STRANGE THOUGHTS

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Author: Shy Apocalypse

Series: Gundam Wing

Pairings: Just a spastic kind of 5+2. Might evolve…mebbe.

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: I do not own Wufei…(Ignores the screaming, red faced boy tied to a corner of her bed)…and I do not own Duo….(Who is currently molesting the boy tied to the corner of the bed, while not putting up much of a fuss)…so I really don’t own anything. Honest, loves.

Warnings: Self gratification, lemon, strange thoughts, Wufei thoughts, therefore, weird thoughts. u.u;;; Yeppers. Plus Duo being kind of a bastard. Yay! n.n;;;

Summary: Sliminess can sometimes be a good thing! n.n;;; This little one-shot gives intimate details of what Wufei actually does when he goes off to ‘worship Nataku’. I don’t even know if this is legal. NC-17, some yaoi thoughts, some spying involved. Heh. Enjoy, munchkins of doom! This is really &ed up, right here, dude.

Dedicated: To Dave, the one with calluses on his hands. Blushes Also to 2x5x2, who have been really patient with me…thank you so, so much.

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“Injustice! Onna, this injustice is not to be borne! It is unjust! You’ve been into the coffee again, you vile woman! No! I shall not!”

‘Wufei, after I told him what he would be doing during this fic’

Shall, buddy, and willingly to boot.

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12:34 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Wufei was happy.

Thoughts of puppies, dandelions and fuzzy white rabbits danced through his mind, and he destroyed those who had Trieze’s face on their gambling little bodies. Even the dandelions. Wufei, while fighting a good fight for a very good cause, was slightly unbalanced concerning the matter of the general of OZ.

Just as he was teaching a ferret to fly, a rumbling explosion shook the house, and he gritted his teeth. Unnecessary to determine what the cause was.

Only one thing made things go boom in the thing.

Maxwell.

In Wufei’s mind the skies turned dark, the dandelions drooped, puppies died from exposure and every rabbit was suddenly torn asunder, bits of fur and carcass flying everywhere. Nothing gambled. Trieze’s head smirked, however, and collected drops of dooming rain on its slimy tongue. The ferret plunged into the ocean, never to be heard from again.

“Hey Wuffers! Whoa, didn’t mean for that to happen, do you think Q-balls gonna be mad I made his wall all crumbly, wonder what he’s cooking for dinner, I want a really juicy hamburger, hey, have you ever wondered how hamburgers got juicy, I saw a cow once, and while it looked tasty it didn’t look juicy, I wonder if we have any of the apple preserve juice left, that stuff was freakin’ tasty man, maybe I could put some apple on my hamburger, I don’t like cooked apple that much though Quatre makes a mean strudel” Giant gasp for breath “Strudel’s good, but the Dutch are freakin’ weird, have you seen them in their weird green outfits, and their giant windmills, they can smoke dope legally, hey, I wonder if cows smoke dope, maybe that’s how they get juicy, I felt juicy the one time I tried it, got the munchies real bad too, maybe that’s why I want a hamburger, they say it stays in your system, for like forever…”

Wufei wondered. Was it possible to kill someone with a thought?

He gave it the good old college try, just in case.

“Anyway, what are you doing, why are your legs like that, oh, you’re meditating, never saw the good in that, made my back all crinkly, like cellophane, have you ever wiped your nose with cellophane, feels really weird, hey, I made a window once with cellophane in it, made the whole world turn blue, have you ever seen a blue moon, maybe you see one when you meditate, that would be cool, how can your legs stay like that, doesn’t it hurt after a while, hey, you’re twitching, is that normal when you’re meditating, jeez your face’s all red, you thinking about dirty things again, man, my throat is dry, wonder if I can get Heero to drink alcohol, sure would be funny seeing him pissed like a parrot, I met this parrot once, it puked crackers everywhere and told me to fuck off, why are you nodding, you agree with the parrot or something?”

Damn.

Didn’t work.

How much more of this could he take?

12:39 pm, Tuesday afternoon

After leaving Maxwell laying on the ground, winded due to the punch he received in his stupid gut, Wufei stormed out to the hanger.

Heero took one look at him, and wisely didn’t say anything. Just whistled innocently, attention apparently focused on his laptop, though Wufei could swear he was sending cautious glances his way, from widened prussian eyes. Damn Heero. Damn his annoying laptop.

