta missed the point, love. This was – guess you'd call it –"

Heero still seemed frozen in position; was he afraid to turn and gaze at Duo?

"It was a labour of love, Heero. It's for you. Not for the gallery – not for the show. For you alone. Something you can show wherever you want – something you can be open about."

Duo put a hand to Heero's cheek and turned his head round to face him. Heero saw his wide, nervous eyes; smelled his light citrus aroma; felt his fingertips on his chin. He had barely enough time to start a smile when he felt the touch of Duo's lips, and his own lips were opening with instinctive pleasure to accept the tentative tip of his lover's tongue.

The desire soaked him like a sudden sweat – the taste of Duo's mouth was hot and unmistakably gorgeous. He sucked lightly on the invading tongue, and thrust his own back in eager reply.

He thought he heard himself groan.

The knot of people closest to them fell into shocked silence as they watched the two men embrace. A woman gasped. Another man hissed encouragement.

They stood together, arms around each other's waist and heads tilted gently to the side so that they fit all the more easily against each other's lips. Duo moaned; Heero growled.

And the kiss grew longer and deeper.

Quatre stood amongst the astonished spectators. When he saw Heero's hand slip confidently around Duo, and the two bodies tighten in together to deepen the kiss, he grinned.

About bloody time, too!

"OK folks, let's move along, shall we? Entertainment's on the walls, y'know, not sproutin' outta the top o' these gentlemen's boots!" He could see that Heero and Duo were oblivious to anyone around them, so he pushed firmly at the open-mouthed guests, putting himself between the couple and the rest of the milling room. He met the shock of the approaching sponsor with a look of challenge; he knew which of them would be the winner. That wasn't his name for nothing!

Malia stood by the screen, mouth wide open. Tony was grinning. Not that he'd had any idea about this, of course, but it was a damned fine sight!

Quatre saw one of the younger male journalists still staring at the two entwined men – he was rather flushed, and totally fascinated. Quatre had seen the cute little thing earlier – he was being bullied by that cow of an Arts editor. Quatre knew her well from other events; dammit, she understood less of art than her ass! He weighed up the kindness of nursing this naïf versus the fun of teasing him further – then he sighed, and made the more charitable decision.

"Wanna exclusive, chile?" he murmured into the startled boy's ear. "Guess you're looking for an answer to the title of Maxwell's new picture – 4:Y. You can see it for yourself now, can't you? I reckon it stands for For You. For Yuy! o scribble that headline before your boss snaps it up instead!"

The exhibition was at an end – rather spectacularly for many, after the sensational sight of Duo Maxwell in a firm and obviously familiar lip lock with Heero Yuy, his patron and landlord! Journalists rushed to meet the next day's copy – Remy and her entourage also left swiftly, in a fit of pique because no photographer worth his salt was going to be looking at her now. Some of the sponsors rushed for the exit, grumbling about bad publicity and the fickleness of public opinion - others smiled more tolerantly at the handsome young men, and took their time about leaving, admitting to themselves that publicity was never bad, however shocking. Those who had bought paintings, or discussed future business with the Yuy Corporation, scrambled out of the building to call their head offices and consult their brokers. Quatre was heard to say to more than one such speculator that 'the value of investments may go down as well as up!' and his wickedly knowing smile made many suspicious that it wasn't the NASDAQ he was talking about.

The after-show party would go ahead, of course, regardless of any scandal or shock! Quatre stood beside Malia at the door to 'remind' departing souls of the party, and to shake his head non-committally in response to enquiries as to whether Heero would be there – whether Duo was painting again regularly – whether the 'newly-discovered' couple would be announcing their private plans and intentions at that time.

Quatre tried not to snap the heads off the people who were being so intrusive; who asked such ludicrous things. Wouldn't he have adored such a scene if it were anyone other than his own friends involved? Instead, he savoured the immense satisfaction of seeing the establishment so disturbed! He also tried to swallow the almost irresistible desire to tell the editors of the city papers that Heero and Duo were the love children of a past President and a spandex-clad punk rock chick, and would be consummating their forbidden love in Times Square on New Year's Eve to the accompaniment of a symphonic orchestra and a flight of blue doves.

He knew he probably didn't need to. The gossip preceded them already.

Heero and Duo eventually parted, only to see their guests being shepherded out, and their friends attempting to minimise both shock and reputational damage.

And Tony, still grinning.

With a rueful grin of his own, Duo offered himself to help with the clearing up, and Heero went to speak to Malia.

Trowa was collecting up the discarded catalogues, and wondering if he wasn't perhaps getting in people's way, rather than being useful. Heero had explained that they'd leave the fittings in the gallery tonight, and the removal firm would arrive for them tomorrow. Most of the paintings would remain, as well – though a few of the more famous and exclusive items had already been reclaimed by their owners. All the people left at the gallery were exhausted; they were all still buzzing with the excitement. Malia and Tony and their assistants were almost itching to get to the celebrations. There would be plenty of time the next day to deal with the practicalities.

Trowa caught sight of Duo standing by the perspex screen, an empty glass in his hand that had obviously been forgotten by the caterers, and his eyes following Heero wherever he went. Trowa felt a sharp, poignant ache in his heart. He'd not seen that look in Duo's eyes since before Solo died; and even then, it had never been that vibrant.

"Aren't you leaving for the party soon, Duo?"

"Nah – Heero 'n me… we think it's best we don't go. Caused enough of a stir tonight, eh? Don't really want to, to tell you the truth. It's not my scene nowadays."

Heero 'n me… Duo shivered inside at the affection that inspired.

Trowa's voice was low, and a little hesitant. "Solo would have loved it, Duo – your picture."

Duo turned as if he'd suddenly awoken, and he grimaced. "He'd have said it was crap!"

Trowa laughed, then. "Maybe. But he'd have said it was fucking talented crap!" The words sounded quite shocking in Trowa's quiet tones. "That's what he said about all your work!"

"What?" Duo's eyes widened, startled.

"He loved it! He loved you. He was jealous of your style, Duo, your boldness."

"Never said anything – he laughed –" Duo was struggling with disbelief; with old-remembered hurt.

"OK," sighed Trowa. "I know. Solo laughed at a lot of things he shouldn't have. But he told me all about it, privately – every time you painted anything at all, he told me you were sharp and bright, and he was damned proud of you. Wished he had the feel for colour that you did. And then he'd tell me not to breathe a word to you, or your head would get even damned bigger!"

"Shit…" breathed Duo. "That sure sounds like Solo. Guess I'd better believe you…"

"Solo wasn't good at understanding other people's needs – at encouraging; at nurturing. Everyone needs that, eh?" Trowa touched his arm – he had no qualms about breaking Solo's confidence now; should have done it a long time ago, maybe! "But you were just as bad, Duo – you'd never listen to him; never hear his feelings under your damned arguments."

Duo looked astonished at the whole conversation – at Trowa's frankness. "Guess there's some truth in all of it, Trow. Maybe Solo did love my pictures – but he was also right about me 'n my colours. I used 'em to hide things, as well as display. They served me one way – and they betrayed me another."

Duo watched Quatre on his way over to join them. He and Heero had been amused to find that neither of their best friends looked like they were leaving the gallery until late. Duo liked to think it was 'cos they were aiming for some hot sex later on, stretched over the beechwood catalogue table. He wasn't discouraged from that vision, even when Trowa had explained that they were offering to lock up so that Duo and Heero could rest after the exhausting day they'd had. Quatre supported Trowa, pretending that the Assistant Editor he once coveted had taken up a better offer for the evening. He wasn't particularly convincing.

Now Duo flicked an amused glance at the attractive blond, though he could see that Quatre's eyes were on his companion. Trowa must have been aware of the concentrated gaze directed at him; but he seemed to be deliberately avoiding it.

"I'm learnin' so many things afresh, Trow," Duo sighed. "It's like goin' back to school –"

"And Solo told me once that you spent next to no time there anyway," said Trowa, wryly.

Duo grinned back. Trowa basked in the joy on his face – the contentment; the excited hopefulness.

"So - is that more pillow talk, Trow?"

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Maybe." He laughed - Duo's happiness was infectious! They both saw Heero on his way over now, as well. His jacket was discarded, his impatient eyes barely focussing on Malia and Tony and their team, as they finally left the gallery. His gaze was all for Duo – dark, and excited, and full of desire for so many things.

Trowa laid a gentle hand on Duo's arm and tipped his head towards the dark-haired man. "Pillow talk, yeah. So go get some of your own, OK?"

The digital clock on the office block across the road showed 3 a.m. and the road was silent and deserted. The sound of the gallery lock being worked open seemed to echo very loudly, but there was no-one around on the street to hear it. The door gave a shudder, and creaked ajar; a slim body, dressed all in black clothing and hooded as well, slipped through the gap. The door closed almost silently behind it.

A discarded page from a catalogue whispered softly in the sudden draught, and vanished under a shrouded table.

The figure paused, as if surprised that there was no reaction – no sound of alarm. Then it reached into a bag slung across its torso, and pulled out a torch and a collection of other small tools. There was no light in the gallery itself – and outside in the business district, an occasional logo or clock was the only illumination.

There were strange, deep shadows across the floor. Sections of staging and empty pallets had been packed against the walls after the exhibition; now they loomed out of the half-light like small, stunted mountains. Paintings of many shapes and sizes still hung on the walls, though dustsheets covered them now. Some had been taken down and were stacked in careful piles.

One of the floorboards creaked as the intruder moved towards one of these piles. It started to run its gloved hands over the paintings, feeling around the frames; pulling away the packaging and covers as quietly as possible.

Then a single light snapped on.

There was a sudden negative effect, and the people in the gallery were thrown into sharp, black relief against the pale walls. Then everyone's eyes adjusted, and the two figures at the back of the gallery were recognisable as Trowa Barton and Quatre Winner. Quatre had his hand on the light switch by the screen – Trowa stood beside it. The solitary spotlight made the perspex shine ethereally in the centre of the deserted gallery.

The black-clothed figure let out a gasp of shock. It was astonishing that the two men had been standing there so silently that they'd been invisible up until now.

"The alarm has been deactivated," said Trowa, softly yet firmly. His voice rippled in the darkness of the room. "We were expecting you."

The intruder at the door straightened up; tall, lithe, slender to the point of skinny. It was still mainly in shadow. The dark, khaki clothes hid the figure for a moment, but as it moved towards them, its hand reached up and stripped the black hood from its head.

Shoulder-length auburn hair swung softly against a graceful neck. Remy de Haas stared fiercely and warily at them.

"Interestin' outfit," murmured Quatre. "But then I understand that camouflage gear is the new black this season…"

"Am I meant to be shocked that it's you?" asked Trowa, clearly. She didn't answer. "What are you looking for, Remy? The exhibition is over, as you well know."

"There's nothing here for you, bitch," growled Quatre. Trowa held out a hand, as if to restrain him from moving towards her.

"Heero's here –" she said quietly, her high voice shimmering in the tense atmosphere. Her eyes looked a challenge at both of them, though her face was very pale.

"He's got no interest in you, darlin'," said Quatre. "And I don't think you're here to pay your respects to him, are ya?"

"They're not here, Remy," said Trowa.

"They? I don't know what you're talking about, sweetie," she said. Her voice sounded more confident now.

"The missing sketches," said Trowa. "The ones you've been looking for, for months now. The ones that would make up the whole set of six, and vastly increase the value of the four that have already been sold to an anonymous buyer in Hong Kong."

"You're talking nonsense," she snapped, turning to stare at him. The spotlight's reflections shook briefly in her eyes. "That's nothing to do with me. You're both mad, creeping about in the dark like this. What are you doing here yourselves?" She flashed a look of pure venom in Quatre's direction. "I know the bastard boy Winner, of course I do, but who the hell are you? Another of the Playboy's little paramours?"

