19-Nov-2004
Title: Howl chapter 1/?
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: NC-17 for sex, violence, and dirty mouths
Warning: Subplots deal with religion, establishment, and child-bearing... oh, and werepervs. Yes. That's right. Werepervs.
Pairings: Various, but predominantly 2x1, 1xR, 2xR, 4x3, 5x3, 1x3, 4xC, 3xH, RxD, 5xM, and a few others that may come and go.
Disclaimer: No, don't own 'em... Hey! Could that be a sigh of relief from Bandai?
Archived: sweetlysour and gwaddiction
Critiques: always welcome, natch!
"burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars"
--- Jack Kerouac
The cigarette had burned down halfway, glowing cherry red in the twilight, illuminating the edge of the cheap copper ashtray, the stained plastic table. Heero stared at the cigarette's cherry, then down between his legs, willing the faint, fast, furious rush of his orgasm. Trowa's head moved between Heero's hips just the way Heero liked it: slow, a contrast of feel and friction against the heat and wet. But nothing happened, and Heero resisted the urge to moan in frustration.
With a groan, he shoved at Trowa's head, pushing him away.
"Never mind," Heero said. "It's not working." He curled forward to rest his elbows on his knees, then took the cigarette from the ashtray. Holding it between forefinger and thumb, he took a long deep drag. It stung his throat and made his eyes water as though crying.
Trowa wiped his mouth but remained on the floor, though he moved to sit cross-legged. He grabbed the pack from its forgotten spot on the floor, tapping it upside down until a stick fell out. Lighting it, he exhaled the gray taint into the air. It billowed above him, and he leaned back, supporting his weight on one hand while he scratched idly at his bare chest.
"You've still got an hour," Trowa said, reasonably. It went unsaid: we'll try again.
"Don't bother," Heero replied, and stabbed out the smoke. He could feel its stink trapped in his pores. He'd be scrubbing for an hour to get the smell out of his skin. Relena hated the smell, but he couldn't blame her; normally he did, too, except for one day a week. "I'm too tense to even tense up."
Trowa nodded, eyes narrowed to glowing slits above the harsh smoke. He released it, lowering the cigarette and studying the cherry, the gray ash growing, covering the red heart. "I didn't expect you back so soon." He tilted his head, the auburn hair falling out of his face long enough to give Heero a scrutinizing look. "Success already?"
Heero leaned back, sprawling in the chair, and didn't give a damn that he was naked. The city was sweltering in the mid-summer drought, dry and hot but for the beads of sweat pooling at his collarbones. The reek of flesh, layers under deodorant and antiperspirant, a dry chemical smell that reminded him of basic training: locker rooms and ammunitions storage. He stared at the yellowed ceiling.
"The opposite," Heero finally growled. "You'll be swallowing nothing but a lot of juice. Empty."
"Sterile," Trowa said; his voice hitched on the word but his expression remained impassive.
"Yeah."
Heero rubbed his forehead, then dropped his hand to wipe away the sweat dripping down his chest. His feet itched, where his socks had imprinted on his skin during the long day of sitting in the DPM offices. The fan in the window barely stirred the apartment's air, but it was enough to make the hairs on his legs stir. He scratched his balls and dropped his hand again, too aggravated to even care that he'd lost his erection as soon as Trowa had pulled away.
"They sent you back to work?" Trowa leaned forward, long arm of tight, graceful tendons and muscles, angular but strong; he stubbed out the cigarette, and settled back on both arms.
"No." Heero gave him a weary smile. "Relena's mother pulled a few strings. The doctors are running tests."
"You don't sound hopeful."
"There's no reason to be." Heero started to stand up, but Trowa put a hand on his knee, and Heero sank back down in the chair. "You don't have to... "
Trowa shrugged. "You've got forty-five minutes--"
"Always so mercenary," Heero cut in.
"Of course," Trowa replied, without blinking an eye, but a smirk played across the edges of his lips.
Lips neither too full nor too thin, Heero mused. Long, patrician nose, green eyes, high cheekbones, all the things a woman would call handsome. Except for one fatal flaw.
"Guess I should've let them... " Heero sighed, shivering at the touch of Trowa's callused fingers on his thighs. "I just... she wanted a chance, so badly. When her mother said she could get us around... "
Trowa murmured something, deep in his throat, but his gaze never left Heero. He simply listened, as he had for years.