Wufei glared a little harder, just to make sure he wouldn’t be followed.

Heero blanched, hand going instinctively for his gun, and his left eye twitched as he stared at the laptops screen. Wufei nodded in satisfaction. The man knew his place in the order of the world.

Life was looking a little brighter.

“W-uuuuuuuuuuu-f-f-f-ferrrrrrs!”

Wufei had a little argument with his ‘fight or flee’ reflex. Most of him, the sensible part, wanted him to flee like a wussy onna. A little part of him, the evil nasty part, told him to stay, maybe get another opportunity to punch the braided idiot.

Wufei was a sensible person. He ran away like a little girl, ponytail streaming behind him, a terrified look in his eyes. Heero melted away into the shadows, covering himself with a tarp as he watched. It was with horrified awe that he looked at Duo with, noticing the forlorn features, the small sniffle, and then that urgent cry again, breaking a simple two syllable name into a full orchestratical piece.

“!”

Heero shivered.

That cry was worse than staring down the barrel of a really big, really lethal air to surface missile launcher.

He hid himself a little better, and prayed for dark, and subduing dinner, to come.

12:51 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Wufei was under a lot of stress.

There was the whole war thing. Wufei didn’t really mind it so much. He got to avenge his family’s death, avenge that weird wife that had died…alright, for a worthy cause…and he got to look really cool while doing so. He was sure his ancestors would understand.

They had, after all, started most of the Cult Chinese martial arts film genre. Jackie Chan had apparently been a sort of black sheep to the family. He did not deserve the G, but he was credited anyway.

Wufei’s ancestors, after all, were unfaultable in their wisdom, and in their eternal gratitude for Shanghai Noon. They still got the profits, centuries after the legends death. Supposed legend. Wufei had never liked his fathers side of the family, anyway. At any rate, they understood coolness, and probably supported him in his quest to look perky and sweet for the cameras…Wufei didn’t like paranoia stress.

Big Brother watched, and bags under the eyes are sooo yesterday.

Stress. Stress is bad. Relaxation is good.

Wufei had experienced many kinds of stress in his short, but troubled life. Birth stress. Childhood stress. School stress. Exam stress. Master – Grasshopper routine stress. Forced marriage stress. Grief stress. Piloting stress. Keeping Gundam Clean and Sparkly stress. Evil Trieze Bastard stress. Constipation stress, after the toothpaste incident. Then there was that special kind of stress, the one that invaded every fibre of his being, leaving him unhinged and unravelling in the tentative strings reality held over this beautiful, if horrifying dimension.

Maxwell stress. Evil, it was, an evil plot.

Evil, evil, evil.

Wufei, you can understand, did not like stress.

Then there was the last kind of stress, the most permeable and evil, even more evil….er, than Maxwell stress.

Sexual stress. Tension. Strain. You name it, Wufei was feeling it, as well as a near permanent case of blue balls that would make a hippy from the 1960’s pick up an AK-47 and start shooting at deer and trees, and blow peace signs up with a little gasoline and fertiliser (Chemical, not natural, of course). Hippies hated sexual tension. That was one thing Wufei and hippies had in common. That, and they both had long hair, and hated evil tyrannical world leading figures with a vengeance.

Wufei did not despise the thought of hippies, but found them mildly unpleasant none the less.

Maxwell could be a hippy.

Sexual stress and Maxwell stress belonged in the same family. Wufei couldn’t say if it was because both ruined his life so very easily, or if the braided idiot somehow stirred his sexual stress to a level of stressdom not often seen outside of ice cream trucks and death row sentencing.

Wufei didn’t like where that thought led. Duo and sex…they do not go well together. Nope. And dreams didn’t count, God damn it! His subconscious was evil. What was he thinking about? Oh yes, evil plots. Maxwell was an evil plot. Sent to him to test him, because everybody knows that God is a sadistic little fucker who likes to watch his true, proud and devoted followers suffer, like little ants under the laser flare from a magnifying glass.

Sexual stress. Sexual. Sex.

Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex….

It was an evil plot.

“!”

An evil, Maxwell induced, sexual romp frenzy plot.

Wufei escaped into his Gundams cockpit. Heh. Cock.

Heh, heh, heh, heh….

