Elevator Love Part 17a
By Tralla

Contains: mentioned 4xD and 1x4 Lime

I’m developing stalker tendencies, or giving into them.

I’m walking with spidey. I “ran” into him about 15 minutes ago and have been sticking to his side since. It’s after midnight. We’re outside walking towards the mansion. The camping was last night. I survived it with most of my mental faculties intact, but what’s disturbed is my curiosity. I want to know more about what he mouthed to me last night. I’ve tried what I usually do with the braid (i.e. lurking around until the silence is unbearable in attempt to spur him to do all the talking for me), but that doesn’t work with him. He’s perfectly comfortable walking in silence. I remember at some point, in the past weeks, he told me to ask more questions. He’s pushing me with effortless indifference.

But, before I can get a question out, a distraction presents itself.

There’s a figure darting out of the front doors of the mansion. The lampposts give me more than enough light to identify the person. It’s Hootie. She’s running with her shoes in hand. Her top is 1/3 undone and part of her skirt is hitched up in her underwear.

There is a car waiting and she just got into it. I watch as it drives off.

My mind is rambling...it’s after midnight...she’s partially undressed or probably was entirely undressed... I’m mouthing insinuations to myself. It takes some effort to curb the obscenities.

The irony. Spidey picks up on the unuttered words.

He isn’t doing his usual murmur act. He’s speaking at normal volume as he says, “If you’re curious, simply ask.” He looks my way. “But I’m the wrong person to question.”

As I look back at him, I have a feeling that he would have given me that response irrespective of the question posed.

I’m in the mansion.

I’m in an elevator. I can hear the beeps as I pass each floor. I hear my location but see other things.

Pictures...flashes are passing through my head. Details of that sordid letter, written by her...the image of the two of them pressed together in a corner of an elevator, this elevator, any elevator...his hard thigh between her legs...his lips murmuring words... perhaps against the skin of her neck or against her lips. A series of images are on loop. But my mind is not finished. It takes the scene and revises. It makes the two of them horizontal. They’re on a bed together. The picture is corrupted, mixed with my own remembrances. She’s in my place. She’s on her back being orally pleasured by him.

The elevator doors open and I stalk out. I let my feet lead, but I know where I’m heading.

Nervous. I have a nervous tic as I push open one of the doors to his bedroom. I know he’s in there. I hear him moving around.

His back is to me, but he turns around when he hears my footsteps.

“Heero, what are you doing here?”

My paranoia is at full swing and it’s not because I’d spent the previous night outdoors with a bunch of nutjobs.

He acknowledged me.

I’m distracted, disoriented. I’m being batted around by what my senses are telling me.

I know his scent. I know what it is when he’s calm. I know what it is when he sweats. I know what it is when his hair and face are wet just after he’s thrown water on himself to cool down. I know his scent after he’s finished shooting his load.

I remember what she smells like. On that day of the dinner, when I’d gotten her to turn tail and run after three hours, she’d left a trail of almond-scented air behind. The scent isn’t in the air. She hasn’t contaminated this place. He was alone in his bedroom. It’s that surety which allows me to let my mouth do as it pleases.

“Why are you…”

He squints at me. “Why am I?”

I’m barely audible. “Toying with…”

“Toying with?” He looks curious as though he’s trying to understand me.

My face is like iron cast over a roaring flame. It’s not burning, just red hot as I say, “Me.” I’m sickened by myself, but I’m also waiting, tensely, for a response.

He stares at me.

My mouth is running ahead of me. “You brushed me off.”

He looks startled. “Brushed you off?” His eyes dart around, as though he’s thinking.

He doesn’t remember. I look back at him. No, that’s not right. He doesn’t want to remember, but he does. He’s red, at the cheeks. It’s there on his face, the remembrance of how he ignored me for a week, repelled me from his office and then pounced on me in the tech room, and then ignored me again...for 4 days.

He looks like he’s ready to make a confession.

After a long silence, he says, “There are cameras in my office, Heero. Not the ones you placed.” He takes in my expression. “I’m not spying...They’re just--”

“On all the time.”

He looks back at me. “Then you knew?”

“I found out recently.”

He’s fidgeting. I bet he’s wondering if I know about the other cameras.

He opens his mouth, but thinks better of it and closes it.

I’m not letting him get off that easily. “I know about the other ones.”