Quatre flushed angrily, but Trowa was ominously calm. "I'm Trowa Barton. I was Solo Maxwell's lover."

Remy hissed in a sharp breath. Her calculating eyes ran the length of Trowa's body, and for a second, she grew rigid. Then she smiled – a thin, cruel shape on such a beautiful mouth. "So was I, honey."

"I know that," said Trowa, softly. "Do you think he wouldn't have told me all about his other lovers? It was part of the fun for him – part of the thrill. To tell me all about it… The way that you felt in bed – the things that you'd say to him. The special attentions that you'd ask for, again and again…"

Remy gasped audibly, though she tried to hide it with anger. "Don't try those games on me, you pathetic bastard! You're the one he left at home while he was playing with me –"

"Playing…" echoed Trowa. "Those are your words, Remy, and that's the truth. For that's what it was."

"And now what?" she said, her voice tight. Her hands were clenched at her sides. "You haven't answered me as to what you're doing here."

"Perhaps we wanted to see if you'd turn up tonight – if we were right about you. Like I said, they're not here," repeated Trowa.

Her eyes narrowed – there was a sly look in them. A greedy look that she couldn't hold back. "So where are they, then? I know there were six, and I won't believe the lies of anyone who tells me different. Are you telling me everything was on display tonight? What about the rest of Heero's collection? What about baby brother Duo himself? Don't expect me to believe that he wouldn't have had some nice little souvenirs of his brother's work, kept to himself. If they weren't on show tonight – they must be stored somewhere –"

"And that's what this is about, Remy, isn't it? You've been searching for quite a while now – ever since you dated Solo. You've been looking for anywhere the sketches might be – anywhere connected with Duo Maxwell."

She pursed her lips. "I don't know where this fantasy is coming from –"

"I was pretty sure you dated Solo Maxwell at the time of his death," Quatre broke in. "And I knew you were an art collector – amongst many other things. It wasn't until Heero told me the whole story of how the four sketches were sold out of the estate when Solo died, that I began to wonder if there was a connection. Trowa confirmed your involvement with Solo at that time - he helped me think some things through."

"So bright…" she hissed, her voice loaded with sarcasm. "But that drawling, posturing act of yours – don't you know that it's only the stink of money that gets anyone between your legs?"

Quatre's eyes shimmered with fury, and it was Trowa who answered her, sharply. "So we know what you're after. I daresay it was you who broke into the gallery when Heero first showed interest in buying it –"

"And Heero's house!" Quatre spat out.

"And now here again," continued Trowa. "Round and round in circles, looking for something that probably doesn't even exist –"

"Damn well does!" burst out from her sculpted lips, startling the men. Anger and pain were mixed in her words. "He told me he'd finished them – all six!"

"They were Duo's – all of 'em," said Quatre. He had some control of his voice, but the fury was still obvious, bubbling underneath.

"They were to be mine! The little fucker owed me!" The obscenities were even more ugly from Remy's delicate mouth. "He wanted to sell them to me – he said so!"

"That's a lie!" Quatre almost spat the words. Trowa stirred at his shoulder, and he turned with an almost protective gesture towards him. "Trowa -?"

Trowa's laugh was like a finger scraped over glass. Even Quatre flinched. "You're right, Quatre. It's a lie. He would never have sold them willingly – and never to her."

"He promised them to me!" she hissed. Her face was twisted now, with her anger. "All six! And then he started talking about only the four – mocking me -"

Trowa laughed again – it was a cruel, painful sound. "Like you said, honey – he was playing with you! He told at least three lovers a month that he drew for them – that he would give them his work. That they'd be rich – that they'd be immortalised."

Remy's eyes hardened. "Of course he did – and I heard him! I knew what he was like, even before I caught his eye – even before I contrived to meet him; and to take him to bed. But why shouldn't it be the truth for me? Solo Maxwell cared nothing for his work when it was done – the creation was everything to him. I wanted those sketches badly – it was right that I had them!"

"You had no rights at all, though, did you?" said Trowa. His green eyes were like deep, viscous pools of anger, and they were fixed on Remy's flushed face. "And no influence over Solo any more. Because it was over – the affair was over. You and him. He dumped you!" Quatre watched her face – saw the spasm of total disgust that twisted her expression.

Trowa's words rasped in the charged air. "No-one knew that but me – and you. He meant the sketches for Duo – he always had. He never had any intention of selling or giving you anything. He laughed when he told me you were chasing them – he laughed, and he said that you'd believed every lie he ever told you, and that you were nothing but a liability now. Dammit, he wasn't known for caring about an ex-lover's sensibilities - he'd normally just have cut you dead. But he knew you'd be at the exhibition that night. He told me he'd finish with you then. He had a sick sense of humour, did Solo Maxwell."

"They were to be mine…" Her breath was more of a whisper. Her body was rigid with fury and resentment.

"No they weren't," came Trowa's answering sigh.

"But you took advantage of the confusion after his death, and took 'em anyway," snapped Quatre. His voice was very clear.

Remy turned back to him, her eyes sharp again. "You're talking shit, Winner – it was an arms' length sale, remember? Everyone in the business knew that. Had to be, to satisfy probate –"

"Like fuck it was!" snapped Quatre, almost cheerfully. His own blue eyes matched hers; his shone like flints. "There's little love lost between us, eh, Remy? I've always thought you an empty-headed, self-obsessed little bitch –"

"You're just jealous that your own bid for 'em wasn't even in the frame –"

Quatre smiled, but it never reached his eyes. It was an eerie sight – Trowa was fascinated to see the depth of dislike in the handsome face; and he was a little awed.

"Whatever. But recently I've changed my mind about you, honey! I've been investigatin' your affairs for a long time, now – and that's your business affairs, not your sordid and predatory bedroom career. You know I've been watchin' you – you know how I feel. Ever since you ruined a couple of my friends' peace of mind – ever since you got your claws into Heero Yuy... Hell – I don't usually do a statutory search on my friends' lovers, but you, dear heart, are an exception!"

He moved slightly towards her, and this time Trowa didn't stop him. "Remy de Haas, the dim little model. We all believe that with so much beauty, brains must be sacrificed in exchange. But that's not the case for you, is it?"

The model stood silently now – her hands shook slightly. Her eyes were wary, and concentrated entirely on Quatre.

"I always knew you were acquisitive; and greedy – but I guess I thought it was your natural instinct. Now I find it's a hell of a lot more than that – it's a career choice! You've invested well – you've had representation at every major auction in the city for the last three years. Your art collection – that I can identify specifically – is second only to the state gallery itself. You've bought and sold art for years under your nominees; the main agent being located in Hong Kong."

Her eyes widened; his didn't waver.

"You bought those sketches, Remy – you bought them for yourself. I ain't got all the details yet, but I will! Somehow you tricked the estate, you tricked Solo's wishes, and you tricked Duo Maxwell out of his inheritance. All for your own greed!"

"And you're still not satisfied…" hissed Trowa, beside him. For a moment, they stood together, the two men, united in their hatred for the woman in front of them. They breathed together – they shared the same cold anger.

Then there was another sound behind them; another slice of muted light appeared at their feet. The door up to the apartment had opened wide.

Heero Yuy stood there, framed at the open doorway, dressed in sweat trousers and a rather garish red tee shirt, and staring with astonished anger at the gathering in front of him.

When Heero and Duo had gone on up to the apartment at the end of the show, leaving their friends to lock up, they'd kissed again - and again! – and had started to talk more about the evening, and how they felt, and what they thought would be their future. Then Duo had yawned loudly in Heero's face, and they'd laughed instead.

Heero had undressed Duo, gently and protectively, and lain down beside him on the narrow bed.

"Gotta get a wider bed," sighed Duo. He'd yawned again. "Your damned hips are too bony…" and then his eyes closed.

Heero had watched Duo fall asleep, quickly and deeply, exhausted by the day's events. They'd not even had sex. He didn't mind. It was a measure of what they'd been through that they wanted to lie together – that it wasn't just their desire leading them for once.

Heero found that he couldn't settle himself as quickly – there was too much going around in his mind to rest. He lay quietly beside Duo, his arm around him, listening to the thick, relaxed breathing of his lover and staring at the walls. There was a hell of a lot to think about, of course.

The exhibition had been another incredible success, and he thought that Duo's career might be racing ahead of anything they'd ever envisaged. He realised what a vibrant, unpredictable talent he'd snared in Duo Maxwell. He was glad for him – of course he was! – but he couldn't help but think that Duo wouldn't want to stay in this gallery. Given the choice, he'd probably want to work elsewhere – travel – look for a gallery of his own again one day. He'll leave me, thought Heero, though he knew he was being unreasonable. He and Duo had something special, didn't they? They'd be together, however far he travelled…

He just wouldn't have him with him – like this, in bed beside him – every night.

And the gifted picture – dear God, the picture! Heero had been blown away by it. His appreciation of art had come to him only lately, but it had been a deep and rewarding interest. He'd acquired pieces for his collection that were his own personal choice – that spoke to him in some way. He didn't broadcast what he owned; he'd rarely shown them, though he'd made some of the paintings available for Duo for the exhibitions.

Duo's drawing had been created for him. It had spoken Duo's thoughts to him – displayed Duo's emotions. He felt that it wasn't just a gift for him, but for them. When he thought of it, he thought of joy; of desire; of the connection between them. Of the future.

He wasn't sure what first made him aware of the noises down in the gallery, but he was alert in a moment. He pulled on some clean sweats of Duo's that lay by the bed, and a tee shirt that was slightly more modest than Duo's usual look; he wanted something that was quick and easy to dress in, to go down to investigate. He couldn't believe that Quatre was still down there, or Trowa. Hadn't he heard the lock of the door some hours ago? When he peered down the stairwell, he couldn't see much light from the gallery. His steps down were quiet, and wary.

He opened the door very slightly at first, and no-one noticed him. It had been a surprise to see Quatre and Trowa still downstairs, standing in the semi-darkness. It had been even more of a shock to see Remy de Haas there as well. He'd listened to their conversation for a while; and then he'd become incredibly, fiercely angry. He pushed the door wide open, and stepped forward into the gallery to join the unlikely gathering.

"What did you hear?" asked Quatre.

Heero stared a little at his friend's harsh tone. It was a side of Quatre that he'd rarely seen; though he had to admit that he felt very harsh, himself. "Enough, I think. Is this why you two stayed late tonight?"

"We thought she'd come tonight – the temptation would be irresistible, with both you and Duo at the exhibition; the potential of the sketches being here all the time. Because there were so many paintings here, we thought that she'd suspect that there may be even more, hidden or stored away on the premises." Trowa's voice was tired – his face looked pale and drawn.

"Y'know, I may have mentioned something of the sort during the exhibition…" murmured Quatre. "Within earshot of a few of her loose-tongued assistants…guess the rumour got passed on, eh?"

"We already suspected her for the other break-ins. Guess we wanted to force it out into the open –" Trowa looked a little like he was regretting the whole thing; as if he wasn't sure where they went from here.

"Call the police then," said Heero, sharply. They all turned to look at him.

Remy's laugh cut like a blade through the tension. "Things are that simple for you, aren't they, Heero Yuy? Decide what you want – make the decision. That was one thing I found attractive about you in the first place – a single-mindedness I can recognise in myself! But what are you going to say to these police? You've no proof that I've committed any crime." Her lips were curling in a smile again. "Just the fantasies of your amateur detective buddies here."

"You broke in," Heero stated. His jaw looked tight.