"Now I find myself wondering if perhaps if we'd known, we wouldn't have wasted all that... " He shrugged, not sure how to put it, but Trowa would understand. Slim fingers caressed his balls, and Heero shifted, spreading his legs a bit wider, at the same time shifting blame back where it belonged. "Those bastards. Pumping us full of drugs during the war... "
A mouth descended on his cock, and Heero fell silent, but his mind continued to churn. Once the doctors came back with the final word, nothing short of a miracle would create a second chance. Hell, he was lucky they'd not been stricken immediately from the list, but that was only because Relena's mother still had some pull, after all these years.
Trowa's nose pressed against Heero's skin, and Heero shuddered, feeling the draw of blood and pleasure and guilt coursing through his body. Two fingers slid down between his legs, one pushing gently into his ass, just enough to spark. A little pain, a little pleasure. Heero gasped, forcing himself to enjoy the moment, but when he closed his eyes, he could only see Relena, staring at him in shock when the doctors explained why she still wasn't pregnant.
He came, a grunt the only warning, and stared at the ceiling while Trowa drank it down. Just juice, he thought, miserably. Nothing in there, not even enough to reduce, purify, extract; nothing but juice. It made for a hollow orgasm, and the idea almost caused him to laugh. Hollow.
Yeah, that about described it.
"You have a nice visit?" Relena looked up from the sink. She was refilling the teapot, the funnel at an odd angle while she wrestled the plastic jug of drinking water into place.
"Yeah."
Heero took the jug, while she held the funnel in place. They were silent, watching the expensive clarity gurgling into the teapot. When Relena nodded, he pulled back, capping the jug and putting it away. It still unnerved him, Relena's casual acceptance of the situation, now that they'd had a week or two. Or perhaps it was despair, and he just didn't recognize it for having never seen it before.
"You still seem tense," she observed, glancing at him from under her eyelashes. "Are you sure--"
"Yes," he snapped, then immediately relented. "Sorry," he mumbled. "No. It was... okay. But I just kept thinking--"
"Don't," she murmured, and kissed him on the cheek. She set the teapot on the stove, and fired up the burner. "That's my job. You just stand around and look handsome, remember?" Her smile, tossed over her shoulder, was a faint shadow of the girl he'd met, after the war.
He couldn't even manage the mildly annoyed smirk he normally gave her. After a minute she came to lean against him, arms going around his waist, her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You're good for more than that."
"Maybe I'm not," he replied, absently brushing her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "Maybe I should've kept the job as your head of security, never thought to--"
"Hush," she reprimanded him. "I don't care. Really." Relena leaned back, looking up at him with earnest blue eyes. "Even if this is it, I still wouldn't trade the past six years. Not for anything."
"Relena," he whispered, and sighed. "You know what'll happen."
Her fingers dug into his sides, clawing enough to make him wince. "I won't let it. I'll talk to Mother," she insisted. Her gaze went distant; he knew she was already making plans, laying groundwork, considering what strings to pull. "You were a war hero, after all, and I could still--"
"Enough," Heero said, gently prying her hands away from him. He held up her hands, kissing each palm, before lowering her hands to kiss her on the forehead. "Trowa's girl is in town, and he's off tonight. We've got an invitation down town, if you want... "
"It's a work night," Relena replied automatically, then flushed. "Okay, maybe not... but going out on a Tuesday." Her eyes crinkled, a half-smile. "Doesn't that seem... weird, somehow?"
"Weird?" Heero gave her a bemused look.
"Yeah." She shrugged, with one shoulder. "Like it should be illegal to have fun during the week."
"Be quiet." Heero leaned forward and kissed her on the nose. "Don't let the walls get any ideas, or they'll be outlawing fun on weekdays, next."
She gave him an exasperated look, and he chuckled, softly. Relena was quiet for a bit, then nodded. "Okay. Where are we going? Trowa give any hints on what should I wear?"
"Clothes," Heero said, then smirked. "Or go without. After all, it's our last--"
"No," she said, and pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't say it. Tonight I want you to wear those black jeans, and I'll wear the leather skirt and we can pretend we're just one more couple who won the lottery."
He stared at her for a moment, noting the fine lines around her eyes, the tightness in her lips. "You sure you're up to this?"
"Of course," she parried, but her shoulders slumped. "The new medication works a lot better. I'll be fine, but the minute I'm not, I'll tell you. Okay?"