1:09 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Duo, to put it mildly, was a little pissed.

He had been searching for the oil slicked black haired Chinese son of a bitch for a half an hour now, with no sign of grumpy face or death threats. It was like 05 had disappeared, not even leaving a trail of glowered at victims in his wake, trembling in the aftermath of heated obsidian eyes and katana drawing. He thought he had seen Heero hiding, but then again Heero had been acting strange since the three week mission with Relena a month ago.

He twitched at loud, screeching noises, and walked with his ass to the wall at all times.

Duo reckoned the high and mighty Perfect Soldier had been groped. Served the little bastard right. Stealing from his poor Deathscythe…a friend’s a friend, sure, he loved 01, but really…Shinigami ain’t forgiving no shit head for stealin’. Duo didn’t care whether ‘best friends’ was a part of the deal or not.

Quatre was pissed at him already, for burning down the horse stable last week. Wasn’t really his fault…that flamethrower had begged him, sitting there so innocently. It had whispered sweet nothings in his ear, how bored it was, how lonely…hold my nozzle, big guy, and spray the place down with my juicy, sweet liquids.

Quatre now thought he was sexually involved with weapons. Trowa…who knew what he thought? The green eyed bastard had smirked, though.

Bastard. Dastardly bastards.

Damn it, where the fuck is Wuffers?

1:10 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Safe. The thought echoed within the confines of Wufei’s hormone soaked mind, and he slumped in the command chair, filled with a liberating feeling of relief.

There was no way Maxwell would dare search for him here.

He didn’t know why the braided dick head annoyed him so much. Wufei considered all the pilots to be…friends…even the pest, but…he didn’t know why he was so…infuriating. Maybe all Americans had the ability to ferret into a mans mind, digging into his sacred beliefs and thoughts, invading them with non-stop talking and hints of impossible sexual and drug related escapades most porn stars would be proud to site as their own.

Which brought him back to the matter of sex.

Wufei was damn near saintly, in his own mind. He was still a virgin…he might not have been, if Meiran, the weird wife, had gotten her own way…and he exhibited such iron self control he masturbated rarely. Maybe once a month.

Wufei was not repressed. He was saintly, God damn it.

Just because nearly every waking second of his life…as well as every single second of sleepy teddy bear holding time…was filled with sex, and thoughts of thrusting, and…other things…didn't mean his control was wavering. Not one bit. Uh-uh, not him, he was saintly. At least, that’s what he told himself to get through the lonely seconds.

Damn it, where the fuck is the lotion?

1:15 and 17 seconds, pm, Tuesday afternoon

Unnoticed by all, the red light sat. It sat on the mat. It sat and got fat, a curious thing, for a light can eat nothing at all. But it steadily grew bigger, redder, fatter, fatter than a cat on a mat wearing an Elton John hat, eating Porky Fatty Heart Death Pies. It wanted a pie. It being a light, though, could not eat the cholesterol ridden tasty treat. For that matter it could not want one, being a light. The situation was a conundrum.

It’s enemy, but secret friend, green light, was dead. Dead, lead, lying on the console. It died of loneliness, for while red was on it could not shine, and it pined for the shine that would lift the brine from its shoulders. Asleep or dead, the green light would have said, but it could not, being bits of plastic and wires. While it may be licked occasionally, it has no tongue of its own. Besides, it’s dead.

The two were secret friends, right to the end, but they could not stand to be around each other.

Green light came on. Red light went lifeless. They were both at home, being so alone, but they wished, secretly, that they could be together…

Red light died, green light cried, and camera smirked to itself.

1:15 and 32 seconds, pm, Tuesday afternoon

Duo would have patted himself on the back, if he could reach, and wasn’t sitting so comfortably in his chair. Deathscythe moaned and groaned around him, the ever increasing pressure from the forced plates of Gundanium grinding against each other making it sigh like a kinky little lover.

His fingers sped rapidly over the keys of the small keyboard, belying his sleepy expression and insufferable little grin. Wufei was in Nataku. Duo was in Deathscythe.

Duo had broken into Nataku, and installed state of the art security cameras.

Duo had to know.