She laughed. "Who'd believe I was some kind of a burglar? How ridiculous you'll all look, three grown men harassing a young girl like myself. A popular, famous, fairly simple young girl like myself." Her eyes were sly again. "After all, didn't you invite me yourself here tonight? I think you may have wanted to apologise to me – in a more private setting – for your neglect of me earlier. Or that's what I believe my story will be if you try to suggest I forced my way in here uninvited." She drew herself to her full height. In the black clothing, even though it looked faintly bizarre, she was tall and elegant and impossibly beautiful. She demanded attention – her charisma told the story her way. "And you have nothing to connect me with any other – ah – similar visits."

"There were fingerprints taken by the police, both times," stated Heero. "You were obviously careless during some of those visits."

Her eyes flashed a warning at him, a measure of her anger. Then she looked at him pityingly. "But even if it were me, honey, it's not as if I'm on file, is it? And if they attempt to take my prints for comparison, without my permission, I'll sue, believe me –"

"They don't need to," said Heero, softly.

"What -?"

"We have your prints already," he continued. "Voluntarily given." He looked over Trowa's shoulder and his eyes were dark and unfathomable. Remy followed his gaze; she saw the perspex screen, glowing faintly from the localised light. Saw the riot of coloured marks all over it – the evidence of a fun and frivolous time had by all, that very evening. Saw the individual fingerprints of all the guests…

Red paint; blue; yellow.

Remy went white.

Quatre stepped forward again, to stand by Heero's side. "Give it up, Remy. Admit it all. You've been discovered. Perhaps we can come to some kind of an agreement for you to leave Heero alone…"

Heero's hand stopped him. "No, Quatre. No agreement."

Now he approached Remy; she tried not to flinch as he came within striking distance, though his hands stayed at his side. Despite the casual clothes, and the obvious evidence that he'd been in bed, he looked as cool and sharp as if he were in a board meeting; as if he were in charge of the whole agenda.

"I always wondered why you dated me in the first place, Remy. Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm hardly a typical designer accessory. I understand now that it was because I had an art collection – that's how we met, after all. And of course, I was planning to buy the old Maxwell gallery at the time; yet another good reason to cultivate my company."

She didn't reply. She looked like she was considering escape – her feet shifted slightly.

Heero's voice was low, but they could all hear him clearly. "You spoke of single-mindedness, Remy. How far were you prepared to go, to get what you wanted?"

She cleared her throat. "You want me to say I bought the sketches –"

"No – I mean everything you wanted. Not just the goods – but the payback as well."

"What the hell do you mean?" The others stared at her wide eyes – she looked almost frightened.

Heero continued, relentlessly. "You tried to get into my collection, when you broke into my house. I assume you were looking for the missing sketches – perhaps you thought Duo had passed them to me when I bought the gallery; I don't know what your twisted thought processes may have been. You failed – but you set fire to my office regardless."

"I –"

"You set fire to my house," he repeated. "It could only have been you. Why did you do that - such a spiteful, purely malicious thing? Was it because you were unsuccessful? Or because I was ignoring you – because I was bringing our relationship to an end?"

She pouted. "No-one finishes with me, Heero. I choose who I have, and who I leave."

"Did that apply to Solo Maxwell as well?"

"Heero -?" came Trowa's questioning voice behind him. Heero ignored it.

"Remy," he said. "Was it payback with Solo as well?"

"What is he saying?" whispered Quatre, his hand on Trowa's arm.

"Fuck you, Heero!" snarled Remy.

"Like Quatre said –" Heero's voice pressed on as if she hadn't spoken. "We all see Remy the model, the sweet girl, the girl who struggles with business issues. The girl who is a gorgeous, undemanding ornament. What about the girl who has the supreme arrogance to expect everything her own way?"

Remy bit back an angry, sobbing sound.

"The girl who is obsessed with being the best – with winning; with getting what she wants. The girl who is continually aware of how she looks and how she dresses – who eats less than a bird. Who smokes to keep her weight down –"

"No…" cried Trowa, softly.

"I had to have them, Heero," she said, her voice a whimper now. She had eyes only for him. "They were beautiful – I had to have them! And he promised them to me – he did. But after the accident, the sale had to be fast, y'know? Had to be finalised before the lawyers wrapped it all up in the estate."

"I know you bought the sketches afterwards, Remy. We'll talk about what fraudulent methods you used at another time. But what happened on the actual night of the show? The night of the accident, as you say?"

Her eyes flickered to Trowa and Quatre and back again. She wouldn't look directly at Heero now.

"He was mad, Heero. Quite mad. Did you ever meet him? I could see he was tiring of me, that night. I think he had his eyes on a student who was following him around; I was surplus to requirements by then. But I made sure he took me home with him! I can't remember what I said to convince him. Something about how he'd be wise to keep me sweet for a little longer." She chewed gently at her lower lip. "Perhaps I said I'd turn my attentions to his precious baby brother – I'd heard he was always interested in willing companions, and maybe he needed education in the tastes of his big brother Solo…"

Quatre felt Trowa's body grow deathly still beside him. He moved a little closer to the brown-haired man, as if to support him.

"He wouldn't talk about the sketches – wouldn't honour the deal. I'd offered to give him a ridiculously good price; I offered whatever else he wanted from me. I'd pleased him enough times before to know what he liked. But he just laughed." There was a strange, high tone to her voice. "First he'd offered me the six – then it was only the four to be shown. Now he was saying that none of them were for sale – none of them for me!"

Heero's eyes flickered, but his expression didn't change.

"He'd drunk too much as usual – he didn't want me in bed. Didn't want me at all – just wanted new and more unattractive ways of telling me so. He wouldn't listen about the sketches – wouldn't sign anything." Remy was rambling now; she was swaying slightly. "He refused to tell me where the missing two were hidden. He kept blabbing on about Duo… I guess I may have suggested at one stage, that if he was that fond of baby brother, it ought to be him that Solo went to bed with!"

She lifted her eyes now, staring wildly at the shock that had suddenly swept across Heero's face. "I was damned angry, you know? You can understand that…"

"Did you fight?" he asked, more softly now. It was the softness of a gloved claw.

"Yeah. We fought." She hissed at him. "You know how I like it rough sometimes, don't you, Heero? Not that you've ever played those games properly with me…not like Solo did. But this was no game, I guess. He slapped me, and I pushed back at him – he fell against the easel and hit his head; I think he was unconscious for a while. I was shaky myself – I'd dropped my bag – I'd dropped everything…"

Heero glared at her. She rattled out her reply as if he'd demanded it of her; as if she were scared of what he'd do if she refused him.

"It was an accident, sweetie! You know that antique lighter of mine – it's always been faulty. The flame flares up too easily – the cover is loose. A spark from it caught at a canvas, and the fabric started to burn." Her eyes were glazed now, as if she were having trouble remembering; or acting as if she did.

"It's a beautiful thing, fire, isn't it?" Unconsciously, her tongue slipped out and licked at her lips. "Very clean – very true. It was good to see it licking all over his precious stuff – his canvases, and pencil sets, and easel…his furniture…all the good things of life that he said he treasured…"

There was a sound like a sob from behind Heero.

"Did you try to put the fire out?" asked Heero. The words were strangely stilted in his mouth, as if he had to drag them out forcibly. "Try to rouse Solo?"

Her eyes widened. "Heavens, that would have been very dangerous for me, wouldn't it? If he'd woken, he might have hurt me even more. I can't risk personal injury in my profession. And he'd made it clear that everything was over. I had to go, Heero – I had to get to safety. I gathered up a few of his papers that were on the nearest table, just out of instinct, you understand. And I left."

She drew a deep sigh, as if satisfied with the effort she'd put into the tale. "He deserved everything he got, Heero. I picked up my stuff, and I got a cab home."

"The whole place burned down!" hissed Heero. "You took papers with his signature, so that you could forge the sale of the sketches, and you ran away. You never told anyone – you never told them that it was you at Solo's that night."

She looked at him as if he were mad. "Why would I do that? It was never my fault – I couldn't be associated with such a thing. There was no need, Heero. No need."

The slim shoulders almost shrugged. "Was there?"

The atmosphere in the gallery was of shock – of suppressed pain and horrified disbelief. Trowa's white face shone like a mask of horror in the dim light; Quatre was making a swift call to the police on his cell phone, his eyes flashing to and from the man at his side.

Heero stared at Remy, and felt nothing but cold disgust.

"That's what gave you the idea about setting the fire at my place, wasn't it? You got the taste for it – for seeing flames burn whatever had disappointed you; whomever had rejected you –"

"Heero, I –" she said, just the once. The rest of her sentence dried up.

"You stole Duo's sketches, Remy," he hissed.

"Just pictures, Heero," she pouted. "Why is everyone so upset? It's just business –"

"Was Solo just business? He was a person – he died! He was Duo's brother – Trowa's lover. What has your greed done, Remy?"

"Duo, Duo, your little fuckbuddy," she hissed back, her gorgeous face distorted by the ugly words. "That's all you can think of to talk about, ever since you met him! Both of you, just playing at art – what the hell do either of you deserve? I saw you both at the exhibition – making out, for the whole damned city to see. Guess that's why you never managed much for me, honey – why you were such a damned disappointment in bed."

Heero's mouth twisted in a travesty of a smile. "I'd have said it was more to do with your own lack of sincerity, honey. Can't help it if I find that level of superficiality less than desirable –"

Someone cleared a dry throat behind him, and it startled him.

"He's right, Remy. The loss is all yours; in bed, that is. And any blame for that is gonna have to lie with you…"

Heero's blood ran cold at the sound of the new voice – at the most familiar voice.

"Duo…?" His word was hesitant – horrified. The body was a warm shadow behind him, and even as he moved to protect it, he shivered with the remembered delight of its touch.

Duo Maxwell was awake, downstairs in the gallery, and standing now beside him.

The police had come and gone, and Remy de Haas had gone with them – a tall figure, beautiful despite her astonishing outfit, and almost welcoming of the attention she was getting. She had no further words for any of the men in the gallery – the police had suggested she called her lawyer, but she seemed more interested in calling her PA, to have fresh clothes sent over. The officers were calm and dismissive; they'd seen shock and denial too many times before.

Trowa stood quietly at the edge of the gallery, watching the activity, and never entering into it. Heero had taken Duo aside and refused to acknowledge Remy at all.

Quatre had handled the liaison with the police, quietly and assertively. Then he came to stand by Trowa.

"Are you OK? All that about the fire – and Solo…I never imagined Remy was involved to that degree…"

"Neither did I," said Trowa. His voice was cool, as if drained of life's warmth.

"I'm – guess I'm deeply sorry to have dragged you into this. If I hadn't gone digging around in Remy's past, setting ridiculous traps for her with the gallery –" Quatre cursed himself for his apparent clumsiness. He wanted desperately to do right by Trowa – but he'd never felt so awkward; so unsure of how to deal with the man beside him. He was aghast at the way that the night had ended.

"It was never your fault, Quatre," said Trowa, and for a second there was the flicker of some animation returning to his face. "I never wanted to think of that night – to imagine what it would have been like for him. But now that I know, I seem to be able to face it again – to think about him without the uncertainty and the fear being there. It's odd…" He shook his head, as if he were amazed at himself.

"You know – I never told anyone that before. I never talked about it to anyone before…" His voice was almost a whisper.

Quatre couldn't help himself – he put out a hand and laid it on Trowa's shoulder. Perhaps it was too personal a gesture for such a self-contained man as Trowa Barton – but he didn't shake off the comforting touch.

"That was the most astonishin' thing I ever saw," Quatre said, gently. "To talk about the man like you did – to tell her the things you did. I can't imagine I'd ever have the balls to do that myself – I can't think I'd ever have the courage."

"It was the truth," said Trowa, flatly.

