9-Jun-2003
Title: OTP
Author: bonnejeanne (bonnejeanne@yahoo.com)
Category: yaoi
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: all/none
Spoilers: None
WARNINGS: male on male hanky panky implied and some language
Disclaimer:
Gundam Wing © Sunrise, Bandai, & Sotsu Agency. Used without permission for non-profit, fan enjoyment only.
Void where prohibited. No refund, no return. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.
Feedback: Put the money down.
Notes: This is a sequel to "RPS", which can be found on our page at GWA.
After that day when Heero came home and told me about his run-in with Relena, and his discovery of the genre of RPS ("real people slash"), I got into this bad habit. I couldn't quite help myself. I started bringing home doujinshi ("unofficial" comic books) and printing out stories and fanart off the net, and leaving them around where Heero would encounter them.
There is something about Heero's face when he runs into things that he just doesn't get. It's quite simply priceless.
I got a particular kick out of doing this with the more explicit doujinshi which were clearly labeled "Gundam Pilot Slash", with this little system the writers use to indicate who is getting it on with whom. It's quite refined, if a bit static, even down to who's pitching and who's catching.
Then I started to notice that he didn't just glance at them and walk away. I'd find the books moved from one part of the house to another, sometimes opened to a different page than where I'd left them.
This did nothing to discourage me from acquiring more of the things. Nor did the fact that he started trying a few new activities and, um, positions. Heero is beautiful, agile, damn near immune to discomfort, and generally cooperative, but up to this point had been about as imaginative in the sack as a mercenary cleaning his field rifle.
After a while, the DJs seemed to loose their luster.
"They draw me looking like a girl," I heard him mutter on one occasion. "Or a preadolescent."
"Only half the time," I commented, looking over his shoulder. "They draw me like that about half the time. Quatre gets the worst of it, though. And have you seen the cross-dressing ones?"
"I've only seen what you leave around the house," he said severely, with a mild-wattage glare. Before I could say anything else, he held up his hand in an implied threat. "And, please. Don't."
I grinned and held both hands up. Then I pointed to a panel in the book he had been looking at. "Wanna try that?"
He turned his attention back to the book and held it up, turning it sideways. "You'd need zero-grav for that." Then, "Hn. Okay."
"It's not just the drawings," he announced one day.
"No?"
"No. Duo, do you know what 'uke' means?"
I attempted, manfully, not to inhale my cereal loops and milk up my nose.
"Ah, yes."
He frowned. "You do? I wasn't aware you knew much Japanese, and it's not even proper, it's slang."
"My mind is a lint trap for the unusual and profane," I said loftily, after blowing my nose and mopping up the milk drops from the tabletop.
"Your mind is a sewer, which is why, I suppose, I should not have been surprised," he replied. "Do you know what 'uke' does *not* mean?"
"Um, why don't you tell me?"
"It does not mean someone who has no self-respect, is tragically abused, cries like a girl at the drop of a hat, or walks around looking at the world with huge fucking eyes while still managing to trip over imaginary objects and fall onto some tough guy's dick."
"Amen," I said reverently, managing not to crack even the slightest smile. My face was totally solemn. It hurt.
He looked at me with cold blue eyes for ten long seconds, the gleam of suspicion never completely leaving them.
Once he broke eye contact, and I could afford to shift the muscles in my face, I said, "What about 'seme'? What does that *not* mean, Heero-san?"
This time he simply scowled slightly. "It does not mean someone who has no emotions or who abuses his partner. And it damn well better not mean someone who feels the tiniest drop of amusement or condescension for his partner, if said seme wants to keep breathing in and out."
"Arigato, sensei," I said, and this time I grinned engagingly.
My idea of cleaning up the house for guests consists of making sure there's cold beer in the fridge, oh and fruit juice for Quatre, picking up the dirty underwear from under the bed (and the couch, and the bathroom), running the vacuum in areas which do not require moving furniture.
Compared to Heero, I am Nancy Housekeeping.
Heero's idea of cleaning up the house for guests consists of checking his laptop to make sure all the passwords and encryption codes are new.
It's not that the boy is untrusting of his friends. It's a habit, and with Heero, habits can be so deeply ingrained he doesn't even know he's doing them.
So the doujinshi were still lying around when the guys came over.
Trowa arrived first, with more beer and popcorn, pretzels and toffee peanuts. You can take the guy out of the circus but...
"Hey, Duo," he said, walking into the kitchen with his contributions. Once the beer was stowed, he walked back into the living room, pinching my butt as he went by.
He's loosened up a lot in the last couple of years.