Duo, if asked for his opinion on the matter, would not say this was a totally bad thing to do, nor was it insensitive to the other pilots privacy. If pressured, he would grumble that he was worried about his friend. If the entire truth was told, Duo would admit he’s an insensitive bastard who liked to watch his friend grumble, kick things, and generally be in an un-pleasant mood. You would have to steal his chocolate stash to wring that admission out of him, though.

Besides, he was masochistic, or near enough so. He kinda liked pain. When Wufei dealt the pain it was even better. If he hit him, Duo could do something back…even more horrendous and satisfying to his ego…

Because Duo liked nothing better than revenge.

Never mind that the pilot hadn’t done anything except punch him. No.

Duo Maxwell did not take well to being ignored.

1:16 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Wufei smirked. He did not happen to see the small camera lens near the ceiling, rotating silently as it watched his every move.

He had found the lotion.

1:16, and 03 seconds pm, Tuesday afternoon

Duo smirked. Wufei was lounging in Nataku, oblivious to his small little bug, twirling something around with agile fingers.

He had found the Wuffers.

1:16, and 11 seconds pm, Tuesday afternoon

Wufei sighed, debating….bating….heh, heh, heh…

Ahem.

Wufei was trying to clamp a lid down on his sexual desires and fancies. He had once been to a shop called Fancies, but as the owner had been a slightly neurotic nun with a foot fetish, he had not lingered for very long. He did however pick up a manual on manual stimulation, bought a three foot long dildo (Which he had promptly hid in Quatre’s bed, and waited for the fur to fly with manic grin fixed firmly in place; to his horror Quatre and Trowa had celebrated the discovery of Mr Ripper…with loud demonstrations and feats of flexibility that made Wufei’s spine just yelp) and a industrial sized container of lubricant.

For scientific purposes, of course. Wufei was the epitome of perkiness and saintliness, when he wasn’t exploding like a turtle with dynamite shoved up its ass.

He consulted his manual, for the purpose of…consulting the manual, with an odd little grin parked on his lips.

If the camera had eyebrows, and was being possessed by the spirit of one Shinigami, it would have raised those eyebrows. Well, just one.

Out of idle curiosity.

1:17 pm, Tuesday afternoon

To put it mildly, Duo was slightly disappointed.

So far there had been no fits of ranting, no kicking of walls to the detriment of the welfare of toes, which was nearly always proceeded whines of pain and misery, no grumbling about that ‘Demon of an American’, no prayers to god knows what, and no nose picking, which had happened one fateful day, and lasted for nearly 23 minutes. Nose spelunking at its extreme.

No, the bastard was just sitting there, reading an odd little black book, a slowly transforming grin alighted on his lips. Duo swung his legs, scratched the skin under his eye, and wriggled a few times before Wufei moved a little.

To turn a page.

Duo sighed exasperatedly, jiggling in his seat, the vibrations carrying on to Deathscythe, the machine trembling occasionally from the frenzied movement. Wouldn’t something interesting happen?

His jaw dropped. He was dead still. His eyes had a slightly astonished look about them, and his expression held something akin to great shock.

Wufei was taking his hair down.

1:18 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Wufei loved his ponytail, to be sure, because there was something faintly macho about being so decided about your sexuality that you can sport a hairstyle usually accompanying five year old girls and sluttish cheerleaders. But then again, Wufei hated women and all things considered, that was probably a good thing, in the long run. Besides, the bastard of a thing gave him a headache sometimes, and he kinda liked the feel of it brushing the middle of his back.

He pushed most of it behind his ears, a few locks framing his face, and leaned back, silent and still, as he contemplated his hands.

They were really rather ordinary, he decided after a while. Slender fingers, tapered fingertips, every bone in stark relief…he hazarded that to piloting and Maxwell throttling – things like that must burn a lot of calories in that area- and his daily regimen of fist squeezing due to frustration…a uniform tanned cream, carefully bitten off nails, a few scars here and there, and a nasty one across the fleshy part of his thumb.

Remarkable, that he could manipulate these beauties to give him the ultimate stress relief.

Full out smirking now, he slowly read the last part of the manual, making sure he would do this correctly. He really didn’t want to hurt himself, especially seeing some of the positions you had to be in to…uh…’reach’ things. That would be downright embarrassing.

With that, and a quirky little wink to the roof of his Gundam, for reasons even he couldn’t understand, he began undressing like the little hentai bastard he is.