"Promise?" His lips moved against her finger. He searched her face, knowing she could pull one over on him quite easily when she chose. She'd done it for years, when she wanted her own way, although never over anything too serious.
"Yes," and she sighed melodramatically. "I promise." She promptly undid the moment by grinning at him.
Heero chuckled, then opened his mouth and sucked her finger in. Licking and nibbling, he was pleased to see her eyes glaze over, just a little. Releasing her finger, he smiled.
"Oh, don't you look smug," she said, poking him in the chest before stepping away to check the teapot. "We'll have tea, get dressed, and then go?"
"I'm not smug," Heero retorted.
"Is that so." Relena pretended to straighten her shoulder-length hair in the wall oven's reflection. "I know what you're thinking."
"Oh?" Heero came to stand behind her, staring into her darkened reflection. There was a slim crack, running up the corner of the heat-glass.
"Yes." Relena narrowed her eyes, and tapped her finger against her chin. "Ah, her eyes are rolling back in her head. I bet Dorothy can't do that."
Heero scowled.
"Don't lie," she said, bumping her hips backwards against his. "You were."
"Okay." Heero shrugged. "Maybe a little. But I just don't like her."
"You haven't liked her for four years," Relena pointed out. "I'm not exactly holding my breath that'll change."
Heero said nothing, but hugged her tighter.
The bar was a dark, smoky affair, with a sultry tenor singing some old love song over the speakers. There were several people standing around two pool tables, watching as a young man took aim. He was laughing over his shoulder at his friends, and Heero noted the man's slim build and wicked smile before Relena tugged Heero farther towards the back.
Trowa waved casually when they reached the booth. His girl, leaning half across his lap, was dressed in a dark purple shirt, and her black hair glowed under the string of blue lights hanging from bare nails in the concrete walls. She was talking animatedly, pointing at the pool tables, but fell silent at Heero and Relena's approach. Trowa twitched his head a bit to get the hair out of his eyes, and looked Relena up and down.
"Like the skirt," he said. "If I'd known, I'd have worn mine."
"You can't," his girl said. "I'm wearing it, smartass." She leaned past him to offer her hand to Relena. "You must be Relena? I'm Hilde."
Relena stared at the hand, a bit confused, then took it, shaking Hilde's hand with a smile. Heero, meanwhile, pivoted, noting the bar's layout, the exits, the alarm points, and the clerestory windows, set up high in the concrete block walls. Then he helped Relena into the booth, and scooted in beside her. Hilde gave him a quick smile, and he managed one in return. Trowa hadn't mentioned breaking up, but for a second Heero hadn't recognized the girl.
"You cut your hair," he said, unexpectedly.
"Three months ago," Hilde replied, laughing. Trowa arched an eyebrow, and Hilde gave Heero a teasing look. "I won't give you grief about being a guy. It's not like you've seen me six times since then." She elbowed Trowa, who hunched over, protecting his ribs.
Trowa straightened up and yanked Hilde into his lap. He waved to the bartender, and leaned back in his seat. He gave Relena an apologetic smile. "I forgot you two hadn't met."
"No, not yet," Relena said, giving Hilde a shy smile. She coughed, then made a face at Heero's suspicious look. "It's the smoke. Sorry."
"We'll refrain in this corner," Trowa assured her. He put out his hand, and the cigarette pack on the table was suddenly gone, secreted somewhere through long-experienced sleight of hand. "You look well."
"I'm doing better," Relena assured him. She leaned in close to Heero, and slipped her arm through his. He inhaled deeply, letting the faint scent of her spicy perfume overwhelm the stink of stale beer and cigarettes, the hint of vomit and piss in the distant corners.
"Maybe," Relena said, edging closer with a hopeful look, "I can get Heero to teach me pool... "
"You don't know how to play?" Hilde looked startled, then twisted to glare at Trowa. "How rude. You picked a pool hall, and she's never played?"
"Perhaps I was being gracious," Trowa demurred. "Give her a chance to learn."
"I'd like to," Relena said, peering past Heero at the tables. "Is it hard?"
Trowa chuckled, low in his throat, and shifted Hilde off his lap. He stood up, and held out a hand to Relena. "Order me a beer," he told Hilde.
Heero let Relena out of the booth, then settled back in, giving his order to the waitress when she came around. For a few moments they were quiet, listening to the rumble of voices at the pool table. If Heero let his eyes go unfocused, Relena looked eighteen again, laughing and joking as if there were no threat of annulment or job loss or anything else hanging over their heads. He sighed.
