August 1998
We often seek to define things, we humans, that simply cannot be articulated.
It was an abstract concept to me, and it has been an abstract concept to the human race since the beginning, despite endless discourse and sonnets and the construction of epic romance. It is not something that can be grasped with the fingers of this hand, the one that holds a sword. The hand that can touch a lover's cheek can not reach so easily for love.
Yet I too am aware of the needs of this body and mind.
Beyond the next fight, beyond my next personal challenge that must be surmounted, there are needs in a delicate balance that must be tended to. Beyond the physical, I know there are certain desires that must be met.
They cannot be met on the battlefield, satisfying though that may be. No, the truly complete person must tend to those inner needs as well.
Was it love?
So hard to say, really. Love cannot be defined in simple terms. It is bound up with the body, certainly, and even at its best can be confused with so many other things. Sometimes even hatred is a part of it. I may never know, when I am not entirely sure -- despite all that I have read, despite my wide education and broad knowledge of literature and history and philosophy -- I'm not assured of its depth.
We agreed to disagree.
Two sides balanced in perfect opposition, even a slight yielding on one behalf causing the whole damned precarious construction to fall apart. But neither of us will yield, I know that.
For now, it's something I can accept.
The man looked up from the desk as he entered the room. For a moment, those eyes were completely blank, not registering his presence in this place where he did not belong. And then, Wufei bit his cheek to stop the scowl as the amusement he had expected filled those searing eyes.
"So," Treize uttered, "you've come."
Wufei jerked his head in a curt nod. "I cannot accept defeat at your hands."
The man set aside the papers he had been riffling through with a bored expression on his face, an entirely different look crossing his features. It was supremely confident, almost arrogant, but in those remarkably expressive blue eyes Wufei thought he detected a hint of...eagerness? So, Treize was not averse to a rematch.
"And if I defeat you a second time?"
The Chinese boy stiffened at the implied insult in those silken tones. But he could not deny that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "I do not expect you to spare my life, a second time." An honorable, fighting death was better than living with the shame of having been defeated. Being unworthy.
Unworthy...of...
Instead of closing his eyes against the onslaught that sprang too readily to mind, Wufei narrowed his eyes and focused more completely on his opponent. Treize was sizing him up coolly.
"No," the man pronounced.
Wufei twitched. "Nani?"
"Let me name the terms," Treize suggested, his eyes equally narrow as he looked at him.
Wufei pursed his lips. What could be worse than death? The only thought that sprang to mind was torture, or exploiting his knowledge of the Gundams. Well, he simply would not lose. "All right," he inclined his head.
The corner of those sensuous lips tugged upward vaguely, as if Treize were controlling more of his contemptible amusement. "If I defeat you once more, I can do with you as I will."
Wufei rocked back on his heels slightly. That covered an awful lot of ground. Torture, enslavement, demanding knowledge of his mission and even Shenlong's secrets. Yet...
The line of his mouth firmed. He could not lose.
*Nataku...give me strength...*
He *would not* lose.
"Done," he snapped out, letting his hand fall to the sword at his side.
Treize raised an eyebrow. "One moment, my eager young dragon."
There was something Wufei didn't like in that voice, as Treize crossed the room, shrugging out of his uniform jacket and selecting one of several rapiers hung from the wall.
Then he turned, and there was something hungry in his predatory smile as he assumed *en garde* position.
"Prepare yourself," was all the young commander said, and they both lunged forward together.
They stared deeply into each other's eyes, the light of the fading orange sun flaring over the dripping brows, gilding the heaving chests, and shimmering evanescent over the crossed lines of steel. Treize yielded slightly under the pressure as Wufei thrust forward, bronzed face adamant.
His rapier advanced by trembling degrees, pressed back towards his sweat-streaked face. But the blue eyes were still steady and focused.
"Yield," Wufei gritted, dark eyes burning with impending triumph, anticipation.
Treize unexpectedly laughed, lurching forward to turn the tables and shoved Wufei's own sword up against his throat. The Chinese boy swallowed hard, eyes growing wide then they jumped in their sockets like a startled bull's as Treize leaned over the interlocked lines of their swords and covered his lips, a light taunting brush. Wufei wrenched away, spitting furiously as his throat hitched in disgust.
"How dare you!?" he blustered, then threw himself at Treize again, sword upraised.