“Other what?”

The bastard. “The other cameras.”

“Oh.”

Oh? Now, I’m ticked. “You fired me for doing what you’re doing.”

I just made a mistake.

His expression has changed. I’ve said something stupid. He owns this place and probably everything within a 5 mile radius.

But he isn’t mad. His eyes are losing focus.

From his expression, he’s in a daze. I watch his hand. He’s got a grip on his pant leg. He’s chewing on his bottom lip. It’s not just a pensive gesture. His thoughts are wandering, but his body is feeding off of the direction. He’s remembering something and so is his body because his pants are growing tighter around the crotch...

He’s coming out of his trance and looking at me. “Heero, you could offer me some wine.”

He’s toying with me, again...but I’ve given him reason to. We’re both standing around with hard-ons. But, this time around, he wants initiative to come from my end. He’s going to make me work. That’s fine. I just need to make sure I meet the reqs.

“You’re experienced,” I say.

“Am I?” he responds. After a moment, he drops the mind game and says, “It’s only a matter of knowing what you want and then sharing.”

“Sharing,” I repeat. That word feels wrong, given the situation and what’s rock solid in our pants.

But the reverberation is there...knowing what you want...

The room feels hot and I realize that I’m the source of the heat. I lift my hands. I look at the backs and the color change. My blood flow must have surged to the surface... from head to toe. A full body flush. I don’t think that has ever happened before. I’m positive it hasn’t. I don’t mind. I don’t drop my hands. Instead, I walk with them outstretched. I’m touching him. My fingers are on his vest, opening it, pushing it away from his shoulders, but he’s resisting. I go for the buttons on his shirt. Now, he’s not just stiffening. He’s actively being difficult. He pushes my hands away. I look back at him.

He’s pale, paler than usual, and his hands are still up in a defensive position. It suddenly occurs to me that he doesn’t want to take anything off. He’s hiding something. Maybe he has a growth, and it’s not the kind I’m looking to unleash.

Something else springs to my attention. He kept his clothes on the last time I was here. I’m not putting up with it this time.

He takes in my look before saying, “It’s something...I’m not comfortable with--”

I’m still staring, but I’ve added a frown and a look of impatience. It’s one of my most potent combos. In the face of it, he lowers his hands.

I resume my mission, and he lets me.

He’s sweating to the degree that I’m peeling the clothes off him. He’s nervous, unnaturally so. But, instead of being put off by it, my curiosity is only growing. To see him shaken, to see his usually composed, knowing exterior shed... It makes me want to strip him, rip everything off in one go. Just to see his shock, just to see if he’ll try to cover himself. It’s a cruel thought that he’s pushed me to.

He won’t ever ignore me again.

But my motions are slowed as I move behind him and watch his shirt recede, under my pull, from his shoulders and back.

His skin...it’s the kind of skin that you can tell...just by looking...that, if you suck on it, it’ll taste slightly sweet. I’m here staring at his shoulder blades. I have his shirt in a death grip. His breathing is heavier, anxious. I pull the rest of the shirt from him and manage to drop it. I’m behind him, unbuckling his belt blindly. It’s not a problem. If I get lost, all I have to do is feel around. Fringe benefits, any way I look at it. But, damn me, I adapt quickly. I get his belt off. I’ve got his pants unbuttoned and unzipped. They’re around his ankles now. He steps out of them.

“The socks,” I murmur.

Déjà vu.

His socks are off.

I take a good look at him, from head to toe.

It’s not disgust that has me staring. Instead, something else entirely is budding within me, something that is growing upward and outward from a very dark place.

He tries to pull his clothes back on.

I stop him. “You’re perfect...” I can only think of his determination, what he has done or had done to himself. Spidey’s mouthed suspicions were correct... The blonde is using himself. He’s crazy...and dedicated enough to use himself as a guinea pig. My lips are moving. “Perfectly flawed.” His resolve...just a piece of it...I want it. My hand is on his shirt, making the fabric go taut between his and my grasp.

He looks startled, as though a jungle has just appeared and there’s a big ape with a club waiting for him.

He tries to take a step back but is halted by the shirt linking us. It’s there...a heavy feeling. I’ve said something entirely necessary but undeniably taboo.

“I have somewhere I want to take you,” he says. He still looks defensive. I drop the shirt and give him space.

Part 17b