"It hurt you," said Quatre. His voice caught a little on the emotion behind them. "Christ, it musta hurt you more than anythin' –"

"No!" replied Trowa, sharply. He turned slightly, so that he could look directly at Quatre. His eyes were bright again – he still looked immensely tired, but there was an acute awareness alight in him now. "It was no worse than any other time with Solo! No worse than any other jealousy or misery that he brought me. He was always sorry; he begged me – often – to stay with him, to forget all the others, they meant nothing. He genuinely believed it; he genuinely loved me. And I loved him in return – I wouldn't have left him; not for that, anyway. Do you think that's pathetic?"

Quatre's eyes widened sharply. "I don't know anyone less deserving of that description than you, Trowa Barton!"

Trowa continued to stare at him, but a new expression sparked in his eyes.

"I envy you, in all truth," said Quatre, slowly. "I'm jealous. Dammit, that's not somethin' you're gonna hear from my lips too often! But it's somethin' precious - to know what you want – to treasure it. Despite the pain that comes with it."

Trowa was watching the words as if he could see them spilling from Quatre's mouth. He smiled, slightly – savouring just a hint of the thoughts in his head. "Precious, yes. Treasure it, no! I'm starting to think a little more clearly now, I think. Duo tried to tell me that I should move on, but I only half-listened. Gave him plenty of advice – took none myself."

"Don't beat yourself up, for God's sake –"

"Hush, Quatre," he said. Those who knew Quatre Winner would have been surprised to see how willingly the blond man complied. "I loved Solo, I'm not ashamed to say it, and it was the best time of my life so far –"

"So far…?" Quatre's words were so quiet that probably no-one heard.

"But it was a time full of shit as well!" Trowa's eyes were wide now, and his mouth almost smiling. There were mixed expressions of astonishment and hopefulness on his face – he seemed to be finding his shocked feelings both strange and amusing. Quatre felt a humbling gratitude for being able to see them; for Trowa allowing him to. He wondered when the hell he'd become so poetic!

"Now Solo's gone," continued Trowa. "And all that went with him! I think I want something rather more rewarding now; something more mature."

"You gonna let me help you look for it?" There was a low timbre to Quatre's voice that took the seductiveness out of his words and left them as rather childlike.

"Maybe!" Trowa laughed, though it was hesitant, as if he didn't really believe where he was; what had happened. "We've got statements to make first; Duo and Heero to protect. When this news breaks –"

Heero was beside him then, Duo's pale face seen over his shoulder. "We'll stay here for the moment. Can you organise some secure transport for us, Quatre, to be on my call? I really don't think Duo is up to any questioning, official or otherwise. We need a temporary break from it all…"

"Sure," said Quatre. He flipped the cell phone open again, perfectly happy to wake his contacts well before dawn. Trowa moved away to stand by Duo; their heads were dipped in some private conversation, their voices too low for anyone else to hear them.

Quatre closed his cell, having cheerfully overridden all complaints and sleepy confusion at the security firm. "You're a cool cookie, Yuy," he murmured. "When did you start to suspect Remy for the whole fire episode?"

"I didn't," said Heero, flatly. "When my house was fired that time, I came here to see Duo – that's when he told me more about his own story. I think I started to think then, about the connections between art and fire – the people that were common to us both. I didn't have Remy in that category, I admit. But there were coincidences that hadn't been explained; too many mysteries for my liking."

Quatre smiled privately at his friend's calm appraisal. The man wasn't at the top of the corporate tree by accident. His tenacity was legendary.

"But it wasn't until I heard your conversations with her – you and Trowa – that I knew that she'd been with Solo Maxwell as well. It was the final piece of the jigsaw that I needed – to suggest the fate of the sketches; to suspect more about the fire that killed him."

"Told you to read the damned gossip press –" grumbled Quatre. "Or listen to your staff more often – that steady little kid Tony knows more about our private lives than we do ourselves!"

Heero looked back at Trowa and Duo, now hugging.

"Damned sap…" sighed Quatre, though he looked suspiciously moved. "Damned night this has been!"

"Go look after him, Quatre," said Heero, knowing that Quatre would know whom he meant.

"If he lets me." Quatre grimaced. "I'd kinda like him lookin' after me as well, in return…"

"I can't say I'd envy him the job!" Heero smiled. "Will you come with us when the car arrives?"

Quatre grinned back. "I'll go with Trowa now, I think; see him home OK. Whether he wants me to, or not! He's the sorta guy who's gonna need some persuadin' that he needs me as a chaperone, y'know?" He ignored Heero's amused look. "And besides, I ain't gonna play gooseberry for anyone, let alone the Outrageous Couple of the month!"

He laughed, and pressed Heero's shoulder in support. "Call the guys when you want the limo delivered. And call me when you when you need me, hon, OK? I'll see you're both all right."

The dawn light was creeping through the dim sky outside. It shone mistily across the bare floor of the studio room.

Duo sat on his couch, legs curled up underneath him. He had just his shorts on, though Heero had insisted on draping a soft blanket around his bare shoulders. His braid was loosened, and the hair hung down on to his shoulders. Heero had brought in two cups of strong, heavily sugared tea, but neither of them had touched a sip. He sat at the very edge of the cushion like he had once, a million years ago, when he barely knew Duo. He felt, for the first time, the unfamiliarity of Duo's clothes on his body. He wanted to reach out to the other man, and touch the braid; to caress it - but he kept his hands to himself. He didn't know what Duo was feeling, and it worried him.

Duo looked up at him, as if he felt the vibrations of Heero's desire and confusion. "Heero, are you OK?"

"Me?"

"Uh-huh. About Remy. She tried to fool you with just about everything –"

"Christ, Duo, of course I am!" Heero wanted to laugh, but he didn't want to sound heartless. Remy may have fooled him – but she'd never reached his heart. And it was nothing compared to the hurt she'd caused Duo.

"I would have done anything to stop you hearing all that tonight!" he said, harshly.

Duo's eyes were wide and slightly blank. "Why? Isn't it better I know the truth? It answers so many of my questions – who Solo was with; what really happened that night; how the accident ever came to be. And it was a damned sight worse for Trow to relive all the memories."

"You can go to him if you want –"

"Nah - he's got Quatre for the moment – even if he had to forego the hot sex on the catalogue table…" murmured Duo, and smiled softly at Heero's puzzled look.

"You – are you going to be OK about all this?" asked Heero. The revelations of the night had been stunning. Was Duo in shock? Hysterical?

"Hell's teeth!" swore Duo. He suddenly stretched his arms high above his head, the joints popping, the long fingers locking his hands together. The blanket shifted down his back, exposing the glistening skin and muscles of his torso. "Of course I'm gonna be OK! I don't want the shit to consume me again, Heero. It's too long gone - I gotta move on, haven't I? Solo himself would want me to keep going – "

"To keep painting?" asked Heero. "I understand - you wanted something to remember him by. Perhaps your drawing tonight –"

"No, Heero – dammit, how does a guy as thick headed as you ever make any money?" Duo sighed, tiredly. "4:Y is nothing to do with Solo. Yeah, maybe I'll draw something for him – about him – in the future. But the drawing tonight was for you alone. I'll keep my memorials to the dead for another day."

Heero wanted to discuss what plans Duo may have for the future; when he might want to 'move on', as he said. No I don't, he thought. What the hell kind of masochist am I?

And he knew that now was most definitely not the time to be discussing such things.

"Duo –" he swallowed, and started again. "Duo, can I hold you?"

Duo's smile was a pale imitation of other nights, but it was recognisable. He patted at the couch beside him, and Heero moved quickly along to sit there. He could feel Duo's warm skin close by; his even breath warming the hairs on Heero's shoulder, each time he exhaled.

They sat silently for a moment, just gazing at each other.

"You gonna hold me, then, or was it all talk?" Duo was almost smirking. "I assume we're not goin' back to bed, and the sun's gonna be up in no time, and this sappy look-into-my-eyes crap isn't as warm as that blanket by any stretch of the imagination!"

"For a romantic offer like that –" grinned Heero. He slid an arm around the other man's back and the two of them melded together sweetly. He touched his lips gently to Duo's, but Duo's mouth opened greedily, and he leaned into the kiss with an awakening passion.

"You been promisin' me this since you jumped me at the show, Yuy," moaned Duo. They were sinking back where they sat, holding each other closely, their backs against the soft cushions. Heero could feel their hearts beating faster – could feel the goosebumps rising across his shoulders and down his arms.

"I remember you doing the jumping, Maxwell," he murmured. Everything tasted so sharp and sweet tonight – he could see Duo's chest moving with even the slightest breath; he could hear the soft bubbles in his throat as he swallowed. Duo's lips were rich and plump and tasted of everything good from raspberries to toothpaste! Everything was bright and precious to him… "Come back with me now!"

"To your apartment?" Duo's voice was a mumble. He was fumbling at Heero's waistband, tugging at the sweats as if he were trying to slide a hand inside. Heero felt the other hand move up under his thin tee shirt, pinching at his nipples mischievously. He wasn't sure where the other six hands came from, but that's what the touches felt like all over his chest.

"No – not the apartment..." Heero arched under him, his breath painfully excited in his throat. Duo was licking his throat now, and the warm, rough tongue was like a particularly erotic cat's. "Come back to my house. We won't be disturbed there; and I want to show you something."

"Something on show here right now…" chuckled Duo. His mouth was on Heero's neck, but his eyes were hunting at his tented lap, and finding their willing prey. "It's eyeful enough for me –!"

"No…" groaned Heero. "More than this –"

Duo sighed; he sounded unconvinced. His hand slid triumphantly inside the sweats, and it curled possessively around Heero's rapidly swelling cock. When he spoke, he was breathless with desire – but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Need you, Heero. Need your touch – need to feel you. Can't see what we can get there that we can't get here…unless… you gotta bigger bed, Yuy?"

Heero laughed. Duo's touch was magnificent – it was sure and firm and seductive. He was aching fiercely for him already. "Sure! Several bedrooms, in fact. We could play musical beds…keep us amused for hours…"

Duo's answering laugh was soft and wickedly sensual. He'd woken up earlier with a raging hard-on, and the need for his lover to give him satisfaction, only to find him gone from the bed. Despite the drama of the following hours, he could still feel the echoes of that desire in his nerve endings; he was erect and ready for Heero very swiftly.

"I like the look of you in my clothes, man," he hissed. "Though red is never gonna be your colour…" He sighed. "And I'm gonna like you a lot better out of 'em!"

He nudged the sweats down over Heero's thighs – the thick, hot cock was exposed, springing up with the delight of freedom; glistening with the signs of his urgent excitement. Duo chuckled with pleasure… and then he slid carefully off the couch, so that his body nestled between Heero's outstretched legs, and his head was at his groin. He took a generous handful of Heero's aching, shifting balls, and the dark-haired man groaned as firm, damp lips engulfed him greedily.

"So when do you wanna go to your place?" The words were muffled – they vibrated around the over-sensitive flesh of Heero's shaft.

"Now is fine –" Heero gasped.

"Now?" teased Duo.

Heero groaned. His lover's tongue was lapping softly at the length of his cock – he was tugging the skin up and down, tormenting the exposed crown; flipping the tip of his tongue against it. It's been a hell of a night! thought Heero – he barely understood how, after all that had happened, he could feel so desperate for sex; for Duo! He'd not realised how charged he felt; how his body thrummed, with suppressed emotion and desire. With need -

"Soon, then –" His voice was gargled in his throat.

"OK," said Duo, with more soft laughter. His mouth paused in its work; he pulled a little away from Heero's groin, to be able to speak more clearly. "Soon is good; that's agreed then. Take me to yours and find me some decent breakfast, and 'praps we'll hide out there for a few days – and nights. I can live with that." He swallowed carefully, as if he were afraid of getting too serious, but had to speak. "I want us together today, Heero – and tonight. I want to know it's all over with Remy de Haas, and the gallery's still here, and the guys are still with us, wherever they are, and the secrets are all gone – "

He tightened his lips again around the crown of Heero's cock and teased out a drop of pre-cum with his tongue. Heero gave a sound that was a mixture between a yelp and a whimper. Duo's voice was in his head; murmuring around his swollen flesh. It was part of the caress; part of the worship. "Heero, I wanna know that you're still here…"

"I don't want to be anywhere else," whispered Heero.