Treize's light laughter whirled around him as the rapier danced lightly around the keen blade, then they locked once more, impossibly swift and near the hilt. The tall man jerked his wrist with levering force and the blade dropped from benumbed fingers as Wufei twitched, controlling a wince of pain. The metal made a heavy thunk as it struck the carpet.
"Concede."
The rapier flashed in the drenching molten sun, a long unbroken line of metal set to the boy's jaw. The muscles bunched there as Wufei glared, his gaze stony.
"Kill me."
Treize's eyes widened at the sullen response, and then his eyebrow twitched upward, seeming to tug his lip at the same time. "There will be no killing on this particular field, young dragon. Yield, or I can subdue you in a...less dignified manner."
Wufei's nostrils flared.
"I...yield." The words dropped bitter from the proud tongue, and Wufei's eyes were hard.
Treize, in return, displayed a lazy sensuous smile, his eyes heavy-lidded. Surveying his prisoner of war.
The rapier lashed out, whiplike, and Wufei held back the flinch, eyes resolute. Yet the sword did not touch his skin...the keen point darted unerringly to the nape of his neck, then swiftly away.
Treize Khushrenada tapped the shaft of the unbloodied rapier against one hand, his slitted, smoldering eyes holding genuine amusement, as well as traces of surprise. His booted foot still rested on Wufei's fallen sword before he kicked it away, sending it skittering across the carpet.
Wufei held his gaze unflinchingly as the raven-dark hair cascaded around his face, freed now from the tie that had constrained it. With one slice Treize had undone it.
"I had wondered how you would look, without that severe tail," Treize commented, the lazy golden tones stretching over him. "You remember the terms, young dragon? You still intend to honor them?"
Wufei's spine jolted him stiffly upright. "I *always* honor my agreements," he flashed back, steeling himself for the inevitable torture to come.
He'd...lost.
He, Chang Wufei, weapon of the colonies--
--Nataku's pilot--
...he'd lost.
"Do your worst," he bit out, every muscle pulling into rigid alignment.
"On the contrary," Treize purred, gripping one muscled copper arm as he leaned down. "I shall do my best."
"Mmmph--"
Wufei's lips were captured once more, and he struggled furiously in Treize's half-embrace as the older man kissed his closed tight lips slowly and thoroughly, then pulled back.
His dark eyes spat flinty sparks. "What the hell was that!?"
"Need I remind you of the terms, young dragon?" Treize returned coolly while the young pilot wiped at his lips with the back of his hand.
"You can't mean--" Wufei stopped dead, mouth working soundlessly. If he lost, Treize could do with him as he willed. The Chinese boy bristled, his slanted eyes filling up with pure fury. "You -- you're --you intend to..."
"You agreed," Treize raised an eyebrow, then pressed one long finger to Wufei's bottom lip, still moist from the kiss, and salty with sweat.
Wufei remained very still, only the prickling of the slight scarce hairs on his arms betraying the tremor that gripped him. Treize smiled and bent once more, tossing the rapier onto the desk nearby, and took those moistened lips again.
The boy in his arms remained rigid, and stiffly unmoving as he nudged at the warm flesh, one hand cupping the flushed, still-sweaty cheek and threading through the soft tangles of raven-black hair. He caught the bottom lip between his, working at it with gentle pressure and gradually, ever-so-slowly as he kissed those unyielding lips they softened. Just barely, but he could detect the change. Treize smiled into the curve of Wufei's lips and slipped his tongue along the line of the upper one.
Wufei, predictably, gasped -- providing him with the opening he needed. Like a true commander Treize changed his tactics, plunging his tongue into the Chinese pilot's mouth, plundering him thoroughly. Wufei stiffened again but his tongue struck out against the invasion, returning the rough favor, and they sparred. Not with steel and anger this time, but flesh and a rising burn that still pushed the chests to rise and fall rapidly.
Wufei began to struggle once more, his clenched fists worming between their pressed bodies to thud futile against Treize's chest. In answer, Treize refused to release his mouth, reaching down and seizing the convenient flaps of Wufei's pants, tugging the taut body more securely to him. Wufei growled and his tongue was a thick squirm in the cavern of his mouth. The older man was delighted, and surprised.
Treize brought his hand up slowly, wedged between their bodies and tracing the flexing contours of muscle until he reached the softness of unbound hair, thrusting his fingers into it to jerk sharply, tugging Wufei's head back. The boy gasped explosively as the tongue left his mouth, but it was only fleeting relief. The tip tracked over his cheekbone, a wet line, and he remained very still. Then Treize pressed a hand to the base of Wufei's spine, bringing him into the sway of his hips, biting into a nerve cluster of his neck.
