|
"Blade"Written By: Miss Murdered Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters - am
just borrowing to torment for my amusement Rating: R Warnings: m/m relationship, Heero POV, light angst,
a teeny tiny hint of violence, un-beta'd but short so should've caught
everything Pairings: 1x5 Summary: Wufei decided on a life of peace and solitude post-war and only Heero is allowed to intrude on it. A/N: 1x5 is a pairing I always wanted to try as
it is a little tough for me to figure out the dynamic so here is my
attempt. It is only a short piece but more of an experimentation on
my part.
" Blade"
I parked the Jeep away from his home, down the dirt
path and hopped out of it, grabbing my backpack and slinging it over
my shoulders. I still was a little injured from an explosion on my
last covert op and my limp was a little pronounced. Duo mocked me
for it, telling me I was not Superman anymore and punching me on the
shoulder. I had never considered myself Superman, the reason for my
limp was a brief moment of distraction, a child in the blast zone
and my instinct to protect. It maybe seemed that I'd been suicidal,
thinking of the welfare of that child rather than considering my own
personal safety but a slight amount of limp was something I could
deal with. I had dealt with worse before. The dirt path to his home was muddy from a rainfall
and my boots stuck a little in the earth. It didn't matter, there
was something soothing about the natural environment, the trees rustling,
the sound of animals and I understood sometimes why he'd chosen this
life of solitude, of meditation, of quiet contemplation. It did not
stop me from wanting to persuade him to come back and each time I
came to his home, I felt like I brought with me the smell of explosives,
the sound of gunfire, and the threat of imminent danger into his quiet
world. I respected that he had given up the life and I shouldn't
visit him, bringing with me the memories of war and mistakes, the
past he had chosen to forget and yet I wanted to still come to him.
Still try to persuade him to return and fight alongside me. As I walked, the house appeared out of the trees, it
seeming to be a part of its surroundings, the wood natural, the glass
panels large but unimposing. It was sleek and modern but also somewhat
traditional. It was like him, I thought, the Gundam pilot and the
warrior. It was his home and I was always the intruder in it
as I would be now, walking towards the doors, the elaborate security
system keeping those he did not want out. He had reason to be cautious
as we all did. And while he had sought seclusion, meditation, isolation,
he perhaps could still be found. As we all had been at some point.
Whether to be hounded by eager reporters or to be shouted at by the
families of the dead or worse – attempts on our lives made. It
made sense for him to disappear. It was safer. And I intruded into that safety, smirking a little at
his system, newer, different and I knew it was his challenge to me
and I appreciated his thought. Maybe he knew I'd not been challenged
much recently, as after my injury I had been resigned to cases of
little intrigue, forced to accompany Relena and become a symbol of
the Preventers success rather than a man. A puppet on a string. Maybe
it would be better to join him in peace. Yet I couldn't as soon I
would be in the field again and there would be violence, the heady
thrill of battle and the touch of a gun. I still wanted that. He didn't. I brought out the small device I used on missions, plugging
it in to the machine, working out the encryption on the security panel
with my programme, my eyes scanning the data and within a few moments,
the door opened, and I unplugged the cable, stepping quietly inside. The house was shrouded in darkness despite the time
of day. The trees that surrounded it cast shadows making the rooms
gloomy. There were no lights on yet I saw the shadows caused by candles,
smelt incense, jasmine filing my nostrils. I paused, taking off my
boots, putting down my pack and then walked, slowly, cautiously into
the house. It was sparsely decorated, unchanged since my previous
visit, and I saw the lines of book shelves, the books lining it, the
canvases of abstract scenes of space and I continued through the main
room, past the low coffee table, the simple white chair and couch,
the large glass window showing the greenery surrounding the house. I knew where he'd be, I saw the flicker of candle light
in the dimness, reflecting off glass and white walls and walked in
the lightest way possible, not as quiet as I would like due to my
injury, as I walked towards the smell of jasmine. The room was dominated by the large glass panel and
I paused at the doorway, watching him, the curve of his back, the
strength in his shoulders, his hair loose, relaxed like no one had
seen him apart from me since the war. I knew Duo saw him – that
he would consent to see him in bars and cafes in the nearby cities,
and I never knew but I thought he probably kept in touch with Trowa,
Quatre by default, but I was the only one that came here. Saw him
like this. The blade glinted in candle light, the swish of his
sword making the flames waver, the air created by his elegant movements
making them falter and I swallowed, my bare feet walking across the
padded floor. It was special to see him like this – unrestrained,
the sweat dripping down his back, the tattoo of the dragon spanning
his arm, his hair sweeping across his face. He knew I was there, watching,
my eyes tracing each elegant move, his body poetry in motion and I
stepped further inside, waiting, waiting for his attack. I grabbed a blade from the wall in anticipation, unsheathing
it, the sound of metal sliding out deafening in the near silence of
this room – his sanctuary, the only noises from his elegant footfalls,
the exertion of his limbs. I felt the weight of the sword, feeling
it in my fingertips, and it was not as beautiful as his blade, but
it was a good weapon. A weapon I could use. He stopped, his breathing slow and laboured and I raised
my sword, readying myself for his attack. It was swift, a charge,
the sword poised in front of him, I blocked, the clink of metal meeting
metal heard above any other sounds. Our eyes met, his eyes so damn
dark in the limited light and we backed off, swung again, clashing
the blades together in some imitation of dance. His skill outstripped mine as this was not about brute
force, it was about elegance, about movement and he was far superior
at that than me. Always had been. His speed, his precision, his bare
chest, his fierce eyes were all so much better than my strength in
this style of combat and with a few powerful slashes, his sword nicked
my skin, a small thin line of red appearing on my t-shirt, my bicep
cut. It didn't hurt, it only startled, and I countered, using force
only to find him anticipating my move. My pride had been wounded by
the cut and my reaction was to lose some of my measure, my control.
The forceful thrust was parried, stopped, my sword leaving my grip,
falling to the floor with a rattle. His feet then swung, his body
in motion as I watched the blade slip from my grasp, my body dropping
to my knees. My fingers reached to where I bled, feeling the warmth
of my own blood as his blade touched my throat, caressing it, not
slicing my skin. I felt the sharpness and I looked up, meeting his
eye. "You win, Chang." He lowered his weapon, offered me a hand which I took,
letting me rise to my feet. The blood flowed from my wound, trailing
down my arm, dripping from my fingers and he touched where he had
cut, looking at me in concern. "I hurt you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. And I shook
my head. "No. It doesn't hurt." He nodded, moved his bloody fingertips to my jaw and
I instinctively leaned into his kiss – the fresh taste of peppermint
tea on my tongue as our lips slid together. In his training room,
in his secluded home, in his version of peace, Wufei kissed me as
I bled and I wouldn't admit it but I needed the kiss of his blade
as much as I needed that of his lips.
|
