Somewhere in New York Part 8
Snuggled under a downy coverlet, Heero cracks his eyes open to test the Sunday morning sunlight then yawns apathetically.
Across the room, curled on his side with tangled bangs fanned over the white top sheet and tan blanket, Duo is sleeping soundly. Heero would like to lay there and watch how the sun winking through the trees' bare branches plays hide and seek on Duo's calm countenance but his bitchy bladder is demanding a trip to the toilet.
First thing, though, is getting his brawl-sore body to cooperate. Both shoulders are sore, back muscles protest any attempt to straighten out and hands are acting arthritic. By gradual degrees he pushes up on his elbows, waits for the inevitable twinges to ease then warily slides his legs over, sits up and rubs tacky sleep from his eyes.
With a faded brown terrycloth robe swathed over boxers and tee shirt, sock clad feet shuffle across the floor. Wincing from the effort Heero carefully opens the door so as not to wake his slumbering roommate and, feeling older than eighteen years, totters down the hall.
Noting perhaps two inches of overnight snow frosting the outside steps, he's again thankful to Pat for taking Duo in and grateful for Duo's supportive friendship.
Bladder in a better mood, Heero stands at the sink to wash his hands. Glancing in the mirror he appraises the fight damage inflicted by Whitman. The cut on his upper lip isn't as noticeable. As expected there are scraps and a really impressive welt above his left eyebrow.
"You look like a scruffy tom cat." is commented to the drowsy reflection staring back.
Returning to the bedroom with a freshly washed face and a half-hearted endeavor to comb his hair, Heero wiggles into black jeans and a gray sweatshirt then squats beside his bed to fish out his lace-up boots.
Right boot is exhumed from the dust bunnies, left boot follows suit. Duo seems to be waking up as a quick breath is sucked in; however, the ragged exhalation raises red flags.
Standing by Duo's bed it's clear he's dreaming. In rapid succession a frown wrinkles his forehead, a sturdy shudder racks his body and a muttered, "Heero", confirms a nightmare is indeed clawing through his mind.
"Duo." Heero calls softly accompanied by a gentle shake.
Duo's reaction illustrates how deeply he's swamped by the dark dreaming. Arms thrash and a wail of "Noooo" causes Heero to flinch.
This time the shaking is more forceful. "Duo. Wake up." is begged urgently.
Duo's eyes open with a start. Fear-widened pupils search for anything familiar, any scrap of recognition to convince his mind he hasn't slipped so far from reality he can't be reclaimed.
Heero centers his face with those wild, apprehensive eyes then, like an anchor offering security in a raging storm, gathers Duo into his arms. "It's all right. You had a bad dream."
Duo casts a quizzical stare as if in the throes of absolute disorientation. A refocusing blink; an energy-depleted whimper, "Heero." is whispered so low it's more a hissed sound than a word.
"I'm here," Heero reassures, "and I'm not going anywhere."
A tear tracks down Duo's cheek. Another. Then a tearful surge bursts the spillway in an inundation of anguished sobs.
Frightened, Heero shores up his embrace. "What's wrong? Please tell me."
"I dreamed-I-" Duo stutters between halts and hitches in his breathing. Finally he's able to raggedly piece together the remnant details. "About last night. Running outta the alley. You were sprawled on the sidewalk, blood everything."
A steadying intake of air. "You wouldn't wake up, your eyes were wide open but you wouldn't wake up. All the while Whitman was laughing, I couldn't see him, just hear that awful, soulless laugher. Oh God, Heero, I was so scared."
Suddenly the realization of Duo's nightmare panic sets in. Without warning the blooming daylight exposes numerous scratches marring his face, reveals his swollen nose and the black/blue bruise discoloring his right cheekbone.
Wretchedness worms its way into Heero's heart, "I'm so sorry." he begs undeserved forgiveness, "If I hadn't acted so arrogant ---"
I take Heero's hand and pull him closer to make sure he understands. "Don't you start that damn apologizing again. Like I said last night you got no cause to be sorry. You beat Whitman in a fair match. It ain't your fault the bastard is a poor loser."
"I need to ask you something." Heero insists as his index finger traces lightly along my tender cheekbone.
"Okay."
"Do you want me to quit freestyle?" he asks point-blankly.
As temped as I am to say yes I can't, in good conscience, make that decision. "You gotta do what you feel is right."
While Heero considers my logic his thumb ghosts over my hand, "But you'd rather I quit?"
"Honestly?"
Heero nods.
"Yeah, I'd rather you quit. The prize money might be good but the winning isn't worth you gettin' hurt?"
Another moment of contemplation, "Pat hasn't said anything but I know he's concerned." is stated with a resigned sigh.
I squeeze Heero's hand, "You'll still be getting paid at the gym. You haven't finished teaching me katas and kumite and I'll always be your sparring partner. You don't have to make up your mind right now but," as an additional incentive I promise, "whatever you decide I'll back you up one hundred percent."
Heero's expression is unreadable like he's zoned out. "Maybe I should stop." He reckons aloud.
"That's up to you." I reiterate before brushing his lips with a chaste kiss.
Heero pulls me closer and deepens the kiss. I can't help the involuntary moan or my rapidly growing erection. Slipping my hand between his thighs there's ample evidence he's also experiencing spontaneous arousal.
Emboldened by no protest my fingers tighten over the budding bulge then, lips only a breath apart, I hiss hoarsely. "I've wanted you since that first night at the Shamrock."
Likewise Heero proclaims candidly. "I hadn't dared hope we could be together."