"Hey," Hilde said, and moved around the inside of the booth to sit next to Heero. "Tro tells me you've been kinda down." She pulled back at Heero's sharp look, and giggled nervously. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry, but... I just wanted to tell you, my brother's in town."
"And?" Heero shook his head. "I have a companion already. I'm not in the market to replace him."
"No, I didn't mean like that." Hilde rolled her eyes. "I'm not suggesting anything that would lose Trowa one of his longest clients. It's just... " She glanced around the club, a subtle quick look, and leaned in closer. "My brother's got protection." She barely moved her lips when she spoke. "Good price, and high quality."
Heero blinked, then frowned. "No reason to waste it on us. We won the lottery."
"No fuckin' way," Hilde breathed, eyes wide. For a moment, he could see the clear blue of her pupils, catching the light from the cheap strings glittering against the wall. She leaned forward, then jerked away at the last minute with a self-conscious laugh. "Oops, forgot your type isn't for hugging. But still! Congratulations."
"Yeah."
He shrugged, and looked up to see the waitress was putting down their drinks. Heero took the shot, throwing it back, stone-faced, and set the empty glass on the table, upside down. He took the beer and wiped the bottle's rim with his sleeve before taking a sip. It tasted like piss and rainwater, more chemicals than barley. It had been years since he'd had a real beer, but that was the purpose of the shot, anyway. Dulled the tongue so the beer was tolerable.
"You don't seem happy," Hilde observed, and drank down her own shot, a little slower. She seemed to be lingering over it, watching him across the top of the small glass.
He frowned, not sure what to say. But Hilde had been with Trowa almost a year, and if Trowa trusted her, that was probably the highest recommendation anyone could get. Heero sighed, and fingered the lip of his beer bottle. "There have been complications."
"Korsa syndrome?" Hilde's eyes were wide, but her mouth was open in a round 'o', giving her a sorrowful look.
"Yeah." He shrugged, glancing at her sideways.
"Oh. That sucks."
"Yeah," he said again.
Over at the pool table, Relena was sandwiched between Trowa and another man, laughing as she tried valiantly to get at her pool cue, which Trowa was holding over his head. She jumped a little, her hand reaching up, but when she came down, she coughed abruptly, falling against Trowa's chest with the convulsions. Heero came to his feet immediately, and in five long strides was shoving the stranger out of the way.
"Relly," he whispered in her ear, smoothing her hair back from her face. He pressed his hands against her stomach, firm, while she coughed. She finally caught her breath, slumped in his arms, then patted his hands, but he didn't let go. "Okay now? Should we--"
"No, no, I'm okay. It was just... a bit much," she said, and smiled weakly. "But it's okay." At Heero's annoyed look, she sighed and kissed him on the cheek. "Really. I just got a bit excited there, thanks to someone--" She shot a pout at Trowa, who gave her a suitably chastened look. "--Thought he'd play keep-away."
Trowa handed her the cue, and Relena took it with a dignified toss of her head. She turned around, to smile at the stranger, and beckon him close.
"This is my husband, Heero," she told the man.
When the man stepped forward, Heero realized the guy's red-brown hair was pulled back, away from his face. He was dressed all in black, no different from most people there, but the cut of his clothes was a little odd, the collar higher, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, if pale.
"Pleased to meet ya, Heero," the man said, and gave Relena a little bow. "I was just trying to give your gorgeous wife lessons, before this reprobate snuck up and ruined our fun."
Trowa looked bored, but there was a smirk hiding in his expression.
"She's not bad," the man continued, winking at Heero. "Got the figure for a pool shark, if lacking the instincts." He gave Relena the once-over, and grinned widely. "With those curves? Who cares how she's playing." He leered at Relena, who flushed, pressing herself against Heero. The man gave Heero a sheepish grin and leaned on his pool cue; Heero was struck by how pale the man's skin was under the pool table's smoke-stained lamplight. The man paused, appearing to reconsider his words. "Well, they'd care what she's doing, but only if she's the one they get to... play." His words took a second meaning when his smile grew sharper, almost predatory.
"Oh," Relena gasped, eyes wide. She looked sideways at Heero, as though embarrassed.