"Prove it," Duo whispered back. "Might just be your smooth talk I'm hearin'…" He lifted his head off Heero completely, the drops of saliva shining on his lips. He was panting – he looked a little wild. His tongue flickered out and licked at his lips – he grinned.

"You look incredibly sexy, Heero," he hissed. "Taste it, too. Spread out there for me – cock strainin' outta your pants, callin' out its need. Time for you to come for me, I think –"

He put his hands on Heero's thighs, pressing them a little further apart, hampered a little by the sweats down below his hips. His long fingers folded deliberately around Heero's cock, though they didn't do anything more than squeeze him gently. A lone fingertip teased at the little thread of skin attached to the crown. Heero glared at his tormentor, knelt in front of him; the sensation of that simple touch was astonishingly acute – almost painful. He growled with frustration. "Harder, Duo!"

"Ohhh no," grinned Duo. His eyes were bright with mischief. "This'll do it, Heero, just as well – softly, slowly - this'll have the required effect, I promise!"

Heero shuddered – his mouth opened in a strange, almost silent groan. His eyes shut tightly – his hands lifted helplessly from beside his waist, seeking some kind of friction, but Duo's firm, deliberate touch kept the control just out of his reach.

"Hurts, Duo – Christ – need more –"

Duo hushed him; he laughed softly. The pads of his fingertips stroked; patted; teased.

Heero's eyes opened abruptly; suddenly very wide. A wave of sensation was rolling out along his nerves; his body shivered in anticipation of something it no longer had control over at all. "Shit! But how – that's – oh my God -"

"I think we know what's happenin' here…" murmured Duo. "Relax – let it come –"

"I can't stop it –!" groaned Heero, in protest. His thighs shook with tension – his heart was racing. The ecstasy was rich, and precious, and coiling tightly in his gut. He'd never known such a feeling, without fierce stimulation around his cock; he'd never known such a gentle, simple, devastating touch -!

"Don't try!" hissed Duo. He sat back on his heels, just his fingers playing with the shuddering shaft, jutting out from between Heero's legs. He bit gently at his lower lip as he watched the skin stretching over the engorged flesh – his other hand strayed carelessly to his own lap. "Let it come, Heero. Come for me, lover!"

Heero arched high – his head went back hard against the couch, and his feet lifted from the floor. He no longer had any feeling for whether Duo still held him or not – all he could feel was the throb of release, and the heat bursting from the tip of his cock; damp, angry spurts, running down the column of purple-red flesh, covering his lower belly, covering the retreating fingers of his lover, who was laughing, laughing, with delight and his own excitement –

"For you, you bastard!" he gasped, laughing as well as sobbing, his flesh rippling with the aftershock. "All for you!"

Heero's eyes felt dazed, but he clearly saw Duo still smiling at him. He was sat back on his heels, carefully licking the sticky threads of Heero's cum from his fingers. It was too much! Heero thought. Duo Maxwell is a torturer, and should be made to pay -! He reached down to grab at the braided head, but either his climax had slowed down his reflexes, or else Duo just moved faster; in seconds, the other man had knelt up, leaned forward and pushed Heero back on to the couch cushions. Then his hands were back up under the tee shirt, but this time, to peel it up and over Heero's head. Heero thought he might not protest after all…

There was frenzied activity for a minute, from both of them – Heero wriggled when one of his arms got caught in the tee shirt fabric; he kicked off his sweats impatiently. Duo grabbed at the discarded shirt and, ignoring Heero's protests about struggling to the bathroom, wiped his lover's belly with it, cleaning off the rest of the warm, glutinous seed. Then Duo moved with his own smooth, fluid grace and stripped off his shorts. They were both naked; they were grinning hungrily at each other; they both knew exactly what they wanted.

"Bloody couch…" groaned Heero. He'd pulled himself fully upright now, and it was Duo's turn to be thrown back on to the cushions. Their mouths were nipping and kissing and touching… then Heero's hands were at Duo's thighs, pressing in between them, spreading them apart so that his cock bounced up from the nest of damp, dark brown curls; hot and red and inviting.

Heero licked his own lips. He would have his revenge…

"Heero," gasped Duo, distracting him temporarily. "That business with the fingerprints, and Remy – is that true, Heero? That they'd use the painted prints to connect her with the break-ins?"

"I have no idea," sighed Heero. "Don't you ever shut up and just enjoy?" His fingertips ran reverently along the vein of Duo's shaft, watching it spring and flex in ecstatic reaction.

"What? But you sounded so sure about it in the gallery –"

Heero shrugged. "It was enough to scare her – to make her confess more, I think. That's all I wanted to do."

"Devious bastard," Duo whistled, impressed. He hitched himself up on his elbows, staring hungrily as Heero's caresses coaxed him fuller and further. "Is that how you do all your business?"

"Find out yourself…" hissed Heero, his head down at Duo's groin now, and his tongue lapping underneath his wrinkling sac.

"Do I need an appointment, then?" gasped Duo. He relaxed back into the touch; he'd concentrated on Heero's enjoyment so far, and now he was aware of the heavy, aching need between his own legs. Heero's mouth was very insistent… he felt a delicious lassitude creeping over his limbs. His legs stretched wider, his hips straining up to capture Heero's wet touch.

"I can give you ten minutes –" Heero laughed gently. His breath brushed through Duo's pubic hairs. "Got nothing else in my diary at the moment –"

"Only ten minutes -!" protested Duo, and then the impatient lips were on his cock, and the strong, confident fingers were probing at his entrance, and he felt his body opening out to Heero as if his very soul were being peeled open. "Damn… guess I'm not even going to last that long -!"

"So shut the fuck up and relax," growled Heero's voice, and Heero's tongue was savouring him, and Heero's fingers were inside him, and Heero's touch was pressing sweetly on that very spot, that he always seemed to find so very easily and surely -

Duo felt the ripple of agony and ecstasy roll from his head down to his curling toes. Suddenly all the jokes had gone – the talk had almost deserted him. He could feel the saltiness of tears at the corners of his eyes, and he was scared of what it might mean. Perhaps the shock of the evening was finally catching up with him. His body arched up, reaching for Heero. "Hold me, Heero –" he gasped. "That's what you said you'd do, man –"

"Trust me, Duo…" came Heero's voice, as if from a long way away – he sounded suddenly worried; worried for Duo. Possessive of him; protective. "It's going to be all right. I'm still here – I always will be, as long as you want me. You wanted proof…let me show you!" His arm was tight around Duo's waist – his lips were at his groin. It was as if he tried to breathe his feelings into his lover; he wanted to be with him – wanted to become part of him -

Duo groaned loudly, feeling the climax approaching fierce and fast!

Heero felt the shudder along Duo's body – saw the muscles tighten across his torso. He wanted to be inside him, but they had nothing to hand and he didn't want to disturb him any further. This was enough; this was more than enough! To take him into his mouth; to put his fingers inside him, stimulating him so that his long, lean body stretched and shivered and begged for release -

"Soon - be there -!" gasped Duo.

"Soon is good!" laughed Heero; a throaty, greedy sound. It reverberated around the cock sheathed deep in his mouth – he dragged his tongue one last time along the vein; he crooked his finger so that it pressed one last, sweet time on Duo's prostate.

Duo cried loudly when he came in Heero's mouth; very loudly, with a voice full of ecstasy and anguish.

He cried Heero's name.

Duo stood in the middle of the expansive, luxurious dining room, and whistled loudly. He was dressed in a fluorescent green tee shirt with some barely legible slogan splashed across it, and jeans that hung low on his hips, and were frayed around the hems. He looked rather under-dressed, and totally careless of the fact.

"Look at this place! You'll turn a boy's head, Yuy, with your mansion!"

They had called the limo at just after dawn; there was no sign of reporters at the gallery at that hour, though Heero thought they shouldn't leave it any longer. They'd showered quickly, and he'd dragged his suit and shirt back on. Duo had clambered into clean clothes, grumbling all the while about needing sleep, and Heero had packed a few things for him to take, in case they stayed away for a few days or more.

Then Heero had parcelled up the 4:Y picture; Duo had thrown in a sketchpad and set of pencils; and the limo had arrived to take them to Heero's house.

Heero stood by his dining room table, leaning against the back of a chair, watching Duo's reaction. He straightened up, and his hands automatically checked the zip of his pants. It had been an eventful journey here – him, Duo and Duo's rampant libido! Heero had found just enough time to close the hatch in the limo before Duo fell on his lap with laughter and lips; he'd barely gotten them both through the front door of his house before Duo had pushed him against the wall, slipped his jacket off on to the floor, and began nipping at his neck.

Heero was damned glad there were no permanent staff here!

Now he pushed the chair back under the table, at the same time trying to push away a fantasy that nagged at him; a vision of peeling those outrageous clothes off Duo; of laying his naked body back on this very table; of kneeling up on the chair so that he was leaning between Duo's thighs – of Duo reaching for his pants zip with one hand, and brandishing a foil packet in the other, whispering and urging him to take him, hard…

He was hot again, he sighed. Damned hot! His hair felt a mess; his business clothes felt sticky on his tired body. His skin shivered hot and cold. He'd never felt so continuously aroused in all his life! He wondered if Duo would want to do it in every room of the house, not just the beds? He thought it very likely, judging by the stamina of the man's sexual appetite.

And you'll enjoy every minute! he admitted, with a secret smile. They fed off each other – the desire was as eager in both of them.

"It's no mansion, Duo, just a house. A big one, I guess. I never really thought about it –"

"Like hell," grinned Duo. He gazed at full-length tapestry curtains; smooth, polished parquet floor; minimalist but expensive fittings around the walls. A gentleman's room – a rich gentleman's room.

"No, seriously –" Heero spoke slowly. He was surprised that he'd never considered it that way; Duo challenged so many things in his life. Duo provoked him, time and again…

"I like the freedom that money gives me. I'm not about to give it all up! But I don't find that much enjoyment in spending it. I don't add any more furniture – don't redecorate any more often. I just like things to be attractive - and efficient…"

"Hon," came Duo's whisper at his ear. "I'm teasing you! You need some work on that sense of humour." His hand brushed at Heero's ass, squeezing a cheek. "Doesn't matter to me whether you're in a mansion or a mud hut. Well – that's an exaggeration of course. I'm a little too spoiled now, to squat for relief in a mud hut…"

"Does it annoy you? Embarrass you – that I have money?"

Duo snorted. "D'you think I'm some kinda fortune hunter? I've never been embarrassed by money, Heero. Just never had any of my own for any length of time. It's useful – it's –" Description escaped him for a moment. "It's there, isn't it? Or it isn't. I've known both."

There was the distant ring of a telephone, but Heero didn't move to answer it. "Quatre knows to call me on my cell phone," he said. "So do my managers. And the police… Anything else will be journalists or stalkers."

"You sure they won't be stakin' out the house as well? The press 'n all?" Duo's voice was only half amused.

"The security firm will keep a cordon around the grounds – no-one can get nearer than the gate without my permission," replied Heero. "I said we'd be safe here; hidden for a while."

"To take stock of things –" suggested Duo.

"Yes." Heero flushed a little. "And so I have the chance to show you the one thing I do spend my money on; my collection. I want to share it with you."

"Yeah, I remember. I said after the show – I want to see it." Duo wondered why Heero looked almost nervous. Christ, he'd seen enough art not to be surprised at anything! OK, so he had his own tastes, but he somehow thought that there wouldn't be much in Heero's gallery that he'd hate. They were so damned different in some ways, weren't they? But they both loved the emotion of paintings – the drama of art. And this was important to Heero – this was his personal collection. Duo felt a warmth at being included so insistently.

