Story:           Bright-eyed and Hopeful

Author:         FancyFigures (

Disclaimer:     I don’t own ‘em, wish I did, just enjoy writing about ‘em for free etc

Pairings:        1x2

Category:      Fluff, more fluff

Warnings:      Yaoi, lime

Spoilers:        None

Notes:          Be careful what you wish for… you may receive it!

Happy (early) Christmas, jo!

Feedback:     If you liked it, PLEASE let me know!



There was a loud thump and a strangled curse from the hearth.  Small clouds of dust and wood chips sprayed on to the carpet.  There was the glint of eyes in the dim, Christmas tree bulb-light, from a figure that materialized quite suddenly in the fireplace.


“Every fucking time that catches me out,” came the bad-tempered growl.  A rounded figure scrambled to its feet, rubbing at a twisted knee, brushing the sticky thread of cobweb off a long white beard.  “Time she sent that set of tongs to the Thrift store – and is that damned poker left at that angle deliberately?  If I have to spend another New Year with my ass in a bucket of ice…”


There were more grumblings as the figure hauled the large sack off his back.  It was wriggling, which was worrying in itself.  He loosened the cord at the top, and tugged it open.  Then he stood back and clapped his hands.


More curses followed – he almost hadn’t stood back far enough.  Like one of those frighteningly efficient collapsible tents, a huge double bed sprang out into the living room.  Its legs thudded against the TV – the bedding settled with a protest of puffing feathers and freshly washed cotton.


“Damned ducks…” came a muttered grumble, as a feather vanished into the thick white hair, unlikely to be found until another Christmas or two had passed.  “Look damned good on the table, with roast potatoes and parsnips –“he sneezed, as another wisp went up his nose, and a flurry of soot scattered across the shrinking sack.  He clapped again.


The cord at the mouth of the sack stretched open and two young men were revealed.  The first one was in rather fashionably cut blue flannelette pyjamas, with a silk embroidered monogram on the left breast pocket.  His feet were bare – he ran his hand through thick, chocolate-brown hair.  He scrambled to his feet, scowling at the bed, as the corner of the mattress caught at his kidneys.


“This is only an apartment, not a furniture showroom!” he complained.  “You think she’s going to be happy with a huge bed in her living room?”  He turned to the other man at his feet, also scrambling for purchase on the small part of flooring still left for them to manoeuvre in.  “For God’s sake, Duo, keep your elbows in, I said –“


The other young man was dressed only in loose, low-slung sweat pants.  They looked rather debonair on his slim, athletic hips.  He tugged the end of a long chestnut-coloured braid out from between a Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Disk boxed set and a fully working Power Rangers Megazord (with realistic laser sounds), and stretched his cramped body out.  “Damned uncomfortable in there, boss!  When you gonna fork out some cash for the Deluxe Multi-Use Expandable version?”


“Shut up with your wailing,” came the snappy reply from their red-suited transport manager, the voice a little muffled from a mouthful of sticky chicken wings.  There’d been a plate of them on the hearth – the plate was now empty; it may even have been licked clean.  There were suspicious flecks of sauce on the pure white beard, but the owner could care less.


As the young men watched him, he scooped up a handful of change from a pot on the occasional table, and slid it swiftly into his voluminous pocket.  “Just about enough for a couple of beers in the Social Club,” he grumbled.  “Gonna have to beg an advance off Rudolf again.  Like he’s been Lord Bountiful since his ticket came up on the Lottery…”


The boys looked around the room and then turned to each other, having appraised their new home for the holidays.  Duo looked down at his lack of clothing, running a finger thoughtfully over a bare brown nipple.  For a minute, he looked rather resentful.  “So how come you get to be properly clothed, Heero?”


“She loves my hair,” his companion smirked back.  “And my eyes.  Like I should have to rely on the blatant, outrageous sexuality of a bare torso –“


“Stood me in good stead in many a fic,” grumbled Duo.  “Can’t remember you complaining, either…”  He caught Heero’s flickering glance at his nipple, and tweaked it deliberately.  His companion moaned gently.


The man in the black boots gave a delighted little cry behind them.  He scooped up a small package, read his name on the label, and snorted with pleasure.  “She always knows just what I like best!” he crowed, ripping off the paper with the naïve enthusiasm of one of his staff of elves.


He snapped the CD into his portable player, and wriggled the earpiece in between two large ears and more fuzzy white hair.  A beatific smile crept over his face, and he started to sway gently on his large, flat feet.  A loud, toneless voice began to croon from under the curling moustache, accompanying the ‘tshht, tshht’ of a heavy, muted pop beat  “Could it be magic, oh!  Oh!...  Come and hold on faaaast…”


The two boys looked at the singer, then back at each other.  Eyes rolled.


“Any chicken wings left?” asked Duo, hopefully.


“Nope,” sighed Heero.  He stroked at a trail of sweat running down the other boy’s bare chest, and his blue eyes were never more bright.  They flickered between the smooth flesh in front of him and the bed behind.  “You want to try for some other kind of nourishment instead?”


Duo grinned.  He stared hungrily at the bed as well.  “She might not like us making ourselves that much at home…” he said, cautiously.


“She’s broad minded…” said Heero, determinedly.  “She likes us.  Else she’d never have requested us, would she?”  He sank gently to his beflannelled knees, and slid a hand into the waistband of his companion’s sweat pants.  Duo sighed with pleasure, both immediate and anticipatory.  He sank back to a sitting position, the huge bed creaking comfortingly under him.


The third, far more portly man looked over at the pair of them, watching with aimless interest as Duo leant his weight back against the pillows with one hand, and rested the other on Heero’s dark, bobbing head.


“At the Copa – Copa Cabana –“ the red-suited man mumbled happily.  He picked a thread of chicken from between his back teeth, and picked up the sack again.


“Look what I found under the pillow!” smirked Duo, sliding a tube of something that most certainly wasn’t Christmas Cake icing across the bedspread.  From the writing on the side, it seemed it was for easing the way in the most personal of activities.  What every Christmas stocking should include, indeed.


“And look what I found,” Heero smirked even more wickedly, his hand having found a pair of fur-lined, holly-patterned handcuffs barely hidden under the valance sheet.


“No!” said Duo, warningly.  “It’s nearly dawn – she gets up with the lark, ever since they let her home from work early –“


“But yes!” said Heero, and all three men started at the sharp sound of the cuff snapping shut on Duo’s wrist and the bed post.  Heero crawled up on the bed, one of the buttons of his flannel pyjama jacket popping off in his haste.  Duo groaned; though it didn’t sound like distress.


The red-suited man checked the large, novelty Deathscythe watch on his wrist, and made a noise of irritation.  “Time to go, boys,” he said.


“For you, that is…” moaned Duo, wrapping a long slim leg round the other young man’s waist.  He had little attention left for anyone else.  “You mind the telecoms cables on the roof, now…”


Heero couldn’t answer coherently.  His mouth was occupied on festive fare of a more delicious kind.  Pocky, it wasn’t.


There was the creaking of a floorboard in another room, as if the owner of the apartment might be stirring.  No-one paid much notice.


“Of course -” grinned the plump postman, “perhaps she’ll appear any minute and catch you going at it like horny reindeer!” 


He braced himself, clapped his hands, and vanished like the ripple of a cheap TV flashback.  The chimney shook in protest, the poker fell with a rattling clatter to the floor.  There was nothing left in the living room except the bed, the boys and breath that was both harsh and ecstatic.


A chuckling voice echoed back down the chimney into the fireplace.  “But then, I always know what she likes best, too!” he chortled.