"I can't speak for anyone else," Heero said, quite seriously. He considered the picture of his wife on her hands and knees, skirt up around her waist, kneeling on the pool table. "I think it'd be--"
"Heero," Relena hissed, and nudged him sharply with her elbow. "We're in public."
"I didn't realize I had to be in private to fantasize about you," Heero replied, a bit perturbed.
"Yeah, better be careful," the man said. He grinned, but his eyes were narrowed, his gaze darting between Heero and Relena as if measuring, assessing, and seeing something that pleased him. "Never know. Anyone finds out, they'll make it a sin to fantasize about your own damn spouse, next. Hell, next they'll outlaw companions."
"I hope not," Trowa murmured behind them, leaning over the table to take a shot. "I hate working retail."
"Heh, your customer service skills are reprehensible," the man retorted, but without rancor. "How'd you get your job, anyway?"
"My keen fashion sense." Trowa took the shot, sinking two balls at the same time. He stood up, and brushed invisible flecks of dirt off the shoulders of his worn black sweater.
"Or something," the man shot back, then realized Heero was still staring at him. The man rubbed his nose, gave Heero a puzzled look, and then laughed out loud. "Man, you should've said something. My manners just went out the door at the sight of pretty legs. I'm Hilde's brother." He stuck out his hand, just like Hilde had, and Heero glanced down before pulling away slightly. The man dropped his hand, apparently not bothered. He grinned again, and tugged Relena towards the table. "Your turn, babe. Remember, you don't want the white ball going in."
Relena nodded and leaned over the table between the two men. Her hips were directly between them, and Heero wondered if she were aware she was rubbing against both of them as she moved around, trying to angle the cue for her shot. Both men looked down, and Heero imagined the other man was also noting the long, lean thighs disappearing under the leather skirt, the supple hint of slender curves encased in leather. The man whistled, and grinned at Heero.
"Anyway," the man said, and winked, "name's Duo Maxwell. Pleasure."
"Likewise," Heero answered automatically.
"Yeah, I hope so," Duo said, laughing again, but when Heero frowned, Duo didn't explain the joke.
"I need to shower," Relena griped. "I reek of smoke, I'm sure."
"Take your meds," Heero replied, automatically.
"I will." She nodded and pulled the hair band from her hair, scratching at her scalp; an exhausted gesture. She leaned into the kitchen, picking the correct medicine bottle out of long habit, and poured out the proper number into her hand. Relena popped the pills into her mouth, making a face.
"Easier with water," Heero observed, but she shrugged, continuing towards the bedroom. He locked the door, pulled the deadbolts in place, and trailed behind her, picking up the various items – shoes, skirt, shirt, bra – that she dropped. He busied himself putting them away while she started the water, then sat on the bed and stared at the wall while he waited for his turn. Their wedding picture hung by the bedroom door, and he found himself smiling at their younger selves. Relena, looking blissfully happy; the younger Heero just looked shell-shocked, although he wore a shy smile.
Sometimes it amazed Heero that he'd done so well for himself, and it made sense that eventually it'd come crashing down. A war orphan's best chance in society was the military, but he'd never expected to be discharged right after the last war. An explosion on his last mission had sent shrapnel into his temple, damaging his peripheral vision and giving him a minor blind spot on the right side. Not enough that he ever noticed, really, but it was enough for the military, and that last mission became his final one.
Years of barracks: one bed, one trunk; now he had a bedroom big enough for a queen-sized bed with even a few feet to walk around it. The closet ran the length of the wall, drawers and hanging racks behind slim-line plastic doors. The bathroom was big enough for two people to fit into it, if one stood over the toilet while the other stood at the sink. And the living room was massive, he told himself, reciting the litany of their luxurious lifestyle, as if memorizing it in case it was all taken away, too soon. They had room for a loveseat and a separate chair, and Relena had found a glass table she liked – the perfect size for a chessboard – that they sometimes ate dinner at, when they wanted to be lazy and watch a vid-movie on the sofa together.
The kitchen was decent, enough room for a small table and two chairs; they'd held off on the expense of getting more. They rarely entertained, and any child would need a high-chair for a long time before needing an adult's chair.
In all, he'd managed quite well, not the least of which was just in meeting and marrying Relena. Truth was, he knew he could've reduced their entire life into an apartment the size of their little kitchen and still counted himself blessed beyond all reckoning.
Mostly, he added, suddenly glum.