Heero led him down the corridor and to a door with heavy security bolts.

"Hey, Heero," smiled Duo, as Heero unlocked the door. "They're not all gonna be black 'n white are they? You havin' your special disability, or whatever -?" He was damned tired; he was wondering when he'd get shown to a bed, both for some rest and some better discovery of that gorgeous body -

Then the paintings were there in front of him – and he was stunned into temporary speechlessness.

The door opened into a long, rectangular room, with tastefully dimmed lighting that came on automatically as they entered. There were padded leather couches along the centre of the room, and the occasional low cupboard with wide, shallow drawers like an artist's bureau. Along the walls, the paintings hung in modest, tasteful frames; only twenty or so in total. But it was a magnificent collection; there were examples of several schools of painting; they spanned several centuries. There was the passionate movement of a Reubens painting – the graphic boldness of a Lichtenstein – an early anatomical sketch of El Greco. Colour was present everywhere – but of more importance was the emotion and sensual impact of the content, assailing the spectator from all sides.

Duo walked slowly along the room, scouring each painting with a critical eye and a heart full of pleasure.

"It's great, Heero!" he exclaimed, with genuine delight. "You're a dark horse, ain't ya? Keeping all these hidden away… Some of these are by my favourite artists – some pictures I thought had left the country. Some I've never even seen the artists before, but the fire in 'em is fantastic! The skill… the detail…" He turned from side to side, his arms instinctively sketching out his impressions. "I wanna spend some hours in here, y'know? With my pad – with some cool music. You have to let me! You've got great taste, man –" He turned to look back at Heero, and it was then that his eyes caught sight of some glossy papers pinned up on the wall by the door itself.

Heero watched him pale; he watched his words dry up. He was suddenly very afraid of what he might have done; how he may have hurt the man he was beginning to find more important than anything else in his life.

"Shit…" It was only a breath; a whisper from Duo.

"Forgive me, Duo," Heero rushed to say. "They're prints – they're copies, just for my own interest –"

"They're Solo's sketches," hissed Duo.

"Yes," admitted Heero. There were four pictures, spread out on the pale walls. They were, of course, only copies, but the quality was excellent, so that the impact of the original sketches could be appreciated. They were striking, even in amongst the other exalted inhabitants of the room. Duo started to walk towards them, a little unsteadily. It had been so long since he'd seen either the sketches themselves or copies of them…

"Since I met you, Duo – since I heard the story about your history; I've been seeking information about the sketches." Heero was talking to him, though he had no idea if Duo were listening. "Perhaps I just wanted to see them. But then, recently, I talked to Quatre about it all, and asked him to find details for me. I never realised he'd have the information to hand; I never knew he was checking up on Remy. He had these copy prints – he'd been interested in bidding for the sketches himself, when they came up to auction. I asked to have the copies – to display them here."

"It's like you were stalkin' me, Heero –" whispered Duo. He was only a couple of feet away from the sketches when he stopped. His eyes never moved from them. "Thought I heard you say I'd be safe from that here."

"That's damned unfair, Duo, and you know it! You're being deliberately provocative –"

"That's what being damned unfair is all about," growled Duo.

Heero bit his lip to try to keep back his retort. He breathed deeply; he held himself back from approaching Duo. "I found them so moving, I wanted to spend more time with them; see what all the fuss was about. I know you better, now. I felt I was getting close to you, and I thought –" Heero paused. Hell, he hadn't expected to have to apologise – but after the shock of Remy's confessions, he realised that the sketches may be a lot more to Duo than just a magnificent piece of art. He'd not thought it through – he'd no experience of such a complex relationship as that of Duo and his brother.

"You thought…" Duo echoed. His voice was very cold. "You thought you had the right to own my life as well as your own."

"No!" protested Heero. "Christ, haven't we been here already? I want you to have your own life, Duo – I don't want to own you! Perhaps my thought was that these would be a further connection between us!" He sighed, his anger rising along with his frustration. Everything was so damned close to the surface with Duo! He wasn't prepared for it – he wasn't sufficiently armoured against the man's moods. "Guess it's too much to ask, to get a better understanding of you –"

"Too fucking right it is!" snapped Duo.

"You're pulling away from me again!" hissed Heero. "You're not giving me a chance to explain, what I wanted to know about you –"

"There's nothing to fucking know!" Duo almost shouted. "I'm nothing, remember?"

Heero's mouth clamped shut. He didn't have the words – and after the trauma of the previous night, and the heavy making out they'd done, he didn't have the energy either.

Duo had stopped talking, too. He gazed at the pictures, one by one. He put out a hand and touched at the sleek paper; wonderingly. After all, this was his history, wasn't it?

The four sketches followed a definite progression – a template for Duo's life. They weren't specific drawings of him, but the implication was unmistakable in each. There was a laughing head; a young boy in his teens - no older – finding a joke from somewhere around him. The laughter was generous – the grin infectious. Then there were two heads bent over a pad and pencils, hair brushing, smiles mirroring each other, and yet separate personalities; Solo and Duo, presumably, as growing young men. The third sketch was an outside study, of two young men running, or playing some game, or just messing about in the park. Their limbs were long, and strong, and beautiful in the way of Greek statues; contemporary athletes; modern gods. The fourth sketch seemed further on in time, though the illustrated figure still appeared as young as both Heero and Duo were today. It was a more contemplative theme; the man was relaxing in a deep, soft chair, whilst still managing to look alert, coiled like a spring. The tension could be seen in his limbs, curled under him – though the drawn lines were softer in this sketch; there was deliberate smudging around the profile of his body in the chair.

"Did that last one just after I bawled him out for upsettin' Trow again," murmured Duo, a little breathlessly.

And then he smiled; his face relaxing with his familiar, rapid change of mood.

"They were damned good, weren't they?"

Heero was unsure of his ground, but he stepped forward cautiously. "I – yes, they were. They still are. Duo, are you upset? I never thought - it's too much, after last night –"

Duo turned towards him then, and reached out. He touched his fingers to Heero's lips, sealing the words in. "I'm a shit, Heero. Guess I'm a little more strung out this morning than I thought I'd be. But that's no excuse to treat you like that."

"If that's an apology –" sighed Heero. His lips ghosted for the touch of Duo's fingertips.

"It is," admitted Duo. "Not something I've had much practice with."

"I want you to trust me, Duo," said Heero, softly. "Like I trusted you with the gallery. I want to make things good for you."

Duo sighed. "I know. It's just - some things you can't control. The feelings these guys brought out in me – it's a shock, Heero."

He moved away again, and even closer to the wall; he pressed his hand flat to the last picture. "They're me, aren't they? Not just me as a theme – but my life in pictures. Like people kept telling me at the time – 'til I was fucking sick to hear it anymore. I was glad they were sold, y'know? Glad my life would be back in my hands, rather than just on scraps of canvas and in strokes of a pencil. Of Solo's pencil! I felt I was only seen as part of Solo himself – I was only ever in his shadow."

Heero saw Duo's shoulders sag. His voice was low, but defiant. "And then I was my own person, because he was gone – and the sketches were gone as well."

"But -?" Heero prompted, gently. He moved forward, to stand behind his lover, as he stared at the evidence of his brother's legacy.

Duo's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "But I missed 'em. I loved 'em, y'see. Trowa said it best – they're the best work he ever did. He said he saw Solo in them; the vibrancy, the depth of his feeling."

Duo's shoulders were shaking slightly. "Miss him too, I guess…"

Heero couldn't let this pass – his heart ached for Duo as if the bereavement had been his own. He opened his arms and took hold of Duo's shoulders – he drew him against him and hugged him close. Duo's body tensed for a second; then it relaxed into the embrace. His arm snaked around Heero's waist; his head buried itself in Heero's shoulder, his face pressed against the silk fabric of his shirt.

"You'll get them back," said Heero, as firmly as he could, with the lump in his throat. "When they find the original sale was fraudulent – they'll be taken back from her, from Remy. They'll be returned to you."

He gazed at the pictures himself. "That's why I'm drawn to them myself, I think – because they're part of your life. I want to offer you something, Duo; I want to help you get them back – because they're yours. They should be with you."

Duo gave a snort; he ran his hand over his eyes, though he kept his head buried away from Heero's direct sight. "You're a damned fool, Heero Yuy, y'know? 'S not your problem. You've already offered me enough."

Heero sighed. "I thought I took from you…"

"No!" snapped Duo, and now he lifted his head to stare fiercely at Heero. "You didn't take anything from me, Heero, y'hear? Well, you did – that was misery, and inertia, and self-pity. Guess I can live without them!"

"Hey, I just…"

"Shut up!" interrupted Duo. His voice was harsh, but his eyes sparkled. "You've given a hell of a lot to me already – some interest in life again – a measure of personal success and satisfaction that I thought I'd lost. Christ, what more can I ask?" He lifted his own arms to grasp at Heero's shoulders. "It was me who wanted to give – because I've been taking from you all this time!"

"You gave me your drawing –" murmured Heero. He wasn't sure if they were arguing any more - he wasn't entirely sure what this was all about. He also wasn't sure what Duo would say if he leaned forward now and kissed the damp, talkative mouth into temporary silence. "I'm damned confused here, Maxwell – there appears to be an embarrassment of gifts between us, doesn't there?"

Duo laughed, awkwardly. His own eyes had dropped, to gaze at Heero's mouth, as if he knew what the other man was thinking. "I'm not sure that makes us quits, though, Heero -?"

Heero was sure of one thing now – he was going to kiss Duo quiet. "Good enough for me at the moment, Duo…" he murmured.

"Kiss me."

And for once in his life, Duo did what he was told.

Heero stirred in Duo's arms, relishing the delicious shivers running through his body. They didn't do anything more than kiss – he tasted, and savoured, and sucked lightly on Duo's tongue. He felt the tense muscles of Duo's arms under his hands, the thin jersey fabric of his shirt bunched up in his palm. He also felt the sensual response throughout the other man's limbs, as they slowly began to relax. He heard a soft moan from deep inside Duo's throat.

But nothing more; no more talk. He'd kissed Duo into silence, as he'd wanted to do; as he'd hoped he could. That response was the best gift that Duo could have given him.

He broke gently away, and watched Duo lick up the thin trail of saliva that still bound their mouths. "There's more, Duo."

"Huh?" Duo sounded sleepy. "You're some kinda insatiable, Yuy –"

"No," smiled Heero. "Not that – not just now. I meant that there's another reason I wanted you to see my collection. Not just because these are the some of the few things I really care for; the few things that are close to me, and that I never show to others."

"'Cept me," sighed Duo. He looked flushed.

"Uh-huh," agreed Heero, still smiling. "Let me explain; when you started sketching again – that first time I saw your work… it woke something in me – some recognition."

"Of what?"

Heero ignored him; he didn't answer directly. "I'd never seen the sketches then, you know? But when these prints arrived, and I had a chance to study them – I was even more sure of that feeling."

"Stop with the mysteries," groaned Duo.

"Hush," warned Heero. He was rather flushed now, too. He moved away from Duo, albeit reluctantly, and went over to one of the low cupboards against the wall. "Obviously every artist has their own style – there's a signature that's unique. But you admitted yourself, that your work was sometimes reminiscent of your brother's style. And so I was reminded of a work I already owned – that I bought a couple of years ago."

"What are you telling me, Heero?" Duo suddenly looked wary.

"This mystery about Solo's missing sketches – the other two. I think that everyone thought to look for the last two, assuming that either he stopped the series, or that the final two were lost somewhere. But I suspect that it was the first ones that were missing – two at the beginning of the series!"

Duo's voice sounded rather stilted. "It's generally assumed that he never finished the series, Heero."

