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"The Wedding Planner"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing or the characters, more's the pity. This is for fun...no profit involved. Warnings: AU, yaoi, some OOC, angst, potential lemon(s), sickening sappy fluff Pairings: to be announced, or it’d be too easy (but you know who I like) A/N: This idea hit me while I was driving somewhere, and I needed to start it before the inspiration faded. But it will take second place to Boot Camp and the sequel to Boot Camp, so I can’t promise regular or frequent updates. It’s probably totally predictable FLUFF, so you have been warned. And I’m trying out the world of first-person here, with point of view shifting between Heero and Duo (maybe others…not sure yet). Rating: NC 17 Summary: Heero isn't thrilled when Relena hires
someone to plan their wedding, but once he meets the young man, he's
downright unhappy. Duo Maxwell is friendly, good looking, and spending
way too much time with Relena...Heero's jealousy knows no bounds.
"The Wedding Planner" Chapter Nine: Imagining the Worst Heero’s Point of View As I pounded away at the punching bag in the hotel gym, I came to the conclusion I was in Hell. Trapped in seemingly endless business meetings half a world away from my home, I was tormented by visions of Duo Maxwell sweeping Relena off her feet before I got back. I know. Rationally speaking, it wasn’t going to happen. Relena was nothing if not practical, and frankly, she needed me. I was stability and security to her…a steady income and staunch partner, who would put up with her demanding job only because mine was no less time-consuming. We were well-matched in that respect. Even Wufei thought so. But some of his comments about Relena still nagged at me. Actually, I think it was the comments about me that nagged at me. He’d made me question the strength of my relationship with Relena…the very basis for our union. While he hadn’t stooped to reminding me that the last time we’d broken up had been over her fling with a young diplomat at one of the grand balls we’d attended, I knew it had been on his mind. He saw that as the root of my insecurity. And maybe he was right. If she’d never strayed over a romantic young charmer, would I still be bothered by Maxwell’s good looks? Maxwell. The arrogant little shit. I’m sure I’d have been bothered by him even if Relena had been oblivious to his teasing indigo eyes and sly smirks. He was a flirt. I had no doubt it stood him in good stead in whatever sleazy dive he selected his bedmates. But that behavior had no place in planning Relena’s wedding. He was unconventional, and for that I hated him. I wanted a nice, stuffy, formal woman planning the wedding…not a smooth-talking, teasing, charming bastard like Maxwell. Fuck, I was a jealous sonofabitch, wasn’t I? After all my denials, it was an ugly fact. I hid it well, with cool reserve and calculated glares; but the bottom line was, I was unsure of Relena, and my ability to hold her attention. And when someone like Maxwell, who practically defined the word “captivating” came along, I couldn’t help but feel threatened. My response to most threats was decisive, definitive action; hence my enlistment of Wufei’s aid. Actually, he’d volunteered, hadn’t he? He was more aware of my insecurity than I thought, and that made me uncomfortable. Even though he was my closest friend, I sometimes hated how easily he could read me. For that matter, Maxwell seemed able to read me as well. He knew his very presence was an affront, and he took every opportunity to lord it over me that Relena was determined to keep him around. I could tell my little digs at his masculinity got to him, and that knowledge provided some small satisfaction as I watched him flirt with my fiancée. His reaction to my taunts suggested a fair amount of insecurity on his part, too, and that was mildly rewarding. Maybe I should just have a man-to-man—or man-to-effeminate-wedding-planner—talk with him. I wondered if simply explaining which behaviors I found inappropriate would sway him in the least. Right. What was I thinking? He’d just be all the more smug knowing his tactics were drawing a reaction. Fuck him anyway, and his “connections,” like Silvia, and his boss, Winner.
Damn it all to Hell! I could swear the bastard was deliberately keeping her away from the estate…as if he knew I’d be trying to call her, and going crazy at my constant failure to connect. For some reason, her cell phone never seemed to be on, or she was constantly in an area with no service. But either way, even that mode of communication failed me. By Friday I was fit to be tied, pushing like a madman to get the job done so I could go home and reclaim what was mine. For all the good it did me. At the rate I was going, by the time I got back there, Relena would have forgotten who I was…she was so caught up in spending time with her precious wedding planner. Of course, that train of thought was clearly unhealthy. All I could picture was Relena with Maxwell, putting a companionable hand on his arm, snuggling up close to him in the back of the limo, sampling wine and wedding cake. I regained my senses and stopped seeing red about the time the stuffing began to leak out of the poor hotel-owned punching bag I’d been systematically destroying. Mentally berating myself for the loss of control, I picked up my towel off the bench and mopped the sweat from my face. Then I headed for the showers, and after that, the hotel bar.