Wufei jerked, quivered, remained still.
Encouraged, the commander was about to pursue this progress when hard hands fixed against his broad bare chest, and shoved violently.
Only iron control prevented him from sputtering a protest as Wufei put a yard of space between them, and more, glaring at him furiously like an offended virgin taken a base too quickly on the first date.
*Hell,* Treize realized with a start, *he IS a virgin.* He opened his mouth, about to voice another cold reminder on the terms of their duel, when a consideration struck him.
Wufei's chest heaved, and he looked murderous. Like he was about to speak again -- either that, or lunge for the nearest sharp object.
Treize favored him with a lazy, lustful smile and Wufei growled, taking in a breath to say something, when Treize spoke over him. "You may go, provided you leave peacefully. Your hide intact."
He closed his mouth with a snap. Shoulders shaking, Wufei stalked across the carpet and grabbed up his sword, sliding it home into the scabbard.
Treize's amused voice followed him as he marched stiffly out the door.
"Your honor, now...that's another thing."
Wufei's spine slammed upright.
It was all he could do to prevent himself from laughing aloud, delightedly. He knew enough of the boy to realize that with that simply-tossed challenge, it wouldn't be long before Chang Wufei was back bristling for another battle to prove he could *not* be defeated. Not to such as Treize Khushrenada.
The door swung shut very softly, as if to underscore the possibility of Wufei's shoving it closed so hard the hinges rattled. Which, he was sure, the young pilot would vastly prefer.
Treize was still smiling as he gathered up his discarded dress jacket and shirt, and even Une's anxious queries and eager hovering could not disturb his good cheer.
It had not been very long. Not so much more than a handful of days, certainly not over a week. He could have secluded himself, he knew, but somehow it was better to bury himself in Quatre's good cheer and Duo's high-spirited chattering than to remain alone with his inevitable frustrated, shameful thoughts.
It was certainly better than being alone with Shenlong. His reminder. His...
Nataku.
What would *she* have thought, of this most recent, horrifically shameful defeat?
It was not something that could be borne.
"Oi, Wu-man, what's with the long face?" Duo bounced into the kitchen with vigor, looking around for something to eat. He seized on a box of something Wufei hadn't been able to identify, and popped it into the toaster with satisfaction.
He looked up and gave the long-haired pilot a withering glance. "Nothing you're to concern yourself with, Maxwell."
Duo gave him an irrepressible grin. "Oh, so something *is* wrong? What is it? What is it?" He jiggled from one foot to the other, peering at Wufei with bright eyes. "Is it *girl* trouble?"
"I said, none of your business!" Wufei snapped out, pushing himself away from the counter. He heard Duo muttering something in a sulky tone as he left the room, but ignored it.
Wufei settled in a corner of the rec room, and brooded. Quatre was oblivious, sipping at a cup of tea while he pored over schematics with Trowa. Their heads bent over the plans with intent concentration, and he envied them their total preoccupation.
Something had to be done. He could not fight like this, in a constant state of uncertainty about his own abilities. A man like Khushrenada, a man with his preferences...if such could beat him, what did that make of *him?* His honor was suspect.
It galled him to admit it, but Khushrenada had been right. His honor was *not* entirely intact, not with the way he had been succumbing, however slowly, to the man's advances. To the hot kisses that had sought to make a dangerous progression. Yet, again, inexplicably he had been spared.
There was only one thing *to* do.
He had to fight Treize once more.
Things can't go on this way.
Just the natural give and take of the universe itself dictates that our careful balance will soon fall to pieces, bringing the consequences raining down upon us. I cannot be sure forever of the outcome that has brought us to this point, time and again. One day, either his strength or my own will prevail, and the outcome of our periodic encounters will be decisive.
That is what I tell myself.
It is hard even now for me to judge how I feel. Perhaps even harder now that things have gone this far. Yes, it began as a game. One of my mere whims that I followed, then guided further as opportunity presented itself. Yet somewhere along the line, I have become as serious as he himself is about this whole matter.
Not knowing my feelings, for the first time I am faced with uncertainty for our final outcome. Before, the path I traveled was swift and decisive. Yet now, I am still unclear about what the true cost of my machinations will exact.
Our balance -- its loss -- will surely have a price, someday.
And I am caught in that fine line between desire, and the still moment before choice.
End of Part 2
(:./talya/price2)