His sainthood cried for its hosts lack of moral strength.

1:20 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Duo had never seen a more unexpected sight, in his entire life, nay, in his entire reincarnated lives.

He had watched an OZ recruit and a drill sergeant go at it like rabbits in the middle of a training yard, with Zechs watching and shaking his head, and Heero had remarked how they had both looked like Valotta Angina, an international porn star. He had watched turtles been blown up with dynamite. Hell, he had even seen Wufei talking to himself about ‘Evil Trieze Bastard Stress’ and the head that lived in his own, poking its tongue out.

He had never, ever, ever, ever imagined this happening.

Wufei was stretching sensually, raising his arms above his head, and his shirt lifted with it, exposing his dreamy, flat, toned stomach. His navel stretched also, going from oval to a gaping yawn of shadows, and he sighed as his ribs stood out in stark relief. His shirt practically slithered off of him, leaving him nearly lying in his chair, feet resting on a handy control panel. His shoes were missing.

They were later found with his socks, both of them eloping to Ethiopia to get married in a cheap ass Elvine Presidio wedding chapel, for 595 colonised credits.

Duo gulped as his pants closely followed his shirt, both of them giggling as much as clothing could.

He didn’t know Wufei went commando.

1:24 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Wufei was an optimistic sort of fellow. He vowed revenge on Trieze for his family, after all. How a fifteen year old slightly neurotic lad with the tendency to pray to strange fake deities ever hoped to accomplish such a feat, he did not know. But since he was optimistic, he always went without underwear, except the times when he liked the feel of black lace and sweat. Wufei blamed Alice Cooper for that one.

Besides, panty lines were so twentieth century.

If he had happened to switch on his communicator…which he did not, of course, he was far too busy looking fondly at the swollen flesh that rose to his hands like a dog to its master…he would have heard the astonished gasps and heartfelt swearing of one honestly confused and shocked Duo Maxwell. However, as he was mainly focused on seeing if he could prolong masturbation past two hours, he didn’t really have a chance to check.

If he had, he would have seen Green lights other friend, White light, sitting smugly on his communicator as it was connected to On light, in Deathscythe. He was broadcasting….but not receiving…

Pretty much the story of his sexual life, really.

“Ohhhhhhyeaaaahhh...”

Pretty much the story of all their lives, really. Nitty gritty, you understand.

1:25 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Cheeks burning, eyes twitching, and cock hardening, Duo Maxwell buried his face in his hands. He wouldn’t have called it hiding. The sight of what Wufei was nearly doing would be traumatic to anyone, let alone a guy who had envisioned the martial arts expert to be celibate until the ripe old age of forty...or until hell froze over; he wasn’t fussy about the options.

Let it be known, that yes, Duo thought masturbating was pure sex.

He wasn’t alone in this theory. Quatre had expressed doubts about the act of orgasm, and all that it implied, and considering he had large quantities of experience with both Trowa and three of the Maguanacs, the new recruits, he knew what he was talking about. In fact, right at that moment, he and Trowa were doing something that usually involves a circus contortionist, three penguins, and a bacon and cheese roll. Sadly, we will have to be content with the Blab-A-Lot Deathscythe Pilot, and Nataku’s trusty sidekick Justice Boy.

Justice Boy, when Duo took a peek at the monitor, had just started to touch things that are usually only held during the act of urination...and sometimes during dinner, but that is neither here nor there. His lips were parted, and glossy as his tongue ran over them once, twice, three times. His eyes were closed, his jaw relaxed. His thumb rubbed gently over his slit, swirling pearly drops of precious liquid over the quickly purpling engorged head.

Duo could only gape, and realised, yes, that Wufei Maxwell was masturbating. Not only was he masturbating, but he was doing it…gulp…erotically.

Wait.

Wufei Maxwell?

Turning a faint shade of green, Duo shielded his eyes as the tempo began to pick up speed. It wasn’t like he was turned on by it…or anything…

Nosirree, Catfish Bob.

Nosir-bloody-ree.

1:27 pm, Tuesday afternoon

While Duo was hyperventilating (And generally questioning his sanity, his sexual preferences and what he was going to have for a snack…obviously not in the same order), Wufei was having fun being a little hentai bunny. You know, the ones that have Hello plastered all over the place, with the remarkable astrological sign of Sanrio underneath it’s fluffy form.