"Ow," I said, more in acknowledgment than because it hurt.
By the time I followed him, he and Heero were already becoming acquainted with each other's tonsils.
Since neither of them were coming up for air to answer the door, I did. Quatre greeted me with his usual warm hug. Noting that he went ahead and attempted to grope my ass right off the bat this time, instead of waiting until later in the evening, I patted his in approval. And I shouldn't have said 'attempted'. He's getting his late growth in and is a couple of inches taller than me now, and quite capable of reaching any ass he decides to try for.
Heero and Trowa were no longer doing the Siamese twins joined at the lips routine when we came in. This was good - it allowed Quatre to blush the way he always does when he sees Trowa. After the positions I've found those two in, you'd think he wouldn't be able to do that, but let's face it, it looks good on him, and he knows it.
Heero went into the kitchen and got a beer, bringing one back for me as well. We all sat around the living room and exchanged small news, waiting for the doorbell to ring again. When it finally did, I waited for Heero to go get it, since I'd answered the last time.
The minute he was out of the room, Trowa whispered instructions to me and Quatre. The guy is a showman, what can I say?
When Heero walked in with Wufei, we were imitating one of the more acrobatic maneuvers in the Karma Sutra. With our clothes on.
Wufei rolled his eyes. "What, playing Twister again?"
Unable to hold the position while cracking up, we fell into a disorderly heap on the floor. Heero took Wufei's contribution - Tsingtao and pizza rolls - into the kitchen while Trowa, who of course had to show everyone else up by getting up the quickest, was doing the tonsil thing again, this time with Chang.
"What's this?" Quatre asked curiously, picking up one of the doujinshi.
"RPS," Heero answered from the security of his (recent) superior cultural acumen.
Quatre looked blank. "Real people slash," Heero explained. "Some women who have too much time on their hands and weird imaginations make this stuff to get off on."
Quatre looked more closely. "Is this... is this supposed to be *you*, Duo?" he asked, catching the braid in the illustrations.
"Fraid so."
"And this is... Heero?"
"To the uninitiated," Heero said. I grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Good one, sensei," I said.
"Why did you call Heero your teacher?" Wufei asked, coming in from the kitchen with two beers, one of which was already half gone. They were both for him.
"It has to do with a conversation we were having earlier," I explained.
"Oh," Wufei answered. He picked up one of the books and flipped a few pages. Eyebrows went up. "Interesting..."
"If anatomically incorrect," Trowa said, looking over Quatre's shoulder.
"Maybe we should skip the porno vids and just pass these around tonight," Wufei suggested.
Heero frowned. "No."
"How about both," I offered a compromise. "Heero's seen all of these already," I explained to the room at large.
"Both works," Quatre said cheerfully, digging in his bag for the disks he'd brought. Trowa pulled a couple out of his pocket and Wufei dropped one into the small pile.
"Everyone got drinks?" I asked, making an attempt at hosting duties.
"We're set," Heero replied after assessing the situation. "I'll get the lights."
"The vidscreen enough light for you to see the magazines by?" I asked.
"Yeah," Quatre answered, pulling Wufei onto his lap. Using Wufei's knee as a prop, he started flipping through one of the doujinshi while the opening credits ran.
Heero returned from dimming the lights and settled on the other side of me from Trowa.
"Hn, Duo..."
Emerging from one of Doctor Trowa's tonsil checking forays, I said, "Yeah Heero?"
"There's an abbreviation I've seen in some of the story headers and signatures and stuff, and I can't figure it out. I see it a lot associated with 1x2's and 3x4's and something... 5x13... and by the way, who's thirteen?"
Glancing at Wufei I made a hand signal to Heero for 'ask me that one later'.
"What's the abbreviation?"
"OTP."
"Stands for One True Pairing," I explained, feeling Wufei's hand suddenly materialize at the small of my back and start working its way into my pants.
"What's 'Pairing'?" Quatre asked, reaching over to help Trowa with his zipper.
"A pairing is like two people, a couple."
"I don't get it," Heero said, tilting his head to observe the guys on the vidscreen who were starting to get interesting with a jar of mayonnaise.
"It means like two people who are in love and Meant to Be Together," I said, giving the last three words dramatic emphasis, and doing a passable imitation of Relena in the process.
"Chick stuff," Wufei commented, as his hand forayed deeper into my pants.
"Got it," Heero said, although whether he meant the term, or the position on the vidscreen, I was never sure.
~owari~
Please feel free to direct feedback to the authors!
bonne bonnejeanne@yahoo.com.