The water shut off, and Relena opened the door, steam billowing out. She liked her showers extra hot; it was the only thing that could warm her up sometimes. He strolled into the bathroom, pausing to give her a quick kiss in gratitude; then it turned into something more, something deeper. She pulled back with a startled look.
"What was that for?"
"I just wanted to," Heero said, frowning. "That's okay, right? It's not like now we have to--"
"It's okay," she assured him, pressing a damp hand against his shirt. "It's always okay. Just that... you seem down. You had a good time tonight, right?"
Heero snorted, and looked away from her, towards the reflection of them in the doorway. Her lithe body, wrapped in a blue towel that brought out the blue of her eyes, and his slender shape, still toned even after years away from the military but never the muscular build of the men and women he'd had as team mates.
"Well," she whispered. "I wish I could help."
"You do enough," he said, then winced. "I didn't mean it like that. You do." He ran his hands down her arms, skin catching on damp skin and water drops. "Just... I feel like there's so little I can offer you, now. I just... " He closed his eyes, unable to meet her earnest gaze, and spoke in the barest whisper, a confession. "I really wanted to be a father."
"I know," she said, subdued. "Somehow, we'll be parents. I'm not going to lose this chance, but no matter what, I won't lose you."
"Relena... "
"Hush." She wrinkled her nose. "Take a shower, and then let's try again." Relena tugged at the corner of her towel, revealing a bit more skin. Her smile turned mischievous.
"Relena," Heero repeated, a bit sternly. It wasn't supposed to be fun; it was a duty. One he enjoyed and wanted to do as often as possible, but her expression didn't seem nearly as solemn as the suggestion warranted.
"What?" Her eyes were wide, a mocking innocent look, and then it faded, leaving behind an odd pensiveness. "Just that... tonight... that guy, Duo. The way he talked, some of the things he said--" Relena poked him in the chest, and Heero realized his expression must've gone sour. "--Stop sulking, I know he meant no harm, once I got used to it. Actually, it was rather flattering. But the way he talked, made it sound like sex is supposed to be... " She paused, frowning, as if seeking the right word. " ...Fun. Maybe we're missing something."
Heero wanted to protest, but then shrugged, unhappily. "I don't know. It's good, but I just feel like I could do better. Do more."
Relena sighed, and shoved lightly, pushing him into the bathroom. "Me, too," she murmured, as he shut the door.
Trowa loosened his tie, just a little, and then rolled up the sleeves of his work shirt. Not even ten-thirty in the morning, and two appointments down already. The break room was stifling, even with the window cracked; more than that and it'd be unbearable from the stench of trash and sewer rising from the city streets below. Sweat was turning his yellow-gray shirt into a clinging sheet that stuck to his skin, peeling off with a mildly sticky sensation when he moved. He flipped the folder open, glancing over the contents, not even looking up when the break room door opened.
"I hate Mondays," Dorothy announced. She slumped into the plastic seat across from Trowa; the chair creaked a warning. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. There were beads of sweat on her forehead, and even the normally crisp cravat at her neck seemed wilted. "You're doing the other half of the couple at ten-thirty, right?"
"Yeah." Trowa closed the file. "Just reviewing."
"Ever feel like you're just a government drone?"
"That's what we are," he replied, unperturbed.
Dorothy eyed the folder, and leaned back in her chair, pausing long enough to pull her hair out from behind her. "Maybe I should shave my head."
"Check with your clients first. Never know how many might secretly have a hair fetish."
She rolled her eyes. "I doubt it. Sometimes I think they'd do the same, if they saw someone else had the guts to do it first."
"Then they're drones, too," Trowa said, getting up. He checked his watch; the liquid display was dying, and he had to tilt it just right to see the time. "I have a feeling our next couple is early."
"Yeah, whatever, be there in a minute," Dorothy said, waving him away.
She didn't have the file with her, but he had no doubt she'd memorized it. She could do that easily, and sometimes it disturbed him, but truthfully he was equally skilled at that. It was just that he'd found having something that seemed official set first-time clients at ease.
The couple was waiting in the hallway, standing a few feet apart. Trowa looked over the woman – petite, feet shoulder-width apart, black hair caught in a ponytail but strands falling into her eyes. She seemed disheveled, but her clothes were neatly pressed, and her expression stern, if a bit on the sulky side. Her arms were crossed, and she was pointedly not looking at her husband. Trowa noted her husband was standing in almost an identical position, with a similar expression. The man's hair was pulled back in a matching ponytail, but slicked and neat. Trowa sighed internally, noting the red sashes around their waists and vaguely Asian cast to their features.
