NEW CANVAS

2x1x2, yaoi, lemon

Postscript to True Colours, for merith.

Heero wondered how many rainforests had been destroyed for the sole purpose of stuffing his in-tray full of unnecessary, uninteresting and poorly spelled documents. He suspected that his email would produce a similar crop of virtual rubbish. He’d been away from the office for only a few days, and this was the result.

But what a few days that had been!

He bit back a sigh.

“Shit,” came the soft curse from the other side of the room. “That’s not the look I was hoping for, y’know?”

Heero didn’t have to turn around to know what Duo meant. He knew that tone of teasing; of speculative desire. He smiled, pushing a pile of memos into a colour-coded plastic folder, but he knew his eyes were no longer focusing on them properly. “Real life has to go on, you know. This won’t take me long to clear. If you’d rather wait for me back at the house….”

Duo laughed softly. He leant back in the luxurious armchair, stretching his neck one way then the other, easing some stiffness. This damned office was almost bigger than his own apartment! He was enjoying watching Heero’s confident behaviour, back in his business environment. Sort of fun, actually, to see the professional side of a man who – only a couple of hours ago – had been gasping in the shower, naked as the day he was born, while Duo crouched at his feet and fingered him gently to orgasm. Yeah, it had been even more fun, teaching that joy to Heero in the first place!

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Duo shrugged. “I’m seeing another side of the assertive Heero Yuy, messing with all this entrepreneurial stuff. Just pretend I’m not here.”

It was Heero’s turn to laugh. As if that was ever likely! He was more aware of his lover than himself. Duo’s scent still clung to his clothes; the taste of Duo’s skin still rested on his tongue. He could feel the touch of the man’s body as if it still lay beside him in bed. The pleasure trickled slowly and seductively through far more than his smile.

“We can call at the gallery on the way back, if you like. You might want to do some preparatory work there. It’s not been opened since the exhibition art was returned or packed away.”

Duo stretched his whole body this time: Heero caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. A broken paperclip in the tray dug into his finger and he cursed, though with less volume than Duo. His hands were clumsy this morning. They’d been less so last night – and at dawn. That was one of his favourite times. Always an early riser, he was learning to love waking before Duo; spending a few minutes savouring the familiarity of the man in his bed; tracing the curves of Duo’s sleeping body with his eyes – and then his hands. Cupping his buttocks and feeling the muscles tense up as the other man eased into wakefulness. Then rolling Duo on to his belly and spreading his legs…

Duo’s yawn was loud, too. “Nah. Malia’s keeping an eye on the place. I wanna try something new for its re-launch, and it’s better to keep the public waiting for that. And they sure are waiting impatiently, right?”

Heero abandoned any pretence of working, dumped all the papers back into a pile and turned back around to survey the whole office. He leant back, half-sitting on the desk. Opposite him, Duo sat on his visitors’ chair, where he’d only ever entertained businessmen, lawyers, marketing staff, salespersons…

Never any artists. Never anyone like Duo.

Duo was curled in the chair, one leg tucked up underneath him. He’d kicked off his boots and his jacket had been dropped on to the floor, despite the smart coat stand that Heero’s office designer had fastidiously planned into the décor. He had a sketch pad on his lap, and a pile of pencils on the low table beside the chair. He’d pushed the expensive flower arrangement and the latest copies of the trade magazines to one side, to fit all his stuff on. He held a pencil loosely in one hand, used the other to flick a stray lock of hair back off his forehead, and gazed back at Heero with a grin.

“You saw the bunch waiting outside the office?”

Heero nodded. He had been subject to media interest for most of his adult life, but this intrusive pursuit of his personal life was a different matter. The paparazzi had been camping out on a selection of doorsteps for the last week, ever since Remy had been taken into custody. Malia had kept him informed of the increasing number of requests for an interview; Quatre had kept up a gleeful update of all the alternative news stories about them that were circulating in the tabloid press. Heero suspected some of them might have been initiated by his friend himself – he had a low enough opinion of such journalists to doubt that they could come up with such imaginative premises. There had been something about him and Duo being destined from birth as presidential lovechilds...

Anyway, he and Duo had hidden out at Heero’s house for the last week, but as he’d just said to Duo – real life had to start again sometime. His business wouldn’t run itself.

“They’re just looking for gossip. I think it best we keep a low profile until they’re prepared to listen to sensible news.”

Duo frowned. Maybe he knew the taste – or distaste – of the popular media better than Heero. After all, his life had been rather more outrageous and news-worthy. “Sensible news? They don’t wanna know what your plans are for new investment in a telecoms conglomerate – nor whether I’m going to re-open Maxwell’s Gallery with a pastiche of Renaissance masters or clay models of dogs in waistcoats, playing pool. What they want is for me to roll you on the pavement there and then and fuck you in full view of the cameras.”

Heero barely held back a shiver of delight at the vision. “But this will die down eventually. There’ll be other news; other, more interesting personalities…” His voice tailed off and his eyes widened. “Duo, are you sketching me?”

