Contains: some 4x?x4
I was advised to take a cab to the blonde’s house, leaving him responsible for transportation. I arrived just a minute ago and am now waiting for him to answer his door. I hear his approach from the other side.
I watch the door open. He greets me with a puzzled expression. Finally, after staring for some time, there’s some movement from him. His hand reaches out. I watch his index finger. He’s pointing at my tie and watching me carefully as he says, “It wasn’t your intention to simply visit again…” He appears as though he wants to comment further on my attire, but he drops the accusing finger and instead says, “I chose to eat before your arrival, to save you from simply watching me.”
She’d said that he would.
“That’s fine,” I reply. “I never planned on feeding you.”
“Then?”
“We’ll take your car. You’ll drive. And I’ll give directions without telling you the destination.”
He looks surprised.
Good.
We’ve arrived at our destination and the festivities are in full swing. Our tickets have been taken and we’re on the verge of entering. At least, I am. The blonde is holding up the process.
His mouth is open. He closes it, but then opens it to murmur, “A ballroom?”
He’s acting particularly paranoid as we enter. It’s as though he’s looking for cameras. From his carriage, he’s on the verge of crouching as he asks, “This isn’t a…prank?”
I keep walking. He’s still rubbernecking. I was right. He was looking for hidden cameras. I stop and watch him. Now, he’s causing people to stare. The rational solution is to take him by the arm and drag him in, but he finally pulls himself together.
He walks in and stops when he’s in front of me. He glances around and then looks back at me. But it’s not the end of his confusion. He’s murmuring to himself. It takes reading his lips to get what’s disturbing him. He’s wondering if he’s expected to do what everyone else is, namely waltzing. He needs a clue, a quick one.
I assume the position and wait for him to place one hand on my shoulder and the other in my grasp. He’s mulling it over. He’s wasting my time being contemplative. “There’s nothing to think about.”
He looks skeptical. “There is. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“It’s a mindless pattern set on loop.”
He seems appeased and gives in.
Not 3 seconds after questioning my abilities, he’s trampling all over my feet.
He apologizes before explaining, “I’ve only led.”
“Stop leading.”
He listens but still feels the need to comment. “This is probably the oddest thing I’ve ever done.”
He’s forgetful. I suppose creating two humanlike androids does not fall in the category of bizarre.
He interrupts my internal griping. “Why did you take me here?”
“It was highly recommended.”
He’s squinting. “How did you get an invitation?”
“I’d rather not say.” He’s asking too many questions. Apparently, he’s the inquisitive type who never shuts up.
“How is Duo?”
“Troublesome.”
“Troublesome?”
“He tailed me here.”
“You left without his permission…”
“I don’t need his permission to do anything.”
He’s silent for a short while before commenting, “Whether you like it or not, he’s necessary. I won’t pressure you to accept why. Simply tolerating it is enough for now.”
I’m being lectured in a well-meaning way. He’s good. He probably gets people to mindlessly agree with him without expending much effort. Even to me, his order came across mostly as a suggestion.
He’s still in question mode.
“How did you get here without Duo’s aid? I would say that you arrived here by virtue of Raberba’s help, but I restricted his flying privileges. No pilot of mine will allow him to travel internationally. And he would never risk a brush with airport security or deal with strangers. Who brought you two here?”
“Catalonia.”
He says nothing.
I explain anyway. “As a favor to Raberba.”
He nods.
There’s a short lull before he starts asking more questions.
“Raberba is set on taking Heero, isn’t he?”
“He’s simply providing Heero an opportunity to choose.”
“You’re fine with that?”
“It’s no different from what I’m doing.”
He’s quiet.
Three minutes pass before he speaks again.
“You have a scent,” he murmurs.
“That’s not abnormal.”
He’s nuzzling me. “That’s not what I meant.” He pauses to inhale. “It’s not contrived. You didn’t spray this on. What is it?” He’s speaking against my skin to the point that his words are slightly muffled. “You didn’t have this scent earlier.”
It’s a strange form of interrogation. Not through demands but through sniffing and murmuring.
“What is it?” he asks again. “It’s familiar.”
“It’s--”
“Duo’s scent,” he says while moving away. He’s looking at me and doesn’t sound ill at ease as he says, “You--”
“I’m wearing--”
“His clothing,” he finishes. He looks intrigued. “Why?”
“To pick up a scent.”
“Why?”
“I was boxed in.”
“Boxed in…”
Thunder, lightning, and lots of rain. We just came out of it. We’re soaked and have just walked into his house.
I’m behind him. He’s at the beginnings of a hallway and I’m still by the front door.
He sneezes and then uses a hand to rub at his nose. He’s walking away as he says, “I should change.” He disappears down the hall.