Great, he thought. An arranged marriage, I'd bet, and definitely newlyweds. The file had only said they'd been engaged since adolescence, but not married until both had finished their Masters' degrees. That was just icing on the cake; the academic background meant twice as much time spent introducing them to the real world, as far as Trowa was concerned. He nodded politely to the young woman, and faced the young man, who looked to be about Trowa's age.
"Mister Chang?"
"Wufei," the young man said, curtly. "Mister Chang is my grandfather."
Trowa noted the adjective on the word 'father', and recalled the lack of parental names in the file. He gave the young woman a half-smile. "Miss Catalonia will be with you shortly. Mister, err, Wufei," and he allowed the hesitation; his instincts told him toning down a knowledgeable attitude would reassure the young man. When Wufei's shoulders relaxed minutely, Trowa knew he was right. "This way, please," and opened one of the meeting room doors.
Inside, Wufei looked around at the small metal desk, the chair behind it, and the chair facing it. There were no windows; the vent overhead gave off a hum, white noise masking any conversation. Wufei frowned, and took the seat facing the desk. Trowa flipped open the file, studying it for a moment, giving Wufei a chance to study him in return. He was startled when Wufei cleared his throat.
"So... should I just take off my clothes now, or--"
"No," Trowa said, blinking. It wasn't often that someone was quite that business-like. Except Heero, but he was a special case; Trowa was amused to think there might be another like Heero in the city. "This is purely an interview. Should you decide not to sign on with me, the DPM will assign another companion, with whom you'll interview, and the process will continue until you find someone with whom you feel compatible."
Wufei snorted and crossed his arms. "I doubt that will happen."
"Oh?"
"I hardly need to be relieved of any sexual tensions." The sideways glance, under smoky eyelashes, was annoyed; Wufei most likely didn't realize just how handsomely seductive that movement was. "I've been just fine up to now, and I don't expect that to change."
"That's possible. Appointments are made when, and if, you feel the need," Trowa replied, keeping his voice calm. He closed the file and leaned back, clasping his hands in his lap. "However, you are newly married--"
"Not like I had say in the matter," Wufei grumbled, under his breath.
Trowa ignored the interruption. "And the DPM is aware of the dangers posed by such a situation."
"If that situation ever arises," and Wufei's tone indicated that he expected any sexual interaction to occur with his wife somewhere shortly after a non-existent hell froze over, "I've read plenty of books. There are other ways to have sex."
"Legally, no." Trowa allowed his lips to curl, just the slightest, at Wufei's puzzled glance. "According to Penal Code 567.19, section D, sex is defined as penetration of a man's penis into a woman's vagina. Anything else may be an intimate relation, but that's sex. What you're suggesting are simply intimate relations."
"If she doesn't get pregnant, that's what matters," Wufei muttered.
"True. However, I shall have to note on your file that you wish to pursue that alternative, and I will warn you that doing so means you will be observed very closely."
"How closely?" Wufei didn't move, but his mere tone bristled.
"Weekly appointments at the DPM, including interviews and pregnancy testing. I hope you realize the consequences should those tests reveal--"
Wufei stiffened, and looked away. His scowl was gone, replaced by a look of sadness, and almost fear. Trowa was relieved; it was good to see the man had at least enough heart to not want to put himself, let alone his wife, through that punishment.
"I see you do." Trowa was quiet, waiting to see if Wufei would say more. When he didn't, Trowa continued, implacable. He'd had enough experience being business-like about things that other people considered taboo. "If you choose this course, I am not here solely to assist with the need for physical outlets. Education and training are also part of my job. We can set up a preliminary appointment... " He flattened his tone, to the edge of boredom. " ...During which I will meet with both you and your wife, to instruct her in ways to pleasure you outside the act of sex. A corresponding meeting will be arranged with the female companion of your wife's choice."
Wufei's look was suddenly molten fire, angry and hostile; it was met and matched by a deep blush rising up across his face. He shifted in place, his arms crossing tighter, looking away.
"You would not be the first couple to choose this," Trowa said, impartially. "But the DPM requires that you be educated."