Duo’s hand stilled on top of the pad. His heart beat suddenly faster. “That a problem?”

For a second, they stared at each other. Heero wasn’t sure how he felt. Duo’s work had always been interpretive, not a direct portrait. Or so he imagined. He’d often found Duo sketching, whilst they’d been staying at his house, sheltered from the outside world. It fascinated him; delighted him. He sat beside him as often as he could, watching the work – watching Duo. It didn’t seem to distract his lover, and it was a rich thrill for him.

“It’s just a study,” murmured Duo. He wanted to reassure Heero – though not as much as he felt the desire and the need to draw. His eyes flickered from Heero’s face and back down to the page, his hand moving swiftly but gently, the strokes covering the paper almost caressingly. “Just some thoughts of mine.” He felt foolish suddenly; he felt flushed. “No need to feel threatened.”

Heero stared. “I don’t. It’s just… an odd feeling.”

Duo’s concentration was still on his sketching, but he smiled. It wasn’t a grin – it was softer, as if it matched the caress of his pencil strokes. “Promise not to display anything of you in the gallery. You’d look pretty odd beside those clay models, anyway.”

“Why me?” asked Heero, abruptly. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words had burst out. He’d never thought of himself as part of Duo’s art. He was in Duo’s life, of course, although he felt that was something still new and surprisingly tender: it was to be gently nurtured. But the man’s creativity was something else - something contained within that wild, passionate person alone. Wasn’t it? He’d rarely seen any of Duo’s sketches finished, and to be honest, he didn’t always pay attention to the subject matter.

Duo looked at him, curiously. Did this man really doubt what he was to him? There were times in the middle of the night when he woke from his strange, confused dreams and was startled to find that Heero slept on. Heero had been in the dreams; Heero had been with him, holding him, comforting him, arguing with him. Laughing with him.

Just with him.

At those times, Duo’s only way of expressing himself was to draw.

He didn’t know whether he should be apologising. Did Heero think it was some kind of invasion of his personal space? Had he, Duo, been too intrusive, like those fucking paparazzi?

“I need it,” he said, the words sounding way too simple. “I need to capture you… here.” He gestured at the paper with one hand: his other hand wavered somewhere near his chest.

Heero still stared. He couldn’t believe that Duo would ever doubt he had Heero in entirety; both captivated and caught.

Duo heard his words continuing on, filling the space. “Like I haven’t had time to talk to you about what I want to draw in the future – what thoughts and dreams take over my hands.” He grimaced. Felt even more of a fool. “Not too good at talking about it, period. And we’ve spent way too much time fucking like rabid bunnies who are shit scared the opportunity might be snatched away at any moment. Y’know?”

“I know,” whispered Heero. His throat felt tight. “Not that I’m complaining.” He wondered how it would feel to sit in that chair himself – to have Duo strip naked and stand over him, straddling his hips and easing himself down on to his cock, thick and engorged and aching to bury itself deep inside his lover. Heero thought he might be developing office sex fantasies. He had a wild moment when he wondered about the height adjustment lever and how easy it was to lower the arms…

“Nope. Me neither.” Duo smiled again. His eyes followed Heero’s expression. His fingers spread carefully across the open page on his lap. “Pretty fine it is, I must say. Being a rabid bunny with you.” He knew he wanted to press Heero back on the desk, pull down those carefully pressed pants and suck Heero’s dick through his briefs. Never been more sure of anything: it made him shift uncomfortably on the chair. All those papers would go flying, skittering across the room, crumpling up under Heero’s clenched thighs. Duo wondered mischievously how many share prices would tumble if those documents were ripped and smudged with sweat. It’d be worth it. Heero would grip his hair, protesting; gasping; crying out as he got close to climax. He often did.

Duo couldn’t remember if he’d confessed his office sex fantasies to Heero in the dark of one night or another. He’d do that, as soon as they got back to bed – or maybe before. His hand started to sketch again, sweeping slowly across the white canvas.

“Not just the sex,” said Heero, breathlessly. He had needs, too. He needed to make it clear to Duo. “I need you, Duo Maxwell.”

Duo’s heart pumped enthusiastically: warmth filled him. His hand felt steadier, and his vision brighter. “You too, Heero Yuy. Maybe I need different ways to tell you. But you know what? I don’t need to read anything in the newspapers to know it for the truth.”

Heero grinned. So there was no problem, was there? He was excited to think that he was part of everything that Duo did – but it was Duo himself that he loved and wanted: appreciation of his talent came second. The feelings flowed through him as thickly as his own blood. He couldn’t take his eyes off Duo: everything else in life was filed far, far away.

Duo looked up at Heero and his eyes darkened. His breath caught in his chest and he gripped the side of the pad, desperate to portray something that had neither proper name nor physical form. “Yeah,” he murmured, softly, the excitement quickening through his veins. “That’s exactly the look I wanted.”

End