I turn around, close the door, and lock it. I follow his initial path and then where the lights lead me. He’d switched them on as he passed through.
I’m standing in the doorway of his bedroom.
I walk in. He’s undressing. He turns around as he hears my entrance.
He’s just in his briefs and toweling off as he says, “You should dry off before--”
“It doesn’t make a difference if I stay wet.”
He’s forgotten what I am.
“You’re creating a puddle.”
I was wrong. He hasn’t forgotten. I look at the floor. He’s right about the puddle.
I walk over, sit on his bed, and spread my wet state like a disease. I get my shoes and socks off. I begin taking care of my upper body. The tie is off. I pull the shirt from my pants. I hear his footsteps. He’s standing over me. As my gaze rises, I see that he has marks on his abdomen. The discoloration is faint, but visible if one stares. I look up. He was watching me look.
“It was strange earlier,” he whispers, “to have Duo’s scent, Heero’s likeness, and your disposition rolled into one.”
“My disposition?”
I watch him descend. He’s kneeling in front of me. He’s undoing my shirt as he says, “Isn’t that why you came? For me to acknowledge you as different from your original? To validate you as an individual?”
As he peels the wet shirt from me, I acknowledge the temperature change. With my skin still wet, I perceive the air as cooler. I watch him. I’m not capable of his range of sensation. But I know that, if he were in my place, he’d probably shiver uncontrollably.
He’s finished unbuttoning. The shirt easily moves away from my shoulders under his urging. I pull the rest of it off. He takes it and puts it aside.
“Comfort,” he says. “Not everyone is noble enough to be caring without some smattering of self-interest. You were kind earlier, for the reasons I noted.” He’s still murmuring. His hands are moving over me. “It’s ok to be selfish if you make the right associations, if you make everything mutually beneficial.” There’s more whispering from him, but this time I’m the focus. He’s congratulating me. Telling me how far I’ve come. How I’ve exceeded his expectations. That he is grateful for my company. He’s touching me and my lauding my behavior.
And I recognize the paths his hands are taking. His hands are moving as they were earlier, but this time he’s pressing harder…applying pressure selectively.
I watch his face. His features, expressions, and touch are connected to his words of approval. His bearing. What I have come to appreciate and what I aspire to. More pressure. More words of approval. More physical interactions with him, more carnal communications. I understand as my gaze takes in the curve of his mouth. I understand now. I understand why Raberba is often moved by a strange proclivity, the craving for close contact. I understand perfectly why he’s attempted more than once to bring his lips to mine. A desire that shouldn’t be in his repertoire is now in mine. I want to reexperience those recent praises and I now know how. Comfort, assurance…to be touched kindly…
“Quatre.” I reach for him. I seek his lips and find them. I hear his words all over again in my head: I’ve exceeded his expectations. As he stiffens and pulls away, I realize that he has thwarted mine.
No mutuality.
He didn’t respond well. I’ve done something wrong.
Perhaps.
He’s moving, but he isn’t moving away.
His weight causes the bed to dip. He seats himself on my lap. No, he’s straddling my lap and facing me. He complained about the puddle I’d caused but doesn’t seem concerned about the wetness he’s just parked himself on. I look up at him. A startled expression marks him. He appears confused, as though he just awoke from a daze to find himself on me. It’s on his parted lips and in his wide eyes. The movement was without thought on his part. It’s unclear what other actions of his will occur in the same way.
I can hear his breathing. It’s getting heavier with each passing second.
I feel his hand and hear his voice.
“Your eyes…are wonderful,” he says. He’s stroking my face and murmuring, “…more expressive than…I thought possible…”
He looks away. It does nothing to change my appraisal. With skin as pale as his, he can only give himself away. There’s a color change working its way over his face. The flush tells me that he’s stirred. His sudden silence and how he averted his gaze tells me that he’s uneasy. And the prime reason for his unease is prodding me. He’s aroused. The evidence is touching my abdomen.
I refocus my attention.
He’s inclining his head in such a way that his bangs are obscuring his face. Only his mouth is visible. He sounds tired as he says, “It was a mistake to sit here.” He’s moving, trying to get up, to leave. I have my hands on his thighs. I’m not gripping them, but my hands are applying pressure.
I’m speaking. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing.”
He’s still hard against my abdomen.
He’s murmuring again. “I should get dressed.” He’s moving again.
My hands are on his briefs. “You’re fine as you are.”
It’s quiet. He hasn’t moved, but I have. I watch my hand take the path I’ve put it on. I touch his arousal and look up at him. I want his approval.
He closes his eyes. His voice is faint as he says, “Are you sure you understand what you’re doing?”
“I won’t hurt you,” I reply. “Trust me.”