Story: DRESSING DOWN
Author: FancyFigures (email@example.com)
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, wish I did, just enjoy writing about ‘em for free etc
Warnings: Yaoi, lemon
Notes: It’s important that everyone joins in the spirit of Quatre’s party. Everyone.
Feedback: If you liked it, PLEASE let me know!
Written for infini_t’s request for Heero doing a very OOC thing…whilst still retaining his very Heero-ness!
Quatre threw open the door with a cry of welcome, and a flourish of his shepherd’s crook.
Duo stared. “Shit, what did you come as, Quat? Bo Peep?”
Quatre graced him with his most imperious glare, and swept his highly decorated cloak over one shoulder. “I am an archbishop, Duo! Can’t you tell?”
Duo shook his head, despairingly. “I thought you said ‘Vicars’, Quat, not an endless choice of whatever member of church hierarchy takes your fancy.”
“It’s my party,” glowered Quatre, already a little the worse for punch, “so I’ll wear whatever damned denomination I choose!”
“Right!” laughed Duo, moving into the hallway, his companion close behind him. “And excommunication becomes you, too!“
Trowa appeared behind the blond man’s shoulder, and smiled at Duo. “Had a little trouble turning him away from impersonating God Almighty,” he grinned, “so an archbishop is considerably more modest.”
“I see you made the supreme effort, Duo,” snapped Quatre, running his eyes up and down his friend’s black suit, and traditional white collar. “It’s a fancy dress party, not a day at the office.”
Duo shrugged. “I’m going for the subtle implication, Quat, not the full ordination.”
They glared at each other – then they grinned. Different characters, indeed – but still friends.
“Anyway,” murmured Trowa, “I know which member of church hierarchy takes my fancy…” His head dipped to rest at Quatre’s neck; his hand brushed Quatre’s brocaded hip.
“Good evening, young lovers,” said Duo, conversationally, handing his coat over to the waiting manservant. The man with him, did the same. The manservant stared, and began blinking, rather rapidly.
“You just watch when I have to kiss his ring,” smirked Trowa.
“I’ll take a rain check,” sighed Duo. “By the way, I like your costume, Trow – you look good in a cowl.”
Quatre looked round at his lover, and flushed. He seemed to agree.
Duo moved on into the lounge, waving at some friends, looking for a drink. There were good-natured calls from others, most of them wearing clerical white collars, and drab dark suits.
Behind Duo, still in the hallway, Quatre gave a sharp cry. Trowa also gasped.
Behind Duo, the man who had accompanied him into the house, was now in full view.
Heero Yuy stepped forward, into the lounge.
It had been a tricky two minutes – just about enough time for every pair of eyes to have swiveled towards the door, gawped and widened even further.
But then the voices had risen again, the hubbub of people enjoying themselves in the sumptuous luxury of a Winner party.
Quatre himself still stood beside the latest guests, eyes very wide. “Heero…”
“What?” said Heero, calmly. He turned deliberately, to meet his host’s shocked gaze. “It’s extraordinarily rude to stare like that, Winner.”
Duo touched his shoulder; he smirked. “He wants to convert you, Heero,” he said.
“I don’t see that happening,” groaned Quatre.
“So he wants the name of your dressmaker,” shrugged Duo. “You wanna drink?”
Heero turned to his lover, and smiled.
Duo’s gaze ran up and down the dark haired man’s body, and his pupils dilated. He met Heero’s answering look; they exchanged the amusement in their eyes.
“I told you the scarlet was too last season, Heero,” came Duo’s laughing voice. “Seems the basque in black is back! You wanna go home and change again?”
There were plenty of guests at the party. And plenty that had chosen the other theme of the evening.
Wufei appeared at Quatre’s shoulder, adjusting the mitre on his host’s blond head, which had slipped with the shock.
“Too many Vicars,” he complained. “Not enough Tarts. You did put both on the invitations, Quatre?”
“I did,” said the blond, faintly. “But I guess I know more men than girls…”
“Guess you should watch your political correctness,” smirked Wufei. “For that’s most definitely a man over there, in that satin basque and black stockings.”
“Well, Wufei, that’s…”
But Wufei had realised, with no time for the news to be broken gently. His exclamation was in perfect, yet hideously coarse, Chinese. His eyes, like everyone else’s, gawped and widened. “That’s Heero! Mother of all Loose Women, it’s Heero Yuy!”
Relena and Hilde propped up the wall, clutching their glasses of punch, and bitched.
“He looks damned good,” muttered Relena. “Knows when to keep heels below 3 inches. And let’s face it, ankle straps are so thickening.”
Hilde stared, as if she wanted to memorise every detail. “Has he waxed his legs?”
“Never mind them,” snapped Relena, “I so wish I hadn’t done pink! This leather mini skirt is making my buttocks sweaty. And my legs are like matchsticks in these stockings.”
Hilde shifted awkwardly in her fur-trimmed babydoll nightie. “He has stockings, too. They look like silk. And that looks like –“
Just at that moment, Heero turned to place an arm on Duo’s shoulder, and whisper something into his ear. He had his back to the girls.
“A thong!” the girls chorused.
They stared at Heero, then at each other.