Heero ignored him again, and pointed to the prints on the wall in front of them. "You can see the pattern of these four, can't you? The path towards maturity. This final one shows you almost as you are today - adult – the last in the series. Don't you see it, Duo?"

Duo grunted; he stared at Heero. "Don't see where you're going with this –"

"I've got one of the earlier sketches, Duo."

Duo's head snapped up, his eyes wide and astonished. "You what?"

"Remy was right, in a way, though it was pure coincidence. There was another sketch to be found; and maybe she would have found it, if her break-in had been successful. I just didn't realise I had it until recently."

Heero's breath was a little ragged. "Until I knew you."

He was opening one of the drawers of the cupboard; his hands shook a little with excitement. "My agent got it, I never knew where from. I didn't take as much interest as I should have done when I first started collecting. I always liked and appreciated what I had – like your paintings. I mean, I was fascinated by them – they're some of my favourites. But you were right in what you said to me once, I never really understood what was involved in art." He turned back to Duo, eyes shining. "And then, when I saw you drawing – it was fascinating! I admired you so much - I learned so much. I felt damned inadequate, to tell you the truth – what good was I, just collecting – when you could create?"

"Heero…" Duo's voice was only a thread of noise. Heero spoke on, overriding it.

"And then the style grew familiar – something about the movement of the outlines. It reminded me of my own possession, like I said." He pulled out a wrapped package. Very small – unframed. "I never got to framing it, in all this time…it felt fragile, you know? I kept it protected in here."

He unfolded the wrappings – he held out the exposed artwork to Duo. Duo's gaze shifted to the offered picture, and his face paled.

Their eyes met.

It was another sketch, indeed. A little smaller than the others – but to a similar theme; and held next to the copy sketches, it was obvious that it was by the same artist.

It was of a boy – a young boy, less than ten years old, twisting round to look at someone behind him. His face was sketched in just a couple of strokes – a mischievous grin; a wide eye. He had long hair, braided down his back. It was the most identifiable sketch of Duo in the whole set. It wasn't as finished as the others – there were rough lines that hadn't been inked in; shading that hadn't been finished. It looked as if it were a practice run; a prelude to later, more mature work.

But it held the same magic.

They both turned their gaze back to it, Heero reminding himself of its attraction. "It's not just the style that was familiar," he murmured. "It was you, as well – it's so obviously you. It had lodged inside me, even before I knew you personally."

"Jeez…" gasped Duo. "So there it is. Shit…"

Heero wasn't sure whether Duo was pleased or not. The man's expression was a blank page of amazement.

"Duo…?"

Duo sighed. He didn't turn to look at Heero. "'S OK. Just another damned shock! Seems like an embarrassment of them today, eh? But I'm glad you've got it, Heero. Honestly." When Heero put a hand back on his shoulder, he nudged into the touch.

"I should've been with him that night, y'know? The night he died. But I'd had another row with him, the day before – about Trowa. About him seeing other people all the time. We weren't talking, and I took myself out for the night, leaving him to go to the exhibition on his own. Or not, as the case may be." He groaned. "All those other partners; it was just sex for him, and I guess Trow knew that, too. It was up to them whether they were content with what they had. I wasn't very mature about the whole thing, I 'spose; just greedy for him, myself."

He turned his head round, and gazed at Heero. He put his own hand over his lover's. "He was sorta my sanctuary – I needed him. But pretty soon I knew it wasn't a role he particularly enjoyed – I just didn't wanna admit it."

"This is a chance to move on, Duo," said Heero, quietly. "There's no guilt attached to you – now we all know the truth. Your life should never have been so troubled – your career should have been allowed to run its course. You should have been given your chance."

The flicker of suspicion danced in Duo's sharp eyes. "You were at the opening, weren't you?

The opening of the Maxwell gallery; when I launched my work, and my brave new career. You bought a painting that night, I know – but I bet you visited in person, as well."

Heero's eyes widened. How the hell had he guessed? "Yes. I don't quite know why, because it wasn't scheduled for me; and I was buying most of my art through agents still. But the gallery was in the same business district – one of the reasons I subsequently wanted to buy it. I just thought I'd drop in and see what sort of art was being displayed."

"You see me?" asked Duo, slyly.

Heero nodded. "I saw you. You were front of house, showing all the vibrancy I've always admired in others. No, envied; though I was wary of it, as well. You seemed very – outrageous to me, then! But the show was impressive -a show that you apparently designed yourself – and I wanted to own one of your paintings. I remember thinking that I wanted to watch your career, though I pushed it out of my mind over the next year or so…"

"Pushed myself out of most minds, during that time…" growled Duo.

"I wanted to watch you," continued Heero, thoughtfully. "Though I never really understood why, then. And I never knew I wanted to know you like this –"

"Like this?" murmured Duo, mischievously. His mouth was breathing warm desire on Heero's cheek; his lips were touching firmly to the other man's mouth. His fingers sank into the dark, thick hair, and tugged the head towards him for the kiss.

"Uh-huh… mmm…" There wasn't any other intelligible noise for a while.

Duo broke away first, panting slightly. "Look, before we start making out on that lumpy leather couch, I wanna call someone – is that OK? She lives not far from here – I want her to bring me something."

Heero looked bemused. "No more secrets, Duo –"

"No, Heero," the braided man smiled. "That's what this is about – no more secrets!"

The young girl stood hesitantly at Heero Yuy's front door. She had spiky hair and bright, intelligent eyes. She wore jeans and a bright shirt, and clutched her bag nervously. When the door was opened by Duo, her face broke into a relieved smile.

"Duo! Hi…" She was nervous in a different way, now – her face was flushed, and her grin was affectionate. They both smiled at memories that were obviously very pleasant.

"Hi, Jo," he said, warmly. "Long time no see, eh?"

"Yeah," she replied. "You look good!"

Duo grinned. He knew he did. Despite the fact the button of his jeans was still undone, and his hair was escaping its braid in a couple of places. The leather couches in the art room were – as he'd suspected - damned uncomfortable places for a makeout session!

"Come on in, hon. So they let you in OK at the gate? I let 'em know you were coming, told 'em to smuggle you in discreetly…"

As she stepped into the spacious hallway, Jo looked over his shoulder and saw a tall, dark-haired man approach. He looked a little less tousled, and his expensive clothes were all in order; but she still felt a delicious, sensual charge from his presence. His dark eyes, in particular, were gorgeous pools of mysterious colour.

"This is Heero, Jo – Heero Yuy. It's his house, y'know."

She smiled, like she'd never have believed it was Duo's. "Mr Yuy," she said, formally. "I've read about you in the papers."

"Christ, I thought we'd escaped all that?" snapped Duo.

Jo stared at him, puzzled. "Mr Yuy is in the business papers, Duo, almost every week! I'm doing a Business Management course now, y'know – I follow a lot of his companies' stocks."

Duo laughed. "Oh – that! Of course – Mr Yuy's fame was well established before his notoriety!"

"Hush, Duo," said Heero, holding out a hand to her. "You're Duo's friend. So am I. Call me when you've graduated, if you're looking for a job."

Jo flushed, pleased.

"Lay off charmin' the girl, Heero, or I'm gonna get insanely jealous!" joked Duo.

Jo saw the way he laughed, but with his eyes fixed fiercely on Heero's face. She saw the way his hand brushed at Heero's hip, as if drawn there instinctively. She saw the light sparkle in Heero's eyes, and the way he quickly moistened his lips.

It wasn't her causing the jealousy, she realised, with a little burst of embarrassment. She wondered if she'd always known that Duo liked guys as well as girls. She'd certainly always felt he treated her well; she just wished it could have been for a little longer.

But he did look good – very good! - and she was pleased for him. She smiled to herself.

"Gotta go soon, Duo," she said, carefully. "I've got a class later on this afternoon. I got a bus here –"

"And Heero will arrange for you to get back, I hope!" announced Duo, cheerfully. Heero nodded agreement.

Duo turned back to Jo. "So – to business. Did you bring it?"

"Sure," she said. "I have it here. Just like you always told me – you'd call for it sometime." She reached into the cloth bag and pulled out a small package. It was about the same size as the one that Heero had uncovered earlier. Duo felt his lover's body tense beside him.

Duo spoke softly as Jo started to unwrap her little bundle. "You see, Heero, I haven't been entirely honest about the sketches. But I thought it was best, y'know – I couldn't stand the hassle, and the questions, and the arguments that were going round at that time."

"What do you mean?"

Duo's smile was a little sad. "I knew that Solo's first two sketches were the ones missing. You're right about the pattern of the set – the progression of his work. I always knew – and yet I let people believe they'd been lost, or burned, or were never there in the first place. I felt that Solo – and me! – had been harassed enough for them. I told you – I was pleased in some ways to see the back of 'em!"

"But you didn't know I had this one –"

"No," sighed Duo, ruefully. "I didn't. Some kinda irony, that! That's the second one of the series that you have now. God knows how it made its way here! He probably sold it to your agent for a bottle of something – or for a shag. Was too ashamed to tell me – or forgot about it afterwards. I wouldn't put it past him. Remy was right about that, too – Solo was only ever interested in the creative process. The possession, and the selling, and the security issues – he had little care of them."

The parcel was unwrapped – Jo was drawing out a slim square of board, with a drawing attached. Heero drew in a sharp breath.

"The very first one, Heero…" Duo's voice was very low, and drained of his usual vivacity. "He'd already given to me. When he drew the rest, he said he'd ask me for it back, but of course he never bothered. After all, I was to have them all anyway. He was always very sure about that."

Jo held out the drawing for them both to see. Her face was a little sombre.

It was an even more casual sketch than the other, but it some ways, it was more emotive. It showed a figure curled on a cushion; maybe a baby, maybe a toddler. One of its plump hands stretched out for something; the pencil strokes followed the line of the developing bones. Its eyes were mere dots in amongst the lines of curved limbs, but despite the cursory sketching, they were bright and somehow fully expressive. At first glance, the sketch might have looked banal and rather hackneyed; but some quality in it drew eyes back, to investigate further. To see the flush of soft, immature skin in the shading; to see the promise of intelligence, and humour, and a rather mischievous look in the child's expression, that a more obvious 'baby' picture wouldn't show.

"It's lovely," said Heero, simply. There was a smile on his face – the sketch seemed to provoke that warm, protective feeling.

"Yeah," murmured Duo, close to his shoulder. "I didn't know what to do with it, to tell you the truth. I never wanted to display it – and Solo didn't seem interested in having it back. Yet I wouldn't have gotten rid of it. So…" He smiled over at Jo. "Jo was the pretty girl I was with at the end of my first exhibition, Heero – she shared that day with me, as well as you. I guess we might have had a longer time together, if I hadn't been such an arrogant prick, thinking everythin' would always go well for me – that I had the world and its pleasures queuin' up to entertain little old me." He grinned at her, a little sheepishly. "She was a good friend to me, then. So I asked her to look after the sketch."

She smiled back at him, remembering an exotic, exciting, unpredictable time. It had been good! But it was past, now. She held out the sketch to Duo.

"I'm gonna miss it," she sighed. "But it belongs back with you."

Jo had been taken home in the limo, causing quite a stir amongst the few tenacious reporters who hung around the gates to the estate. Most of them had missed her quiet arrival, and now they could only imagine who was behind the darkened windows; they didn't really have the heart or the waning interest to follow it any further. Besides, a call was coming through to them, about a breaking story in the city - a top model being taken in for police questioning! That had a damned sight more potential than a reclusive gay couple, didn't it?

Inside the house, Heero and Duo stared at the sketches, together at last, in one form or another, safe in Heero's art room. There were the four in copy on the wall, and two in real life, propped up on stools beside them. It was like a history of Duo's life – his growing up; his coming of age.