Having enormous amounts of glossy, lube slicked fun.

Enormous amounts. Gigantic amounts. Yee-hah.

His legs spread comfortably, knees rising like wings as he forced his legs to be almost level with his waist, Wufei panted as he eagerly stroked one finger along the large vein on his pulsing, gel slicked cock. Cock. Wufei, being Wufei, started to bleed from his nose as he whispered the word over and over again.

“Cock…cock...cock, cock….”

While his clever mouth was engaged in daring linguistics usually found only inside a re-enactment of the Vagina Monologues, his clever little tanned hands were slowly massaging the skin around his aching member. Slow strokes, brushing lightly against the downy hairs….a gasp, as he found creases in his skin from the folds of his terribly uncomfortable pants…biting his lip, rolling his eyes, and generally looking like a Nun who has just had her first real experience with ‘God’.

God, obviously, comes with two double AA batteries and different vibration settings. All good little Christians know this. All bad little Christians know this, and love this.

The Buddhists are undecided on the matter.

As his hands caressed and teased his weeping…cock, my, such a word…and his hardening sac, Wufei’s whispers started to change form and frequency. His moaning got louder too, making him sound somewhat like a cheap porno star called Valotta Angina…a woman praised for her talent with footballs and banana jelly.

The whispers turned to pants. The pants were heaped on the floor. No, wait…

The whispers turned to moans. The moans repeated a couple of things, over and over again, causing even White light to blush as it carried over the airways.

“Oh god…Duo….Duo…”

True to form, Wufei did the last thing anyone expected. Or did he…? Or maybe, just maybe, he had seen a sparkle on the ceiling, had connected the devious images…and wallah…there’s Waldo.

And that’s precisely when Wufei got all creative with a tub of lube, his Gundam’s control shaft, and some well managed chair placing and retracting. Nobody could ever say the boy didn’t have a hell of an imagination…and a flexible lower body, to boot.

6:49 pm, Tuesday afternoon

Duo sat at the table. His hands were folded neatly on his knees, and his braid smelled nicely of jasmine as it hung, damp and shiny, down his back. He was slightly pale. His lips were white. His eyes rolled occasionally. He kinda looked like somebody who had ripped his own balls off just to see what it would feel like. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like it had felt all that good.

Wufei was actually in a happy mood, not even glaring as he carefully slid one noodle after another noodle down his throat. The spicy sauce excited him greatly.

No one knew this but Duo, who had gotten up close and personal with what Chang looks like when he’s really happy. Reeeaaaaalllllly happy, indeed. He shuddered, not even touching his own meal, sighing occasionally as Quatre gave Trowa a blow job under the table. Just a standard Tuesday night for them all. Duo felt the dull, bleeding ache of where his curiosity had been, before it had been ripped out of his heart by demon hands filled with tubes of lube, and a scorpion like hand that could reach places Duo hadn’t even heard of in anatomy class. He idly wondered about innocence, and eventually found that all innocence…was false. Well, duh.

“What did you do today, Wufei?” Heero asked quietly, pushing the mush he called dinner around on his plate, while slowly massaging his left butt cheek with his left hand. The look of pain on his face, was of course, unfeigned. Relena had obviously fallen in love with J for a brief period of time, and had her arm removed so that a bionic claw could be attached under her deceptively frail-looking hand. The bitch.

Wufei only shrugged, sliding another down his throat, before he murmured, “Praying to Nataku.”

Blood exploded from Duo’s nose as he fell across the table, onto Wufei’s lap, and he moaned faintly as his mind began to shut slowly down, not able to cope with the enormous gravity of the assumptions Wufei had just provoked in his mind. In other words, the wuss fainted.

Wufei just smirked, and thought of fluffy little bunnies. Sweet revenge was in their little gambling bodies, and in their little flurrying paws. Trieze wailed as a ferret slid down his throat, all ready to lay spider legs in his heart so that small babies could use them for another sauce of milk while growing slowly big enough to eat his liver, the ultimate form of Duo’s very most favourite thing. Revenge. Revenge.

Sweet ass-licking revenge.

Yes, Wufei was that flexible.

Quatre swallowed in happiness, blinked his eyes, and sighed.

Tuesdays…such wonderful days.