“Master Yuy,” Walter said in some surprise as he opened the door for me. “What a pleasant surprise.” “We’ll see,” I ground out, tossing my briefcase onto the table by the door. “Where will I find Relena?” “She and Mister Maxwell are in the lounge, sir,” came the prompt response. “Shall I tell—?” “No!” I fixed a sharp gaze on him. “I’ll show myself there, Walter. Thank you.” I was rather proud of the cool, collected tone of voice I used. I was even more proud of my silent tread as I stalked down the long hallway to the lounge, pulling open the matched mahogany doors rather abruptly, and scanning the room with a critical gaze. In spite of all my visualizing and obsessing, the last thing I truly expected to see when I arrived home, was a braided lothario curled up on the couch with my fiancée. In all fairness, they weren’t “curled up.” But he had his jacket and tie off, thrown casually over the back of the couch, and his shoes were on the floor next to him, his feet on my favorite coffee table. He and Relena were watching some sort of wedding video, enjoying tea and cookies. They looked like a couple on a date, sitting close enough to be cozy, while maintaining a semblance of decency that didn’t fool me for a minute. “Relena!” My fiancée turned, eyes lighting up. “Heero, you’re early!” She leapt up from the couch and ran into my arms. I hugged her, glaring over her shoulder at the guilty-looking man leaning his chin on crossed arms on the back of the couch. He gave a rather forced smile. “Business trip over, Heero?” I wanted to tell him to call me Mister Yuy, but you know how well that went the first time. I settled for giving him a glare that promised divine retribution. “Just in time,” I suggested coolly. He raised an eyebrow at that, his gaze shifting to his discarded coat and shoes, as if assessing the apparent level of guilt. Then he looked back at me and smirked. “You can help us pick out the type of carriage you’d like,” he suggested, glancing over his shoulder at the video that was still running. “Another time,” I said firmly. “Right now, I’d like to spend some time with my fiancée.” I kept an arm firmly around her, facing him squarely. “I’m sure you know your way out.” Relena gave a small, dismayed gasp at my curt tone, but her “perfect” wedding planner merely smiled indulgently at her, and shrugged, as if he wasn’t the least bit offended. “I’ll see you day after tomorrow, Relena,” he said, his tone soft—almost intimate. I wanted to wring his neck. Instead I watched him gather his jacket and tie, slip his feet back into his shoes, and down the remainder of his cup of tea in a quick gulp. Then he headed towards us, pausing to meet my gaze with a defiant one. “Welcome home, Heero.” His tone was faintly mocking, the sneer that didn’t reach his lips evident in his eyes. I was actually trembling with anger as he brushed past me and walked out. “Heero!” Relena scolded immediately. “You were rude!” “What, exactly, were you two doing?” I asked. “We were watching videos of horse-drawn carriages,” she said, pulling back slightly and looking up at me with narrowed eyes. “Are you implying there was something—improper—going on here?” I should have seen the warning flash in her eyes, but I missed it completely. “Was there?” Too late I realized my error, as Relena pulled away, glaring furiously at me. “He was a perfect gentleman, Heero…unlike you!” She turned away, stomping out of the room, leaving me with the feeling I’d just committed an unforgivable crime. Since when was being a little protective of your fiancée a mortal sin? I looked towards the doorway Maxwell had walked out of, muttering a curse. This was all his fault. It was bad enough that every time I’d called while I was away, Relena seemed to be “out” somewhere with her beloved wedding planner; but to come home and find them looking so—cozy! It made my blood boil. And I desperately wanted to throttle something. Make that someone. Knowing there was no point in even trying to smooth things over with Relena that night, I pulled off my coat, tossing it on the couch so recently vacated by my fiancé and her pal. Then I headed down the hall to the exercise room, figuring if I couldn’t punch an irritating wedding planner, I’d settle for a punching bag. That poor, ragged punching bag had seen me through many a tantrum. I’d even given it a nickname, as stupid as that sounds. Zero had been on the receiving end of my temper so many times, it was a wonder it held together. There was still a shabby patch over the hole I’d caused the first time Relena and I broke up. I’d caught her kissing some prince at an international gala and had punched him into the next week. She was furious with me, insisting it had been a misunderstanding, and accusing me of being an over-reactive, jealous idiot. And before you point it out, yes, I could see the similarities between that situation and this one. While she and Maxwell hadn’t been kissing, there had been a certain air of intimacy over the scene that disturbed me just as deeply as if they had been. And let me say, I’m rather proud of taking out my hostility on the punching bag instead of the wedding planner. After leaving poor Zero a little the worse for wear,
I had a late snack in the kitchen and went to my room, knowing Relena’s
door would be locked as she sulked over my perceived misbehavior.
And honestly, I was in no mood for the verbal sparring I knew it would
take to settle her down. That could wait until I had a decent night’s
sleep, assuming I was actually able to sleep without nightmares of
a certain gorgeous wedding planner running through my head. Fat chance.
tbc... |