“Do you think he waxes -?” Hilde began to say, but her nerve failed.
They were both a bit flushed.
Trowa couldn’t take his eyes off the black silk lacing up the front of the scarlet basque. Heero’s hair was a little messed; the bangs tickled at the corners of his deep, dark eyes. There was the slightest sheen of sweat on his throat. He held a drink in each hand, one each for him and Duo, and he stood amazingly confidently in black heeled pumps.
Trowa cleared a throat that had become very tight.
“Why did you - ah – choose this costume, Heero? You could have come as a Vicar, too.”
Heero’s eyes sparkled, rather dangerously. “And you could have come as a Tart, Trowa.”
“I – could,” said Trowa, weakly. “But - I didn’t.” Was Heero smirking at him? Not for the first time, he wondered how heavy-handed Quatre had been with the punch.
“Is there a problem, Trowa?”
“No. Of course not.”
Heero seemed to take pity on his friend’s discomfiture. “I thought it would be a laugh, you see. In the spirit of the occasion. We’re all amongst friends here, aren’t we?”
“A laugh…” repeated Trowa.
“Yes,” said Heero, almost kindly. “That’s the purpose of fancy dress, isn’t it?”
He looked briefly around the room, to check up on all of those friends, and he smiled to himself. He wondered for how long he could enjoy the look of strangled shock on Wufei’s face; the unadulterated envy on the faces of their girl friends. He wondered how long he should torment the look of unbidden lust on Trowa’s.
Duo had been right – it was, indeed, a laugh. He wasn’t sure when he’d last had such fun.
Trowa’s lips still ghosted out the words. “But – why -?”
Heero sighed. “Bravery’s not just about battle, Trowa. Not just for the times of weapons and war. There are other kinds of mission, eh? Other times to try something different; to play a different – and exciting - role.”
His head suddenly twisted, pressing gently back against a hand that had slipped around his neck, caressing the skin. Duo stood behind him; their touches were only for each other. Heero smiled one last time at Trowa’s look of struggling incomprehension. “And, of course – Duo asked me to.”
He turned properly, to press against his lover’s body. They drew into the shadows; their mouths formed words that transmuted into moist touches; Duo’s hand teased at the black silk laces.
Trowa went – swiftly - to find Quatre.
Relena’s ribbon had come undone. Hilde had spilt punch down her babydoll nightie. Neither had found the novelty of dancing with ‘clergymen’ particularly inspiring.
The clergymen had enjoyed the novelty of dancing with the Tarts, but that was another story.
No-one had danced with Heero except Duo. There appeared to be an exclusion zone around them. They clung to each other throughout the evening, and didn’t seem to notice the dropped jaws around them.
Someone had sat on Quatre’s mitre, and he’d drunk far too much punch, and now he huddled, snoring, deep in an armchair. Trowa had shed his cowl a long time ago, and sat in shorts and a tee shirt. Wufei was still clothed as a Buddhist priest, but then, that was his usual party gear, so no-one noticed.
The party was stumbling to its end. Everyone would say, later, that they’d had a brilliant time.
In town, the sale of scarlet basques would take an unexpected turn for the better.
A manservant had come to the door of the third bedroom on the fourth floor, heard some breathy, wet noises, and had wisely decided to leave well alone. There was plenty of work to do elsewhere, mopping up spilt punch, folding drunken young men into taxis, and handing tissues to overexcited young ladies. There were only two coats left in there, anyway.
There was semi-darkness in the room - some stifled laughter under the remaining coats.
“Shit, Heero, how are you meant to get these things off?”
There was an exasperated sigh, and a head and then a body emerged from the under the pile of outerwear. In the dim light of the moonlight through the window, the figure of Heero Yuy stood up on the bed, holding his balance with care. He reached a hand to his torso, and tugged gently at an end of sweaty, silky ribbon. There was a gentle, teasing creak from the bones of the basque, as it slipped open.
“So show me!” came a throaty chuckle. Duo’s head appeared as well, as he pulled himself out of the mess, and sat up against the headboard. He seemed to have taken off his shirt as well as his jacket. “Show me how it all comes off, Heero.”
There was a sharp snap, and the shadow of a garter belt flapping out against his tight thigh. Another snap, and another slim piece of laced elastic swung loose.
Duo drew in a harsh breath.
Heero’s silhouette bent at the waist, and his hands started to roll something down his leg. There was the whisper of sheer silk – the shine of sweat on his muscled legs, as they were slowly uncovered.
“Fuck,” said Duo, in some awe. “When you take on a mission, you really live the role, don’t you? I never thought you’d be so perfect in the part –“
“Hush,” said Heero, throatily. “Go back to the ‘fuck’. And let’s take it from there.”
Duo sighed with immense satisfaction. “You are such a Tart, Yuy!”
“So leave the money on the table,” murmured Heero, as he dropped to his knees, and slid slowly down to nestle between Duo’s legs. “That’s if you can afford me.”
Duo’s laugh was deep and rich. “Aren’t I supposed to be a Vicar, Heero? Is this appropriate behaviour for a man of the cloth?”
”It will be,” came the thick, impatient reply. “You’re about to be well and truly unfrocked…”