The next kiss is demanding and impatient. Hands snake under shirts seeking bare skin. Breathing quickens and hearts hammered in harmony.
Whereas wearing boxers eases the tightness in my crotch, Heero's jeans are getting snugger by the minute which puts him at an uncomfortable disadvantage.
It's comical to watch him squirm. Finally he rears back, anxiously removes his sweatshirt, undoes the jean's metal button and unzips the fly then slithers out the denim cocoon and boxers to liberate his magnificently distended manhood. Meanwhile I've shed my boxers and nearly tore the tee shirt yanking it over my head.
Up to this moment I hadn't considered the fact Heero and I were gettin' naked. Now that we're both in our birthday suits with penises standing proudly at attention I'm at a loss of what to do next.
We could surrender to hormonal urges and fuck like horny rabbits but I think we're suppose to use lube. Are condoms required or optional? Should we engage in mutual blow jobs? Does Heero even want to go that far?
Heero appears to be in an identical dilemma. Kneeling on my bed he's trying his damnedest not to stare at my cock. With anxiety mirrored in his eyes and a slight trembling in his hands, he's definitely as confused and uncomfortable as I am.
Sitting over on his hip Heero curls up in a futile effort to hide his conspicuous erection. In a supportive gesture I turn back the comforter to veil his frontal region.
Similarly I yank up the top sheet to cover my exposed lap then self-consciously state the obvious, "This is kinda embarrassing."
"We should talk." Heero suggests as a prudent course of action.
"Do you just want to friends?" I ask, hoping against hope he'll choose more than friendship.
"I want to be with you but---" Only a few seconds pass but it seems like an eternity, then, always the voice of reason, Heero suggests "Perhaps it would be sensible to ease into a serious relationship."
The advice makes sense, yet for my heart's sake Heero has to know exactly how I feel so, "I love you." is blurted out before my nerve dissolves.
Blue eyes widen at the revelation and, again, the protracted pause prompted by my straightforward proclamation is deafening in its silence. Suddenly unsure, I stare at the sheet and wish I'd kept my damn mouth shut.
"Duo."
Warily responding to my name I look up.
Tears shimmering, Heero divulges his most desirous secret. "I love you, too."
The heartfelt declaration is all the verification my heart requires. Without hesitation I shove the sheet aside and, unashamed, lay back on the bed. A tug of encouragement on Heero's hand prompts him to also shed his covering and his last vestiges of uncertainty.
Sliding forward he covers me; angling our bodies so the slightest movement produces wave after wave of delicious friction. Unbridled kisses redden lips; tongues tangle and taste.
Although enthralled in the throes of passion, my mind pleads for a fragment of common sense. Inwardly cursing the unsolicited meddling I slow my frenzied groping and free my mouth to mumble, "We didn't---ah---get around to---ah---."
Heero's fingers tunnel around my painfully engorged manhood. "Too much talk." He proclaims then underscores the demand for verbal restraint by tightening his grip.
Never one to shrink from a challenge, I reciprocate with a firm grasp on his cock and, to further illustrate my battle resolve, my thumb fondles over the tip.
"Ohhhh shit!" Heero exclaims as the masterful caress incites a spontaneous shiver.
Unlike sparring, where every move and countermove is calculated and controlled, Heero and I ignore the rules and abandon the discipline. As the overwhelming stimulus of mutual hand jobs grabs hold (no pun intended) brains shut down and physical impulses direct our responses.
No more words are exchanged. Indistinct utterances convey primal pleasure. Ragged breaths and guttural grunts accent ecstasy. Moans become Heero's mantra. All I can manage is hisses of air through clenched teeth.
Right now, if angels beseeched us to cease this wanton transgression, Heero and I couldn't stop. As urgency for orgasmic release builds to a fever pitch, we settle into an anxious cadence of strokes and thrusts.
Tempo quickens.
Blood pulses.
Climaxes erupt in unison with such intensity they consume our strength entirely.
Exhausted, we lay face to face like limp rag dolls. I'm the first to let go, moving my hand mere inches away. Heero's sticky fingers seem inclined to linger a bit longer but, at last, they also slither away.
Basking in the afterglow I'm optimistic Heero is feeling the same euphoria but I have to ask. "Are you all right?"
Gazing into my eyes, "I can't believe what we just did." is stated in an astonished tone.
As tacky skin and wet spots on the bedding clearly validate the evidence of milky discharge, "Looks like we did." is declared. "Want to share a shower? Don't have to do nothing but wash."
A sly grin graces Heero's lips. "You think we can resist the temptation?"
"I can if you can. Besides it's getting late and I'm starving for breakfast."
*********
With no expectations of intimacy showering with Heero is a pleasant encounter. Relaxing in the warm spray, I wash his back and he washes mine, but we steer clear of the genital areas-all the easier to resist the afore-mentioned temptation.
Heero shampoos my hair then his own while I rinse out the suds and work in herbal conditioner. A final rinse and, reluctantly, the water is turned off.
One towel turbaned around my hair, I dry with a second. It doesn't take Heero as long to dry and dress so, while I tackle the time-consuming task of combing out and braiding my hair, he volunteers to strip and remake my bed.
"Gotta have a jolt of caffeine." I announce upon entering the bedroom. Stopping short in mid-stride I scrutinize our beds pushed up together. "What's this?"
Grinning like the Cheshire Cat Heero feints an innocent shrug. "I presume you wouldn't object to cozier sleeping arrangements."
"No objection." I declare closing the gap. "None at all." is avowed with a very appreciative kiss.
TBC...
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