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"Baby Series 3"Written By: Karina Rating: PG Spoilers: None Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the Characters from the series but the baby is mine.
Notes: Challenge 95. Baby Series 3 #51. Takes
place at the same time as The Deeper Question. Many thanks to ShenLong for her work betaing
this fic.
Frustration //Maxwell was quick to claim the prime spot.// Why had he chosen to stand at the King’s back? Why had he not sat himself down and snuggled up to his leg? Why did Duo always seem a move ahead of him? It was the curse of his upbringing, of course. He had been taught what one should not do in polite company and the training of his childhood would not be easily shaken off. Given his recent decision it could never be caste aside. The Chang of Chang must have exemplary manners when dealing with others, especially another Sovereign Ruler. It was not as the Ruler of Sanc he was interested in Milliardo, but in the man beneath the mantle. For much of their relationship they would need to maintain the formal distance of propriety and there would be days he could tear the world apart in frustration. Days of frustration, temper and despair and too few precious days to look forward to. The wonderful moments when a look carried a message he longed to hear spoken; when a touch spoke a hundred words, when a sigh would be pleasure not frustration. His hand moved, seemingly of its own accord, to rest on the broad shoulder. The lightest of touches, but through the silk fabric he could feel the living heat of the body. He watched as his fingers pressed lightly to that pulsing point where he could measure the strength of a beating heart. Strong and steady. No sign of distress. Milliardo permitted his touch. This would become one of those precious memories. He should move his hand. Move his fingers. At least stop them from curling a lock of moonlight around and locking it into his grasp. He should do a great many things, but this one small rebellion against propriety was not what he wanted to stop. It was the larger complexities of the game he wanted to throw to the four winds. He wanted to oust the physician and throw himself into the man’s chair. He wanted it to be just he and Maxwell savouring this powerful presence. Was that the faintest uplift of fine lips? Milliardo had not protested Duo’s touch nor his own. In their own private game was this a gambit? How did he dare read it? With the physician in attendance no one would make an obvious move and he had to ask himself if Milliardo considered this a safe moment in which to accept attention? Or was it simply the man needed some small comfort in the greater uncertainty? Perhaps he might take a step himself? He shifted his weight to stand behind the chair and discovered an immediate problem. The high back of the chair from this position would not permit him to lay his hands to the man’s back and shoulders. The idea of massaging the enticing curve of neck to shoulder evaporated in a frustrated puff of air. ~ * ~ |