"You forgive me for not tellin' you the truth, Heero?"

"I suppose so," replied the dark-haired man. "I understand your reasons." It had all been a long time ago, long before he knew Duo – it wasn't his concern, really. And now the whole story was out in the open, which could only be for the best. He suspected that Duo would always have the power to surprise him.

"You like 'em?"

"Yes, very much." Heero appraised them as best he could, considering how it was his heart that they spoke to, not his head. "They don't have the aggression of your paintings, nor the tactile impact of your drawing; but your brother was obviously an extremely talented man. They're illustrations of you, Duo – they're strokes of emotion; of feeling. They're magnificent…"

"They'll be worth a fortune now," mused Duo. "Especially when all six are together."

Heero smiled, pleased with his lover's sudden turn of good fortune. "And they're all yours, Duo."

There was a long silence; so much so, that Heero turned to Duo in concern.

Duo bit at his lip; he took a deep breath. "You can have 'em, Heero."

Heero's brow furrowed. "What? No, you don't know what you're saying –"

"Don't treat me like a child, Heero Yuy!" snapped Duo.

"That's not what I meant! But they're your inheritance – they're your fortune –" Heero was protesting, unsure of how Duo's mind was working.

"You think that's what I want?" Duo turned to face him, now. His wide eyes were alight with excitement. "An inheritance? A fortune?"

Heero gave a sharp, low cry of frustration. "Shit, when do I ever know what you want? So what do you mean?"

"Heero –" Duo paused; he looked a little scared, but determined. "Let me have the gallery back! Like you said, once – when I told you not to be fucking stupid!"

Heero shook his head, bewildered. "I will –"

"No, listen to me properly!" Duo urged. He grabbed at Heero's arm in his enthusiasm. "Keep the sketches in payment – they've gotta be worth enough, haven't they? They're all I've got!"

"I -" said Heero. He tried to form words, but abandoned most of them for a sigh. "Go on."

"The sketches were Solo's – but the gallery was mine. It was all I cared about – all I ever wanted! And the sketches can buy it back for me. For anyone else, I'd say that they're not for sale now, y'know – I let 'em go once, 'cos of my confusion and stupidity. But this'd be different – I could trust 'em with you. We'll worry about the damned legalities in the morning – Christ, I haven't even got the four back yet, have I? - but I'd be more 'n happy for you to have 'em."

He drew a deep, excited breath. "And I can have my dreams back."

"God, what sort of a negotiator are you?" moaned Heero. His arm was pinched where Duo had gripped it. He was very conscious of Duo's body close to him; his shallow, rushed breath; his quickening heartbeat.

"So you – agree -?" Duo's words were nervous. "You can keep 'em, or sell 'em to Quatre – I promise when they're yours, I won't interfere any more –"

"I wouldn't sell them on," said Heero, gently. "Why would I? If they were mine, I'd treasure them – just like you trust me to."

"Shit, Heero…you are too much…"

"Would you let me keep a stake in the gallery? You can have my people to work for you – my company's sponsorship –"

Duo was staring at him with wide, slightly astonished eyes. "Kinda assumed that already, Yuy! I'm not that much of a businessman, as you know – I'd need help. Is that a 'yes', then?"

They smiled at each other. "That's a 'yes'," said Heero. His voice sounded as if it came from another world. He felt Duo's hand leave his arm, and snake round his waist. He leaned into the touch, anticipating a new kiss, and his lips opened a little wider. "'Yes' to a lot of things…"

Duo was sliding his tongue into his mouth – he was scared by what he'd agreed with Heero, but thrilled as well. He liked the taste of 'yes' in Heero's mouth; he liked the taste of surprise, and delight, and even the passive lust of weariness. They both needed rest – they needed to sit down and assimilate all that had happened. Or lie down, thought Duo. Assimilation's always damned good, lying down…

Heero might well have been thinking the same. His hands were busy in return, at Duo's hips and ass, and Duo resigned himself to some more making out on that damned couch, 'cos he didn't think that either of them would wait to move elsewhere…

Heero was whispering into his ear. "Will you - stay then?"

"Stay?" Duo grasped at what little sense he had left. Heero's lips were always very greedy around his neck… "Was I going somewhere?"

"I thought, what with your career success – getting back your dreams –"

Duo snorted gently, though the effect was a little lost because Heero's tongue was still questing around his mouth. "You think the gallery's the only dream I ever had, Yuy? I got one that involves you, too –"

"Just one?"

"Just one," grinned Duo, and earned himself a nip on the shoulder blade. He wondered blearily at what stage he'd lose his shirt this time. His nipples were erect at the mere thought of Heero's teasing tongue. "But it's a damned busy one…and you do know what I want, don't you? Whatever you said earlier –"

"Yeah, I do," interrupted Heero. "You want me, pants wide open, and spreading your butt-naked body across the dining room table –"

Christ, thought Duo, as Heero's lips descended on to his again. Is the man psychic or somethin'?

Duo sat on the couch, now, clothes in disarray, but with a slightly stupid, satisfied grin on his face. Heero came back in through the open door of the art room, carrying the packaged 4:Y. He had a matching look on his face, though at least he'd buttoned his pants back up.

"Where will you hang all this art, Heero?" asked Duo.

"The sketches will go to the gallery, I think," Heero replied. "Your gallery. And your picture for me –"

"Not there!" said Duo, abruptly. He flushed a little. "Sorry – didn't mean to –"

"No," said Heero. "I agree. It should be where we both are."

Duo's eyes sparked with pleasure. "That's right. That's cool. 4:Y…"

"Connection," said Heero, putting the parcel down without unwrapping it. "Our connection." He knew that look in Duo's eyes, by now. He wondered how far it was to the dining room, and whether the surface of the table had been polished recently. He wondered if they'd ever find time to eat and sleep…

"Connection, Heero. Sure. Ahh –"

"Duo?"

"Can we try some of that out, right now?"

"Can we go to bed first?" gasped Heero, backing towards the door.

"Thought you'd never ask," growled Duo. "Where's the first one?"

Earlier on, there'd been a lot of laughter from the main bedroom, and some ominous creaking and crashing noises. The thick carpet was wet with a trail of footprints from the bathroom towards the bed. It was a large, king-size bed. There were discarded clothes on the floor of the bathroom – discarded towels at the foot of the bed. There weren't many sheets around, either. There were half-empty plates of snack food – a couple of drinks by the bedside.

"What time is it, Heero?" came a sleepy, satiated voice. "How long have we slept?"

"I don't know. Afternoon, maybe? Early evening?"

"You wanna get a sandwich? You make me damned hungry…we could make fuckin' an Olympic sport…!" His laugh was throaty, and rich.

Heero sighed, and pulled himself to a sitting position. The picture 4:Y was propped up on a bureau at the foot of the bed, resting against a mirror. It was turned towards the bed, gazing down at the two men stretched out there. He stared at it, enjoying the proprietary feeling inside him.

"Your paintings, Duo. Why do you call them numbers, or abbreviations? Not proper names…"

There was a stirring beside him, rocking the deep mattress. Duo pulled himself upright too, and the pair of them watched themselves, reflected in the mirror. Heero looked a delicious mixture of exhaustion and contentment; his hair fell over his forehead in a very uncharacteristic mess, and his eyes showed heavy lids over still, dark depths. His torso glistened with a few drops from his earlier shower, and the occasional trail of something that was a little more substantial than water.

Duo scrunched up his eyes, and sighed at his own vision – his hair was all over the place, including several strands that tickled at the corner of his slightly sticky mouth. There were long, pink creases along his legs, where he'd been tangled in the only sheet to survive their lovemaking; his palm still nestled gently in between Heero's legs. Heero had been very careful not to dislodge it when he woke up.

"I never saw any other need," he yawned. "No need to commit names to things; to own them. 'Praps I do, now." His eyes strayed away from his own bodily wreckage, and over to the picture in question. "That picture, Heero – that's how I feel about you, y'know? You helped me start to draw again. Dammit, I'm still strugglin' with these damned words…"

Heero murmured reassurance into his neck, and for a moment, they just hugged. "You're my inspiration, man," murmured Duo. "You've opened my world. Opened me…"

"I wasn't properly alive until I met you," said Heero, simply. "I don't know how else to describe it! You'll have no time for sentiment, I know. But look what else you did for me!" He gestured at the picture. "I can only admire your talent…"

Duo shrugged, and the ripple through his muscles ran along Heero's nerves, too. He tightened his hold on the dark-haired man. "You gotta talent too, Heero. For getting things done…" He kissed his shoulder, lightly. "For seeing things in me that I'd given up on." He pressed his lips against the skin, in a sensual, but not overtly sexual way.

"Hold me, Heero," he said, so quietly that Heero had to bend his head to hear him. "I guess sentiment can have its place…"

There was a time, then, of giving comfort – of caring. The two men held each other tightly, and if the mirror had possessed any discretion, it might have drawn a blind over itself, to leave them to stumble through their private messages to each other.

"I'll see your colours for you, Heero," whispered Duo. He was lying against Heero's side; he was stroking the dark flesh and gazing at the pair of them in the mirror. He loved the sight of the two skin textures together; the muscle tone; the stretched limbs, entwined around each other. He'd never spent time savouring the look of bodies together – of him and Heero together. It was very delicious. Dammit, he wanted his sketchpad here; he wanted to get this feeling – this vision! – down on paper!

Then he smiled, feeling Heero's weight roll against him. There'd be other times, he guessed.

He watched Heero's hand slide across his belly, and trace gently at his tattoo. "I don't need you to see them for me, Duo. I can taste them in you." His mouth was warm and insistent. Duo liked it a lot when Heero took the initiative; he allowed himself to enjoy it, now, as well. He opened his lips, and sucked happily on the strong, wet muscle of Heero's tongue.

"And I'll be your sanctuary…" murmured Heero.

"Sounds good…" sighed Duo, happily.

There were a few minutes that were given up to a slowly awakening passion. Heero slid his way over Duo's body, hands reaching to touch possessively at hidden places. Their bodies started to heat up; the sweat sprang gently to their skin. The solitary sheet slipped off the bed in defeat.

"Enough of the mutual appreciation society," growled Duo. "About who's been the making of whom." He licked his lips and contemplated the stirring in his loins. "Roll over, Yuy, and get ready to be truly appreciated!" His hands were doing the caressing, now; his eyes drinking in the strong, slim, dark body stretched out beneath him. "I think I got the better of this whole deal, y'know –"

Heero laughed with a relaxed delight. "No, not at all! Anything I gave to you, it's an investment!"

"In me?" snorted Duo.

"In us!"

Duo snickered softly, and his mouth started its restless path down Heero's body again. "Get dividends, do you?"

"Damn well hope so," came the groan in reply.

"You said it," came Duo's sultry mumble. "And I do give damned good head!"

Heero could find no response except a moan.

The sounds that followed were wet, and hot, and increasing in hunger.

"I want you, Heero. Not ghosts – just you. Only ever you –"

Always talking, Heero sighed to himself. For a man who says he struggles with words, he sure is full of 'em -!

"You've got me, Duo – as long as you want me. God, don't stop - yes, right there!" He arched underneath the yearning, consuming lips. "And I'm real. This is real, isn't it?"

"Tastes like it, thank God," came the answering mumble. "Could still do with a sandwich, though!"

Heero gasped; Duo chuckled. There were more hungry, tormenting sounds

"Heero…We gotta go back to real life sometime, haven't we?"

"Yes," sighed Heero. "Sometime, I guess."

"Good answer. Sometime is good," grinned Duo. "So, tomorrow I'll draw –"

"And I'll watch."

"And the dining room needs attention –" smirked the braided man.

Heero's protest was a mixture of laughter, and an exhausted plea, as Duo reached to pull him back down on to the bed.

They abandoned words then.

End

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