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"As Young As You Feel "Written By: Fancy Figures WINNER BEST FLUFF THE VAULT'S SUMMER LOVIN' FIC COMP 2005 - VIEW AWARD Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, wish I did, just
enjoy writing about 'em for free etc Pairings: 1x2x1 Spoilers: None Notes: Personal crisis approaches – it’s
that Day of the year! Feedback: If you liked it, PLEASE let me know!
"As Young As You Feel" I’m hammering on the door of the bathroom. Hell of a time he’s been in there! “Come on, come *on*! The cab will be here in ten minutes, and the guys are all going to be waiting at the restaurant! What’s the problem?” I listen for a typical response, like he’s flushed his sock down the toilet, or aliens have abducted his toothbrush. Just *something* to justify the hideous delay. But I get nothing but a strangled sob. “Is – is there something *really* wrong?” I ask, alarmed now. “Can I ask you a question?” comes a muffled reply. “You know – like a personal one?” “Sure.” I shrug. “As always.” I risk a glance at my watch – he’s never the most punctual, of course. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. But this is a special occasion, isn’t it? So I guess there’s all the more reason to indulge him. The bathroom door flies open and he’s standing there – pants open at the top button, silk shirt completely undone, drops of water on his throat from washing. Hair plastered softly to his forehead. I can feel the gentle, familiar throb in my groin; I know the sink can take his full, heaving weight – plenty of past experience! - and I’m sore tempted to push him back into the room, turn him round and slide the new chinos to his ankles. I wonder if the guys would just carry on without us if we were *well* and truly late… “No,” he says, obviously reading the lust in my expression like a neon sign. It’s not like it ever needs any sophisticated translation. “Not now. There are more important things on my mind.” I bite back the inevitable comment, but I’m genuinely worried at the distress in his dark eyes. “What is it, then? Can I help?” He flushes. Then he bites his lip, and tilts his head to the side, his hand pushing at the hair at his temples. “Look!” “At what?” “Do you think it’s receding?” “Do I - *what*?” “Receding!” he snaps. “Obviously I’m not likely to go bald with hair this thick – but the roots are further back now, aren’t they? Can’t you see it?” What do I say? I give a rueful shrug, and make a pretence of gazing at the roots of his more than generous hair. I like the smell of his new shampoo… I like the tickle of the hair on my upper lip, when I nuzzle his neck. Hell, that neon sign is winking again! Then he turns away again, peering into the bathroom mirror. “And what about nose hairs? Are you getting them, too?” “Uh –“ Words are sticking in my throat from bemusement. “Everyone has them, don’t they?” “But not so *prominent*!” he groans. “I’ll have to buy a clipper. Do you think they’ll appear in my ears next? Damn, I’ll never go out again if that happens!” My eyes are drawn irresistibly to his nose, but I can’t see thick ropes of nasal hair hanging from its well-defined tip. I like to lick down the bridge of that nose … swipe my tongue softly across his cheeks, and round to his super-sensitive ears… Neon light sputters with overheating. “And the muscle tone is softening, don’t you think? Do I look flabby to you? Hey? Are you listening?” I sigh. He’s peering down at his chest, struggling with his worries. OK, so he’s broadened out with the years, but he works out regularly, and the definition is still pretty impressive. His belly is flat - *ish* - apart from the shadowed curves that frame his cute little navel, and I can still trace the ribcage under his torso… fingers running along the taut skin, stretched over bone and muscle. Yes, I like doing that, too. “Shit!” he gasps. “That’s a grey hair there, isn’t it? Look!” He’s stabbing at his torso, poking around his left nipple. He has a lovely fine down over his chest, and a trail of warm hair all the way down to his pubic nest. It’s all dark, like the hair on his head. Well, it’s always looked dark to *me*. Better not think *too* closely about that, not just *now*… “What’s this all about, then?” “What?” He glares at me, defensively. “I’m just noticing things. Just wanted to discuss them with you –“ “No you’re not *just noticing*. This happens every damned year, doesn’t it? You’re panicking. Getting paranoid. Just because –“ “Don’t say it!” he cries out. I lean in towards him, relentless. I press him back against the sink and I stare fiercely into his wide eyes. I can smell his skin; feel the warmth of him. I know those impressions are everywhere in the house; at all times of the day. I never cease to delight in it all, though. “Just because you’re a year older, *today*! You *hate* birthdays, don’t you?” “It’s not just *a birthday* –“ “No,” I agree. “It’s not just *a birthday*, indeed.” I’m just that little bit malicious I guess, because I’m a few months younger. Never cease to remind him, either, when I get the chance! “But that’s not the point, is it?” “What do you mean -?” I sigh, and then I give in to just a little bit of that temptation, and I press my lips to his jaw, running them up to the lobe of his – hairless - ear. Yummy. “You’re as gorgeous as you were as a teenager. You’re fit, and fierce, and with wits as sharp as blades. You know stuff I’ve never even thought to ask – you make things happen that I never thought could. And you’re as dear to me now as you were all those years ago. More so! You make every day a challenge – an adventure. Sure, you can’t cook for shit, and you refuse to play Playstation with me, say it’s childish. And you never remember to put out the trash in time for collection. But you’re the sexiest, horniest, cutest guy I ever met, ever tumbled, ever *fucked* –“ I can hear his breath quickening. He’s very flushed – he’s bracing himself for some kind of put-down, I’m sure. He’s not going to get the chance. I kiss him quickly, then yank the sides of his shirt together. “Get dressed. You’ll get into the cab in two minutes time, eat dinner with the guys, accept the birthday cards with good grace and the jokes with less, and then we can come back to our home and play ‘who gives the best head’ until morning. OK?” There’s a smile playing on his lips. “You say things like this every year.” I’m a bit angry with us both; the emotion is very sharp inside me. “And I mean them, too! This is what it’s about – being together for the long term. It means sharing the fun and the excitement and then the growing up, too. I see you as I always will – you’re no different to me, then, now, next year. I love you just the same, and I’ll keep telling you, if that’s what you need to hear. Everything is just more familiar – and with more shared memories, adding layers to our life, every day.” “Shit,” he sighs. He’s gazing at me with misted eyes; he looks punch-drunk. He’s fumbling with the button on his shirt, and I resist the urge to slap his hand out of the way and help him. “After all…” I say, stepping rather cautiously back out towards the open door, a grin sneaking across my face. “You only reach the hallowed age of 40 *once* in your life, eh, Heero?” “*Duo*!” comes a growing roar. “Sometimes you are such a -!” “Naughty Forty! Haughty Forty! *Portly* Forty!” I whoop, bounding down the stairs two at a time, the doorbell ringing the call from the cab, and Heero stampeding after me to thrash me. He *wishes*! “Bring your walking frame!” I yell happily, grabbing my coat. “And we’ll ask for a senior citizen discount at the restaurant!”
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