Sometimes, he complained to himself, I just wish I could find these people who don't think it necessary to teach their children, but leave it to government drones like me. Teaching the female half of a married couple was always awkward and draining, even if the couple left the appointment happy. Trowa still always felt like he was pushing some part of him too far deep, to make it through.
"I don't know what Meiran will choose," Wufei said, very quietly. His gaze was preoccupied, and he licked his lower lip several times before continuing. "If she chooses to see the... her companion, can I abstain?"
"No." Trowa shook his head. "The government is fully aware that for a relationship to work, a couple must be in agreement on major issues. Where to live, careers, big purchases like televisions," Trowa waved on hand, casually, as though ticking off a list on his fingers. "And sex is one of the biggest issues of all. To have one partner experience intimate relations while the other abstains produces resentment, longing, and pent-up emotions that are often violent when they explode."
Wufei sniffed. "I've been studying martial arts for seventeen years. I sincerely doubt anything will force my emotions that far over the top."
"Perhaps," Trowa allowed. "But it is still best that you never underestimate the power of physical lust."
"I see." Wufei appeared to consider Trowa's words for several minutes, then shifted in his chair. "Do I have to decide now?" He flushed again, a bit less, and didn't look Trowa in the eye. "Whether to... meet with you again, I mean. Or to abstain. Or to... " He stared down at his lap, suddenly looking much younger, confused, overlaid with a hint of anxiety.
"You have thirty-six hours," Trowa told him. "After that, your form goes into the system automatically, and the process for reversal is complicated. Should you wish to accept myself and-or your wife's companion, you may do nothing and the process will continue with us by default."
Wufei nodded, and stood. "Is there anything else?"
"Normally we would have a more in-depth discussion," Trowa explained, shrugging. "But if you are uncertain at this time, we can delay that until, or if, another appointment. Unless, of course, you have more questions for me?"
"No." Wufei turned to go, then stopped, not quite looking at Trowa over his shoulder. "When you... when you're with someone, do you... " His words trailed off, and he turned away. His back was stiff, the straight lines of a young man trained from childhood to walk with squared shoulders and a dancer's grace.
"If you're asking whether the person matters to me?" Trowa stared at Wufei's back, coolly, suspecting Wufei could feel it from the way the young man tensed. "Sometimes. Do you care for those with whom you spar?"
"That's different," Wufei snapped.
"Is it?"
"Yes," Wufei replied, turning just enough to look over his shoulder at Trowa. His gaze turned inwards, softening, puzzled. "At least... I think it should be."
"I agree with you." Trowa didn't move when Wufei shot him a suspicious look. "And in fact, many of my long-term clients have become good friends, and in some rare cases, we do socialize outside of appointments. But that isn't for everyone. What happens, and how much, is dependent on your needs. I'm just here as part of the government's program to make sure those needs are met without risking you, your wife, or our policies."
Wufei nodded. "Thank you for your time, Mister Barton. I'll get back to you once I've had a chance to speak with my... " He paused, and the final word sounded almost strangled. " ...Wife." He left, pulling the office door quietly shut behind him.
That last tone would have been amusing, Trowa thought, yet another young man a bit shocked and confused by the new status of 'married' on his paperwork, but for the sadness hiding underneath. He debated noting that in his interview record, and the ambivalence with which the young man considered his new status, but decided against it. With the usual ill luck of bureaucracies, some peon facilitator up in central processing would see this as reason to assign the young couple to DPM therapy. And that was an intrusive and humiliating experience Trowa wouldn't wish on anyone if he could help it, let alone someone as proud, self-sufficient, and lonely as the young man who'd just left his office.
Trowa sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He had an interview report to write, and then he'd take a five-minute break. Hopefully Dorothy could cover for him while he stepped outside to call, away from the lead-lined buildings and listening ears of their employers. Hilde wasn't due to leave the city until mid-afternoon, and perhaps he could squeeze in a quick lunch with her and extend their goodbyes a little longer.
Then he had to meet with three clients; if he was done before the shops closed, he could pick up a little something to take to his sister's for dinner. He just wished he could take earplugs, so he wouldn't have to listen to her gripe about his career; as much as he loved her, it was sometimes unbearable to be handed job listings for positions that he knew would only be offered, in the end, to people who'd eventually support a family.
Heero had been right, Trowa thought, and smiled ruefully. Those damn military bastards and their drugs. But that was then, this was now, and he had paperwork to do.
End Part 1
(:./sol/howl1)
