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[series: Fuzzies] 04 The Mechanics Of Kissing
[ Warm Fuzzies And Logic - 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 ]

04 The Mechanics Of Kissing

Pairing/Characters: Trowa & Duo; minor roles for Sally, Wuffles, and some OC mechanics; mention of Quatre, Howie, Zechs, and Heero.
Rating & Warnings: R for informal/offensive language and enthusiastic cussing.
Notes: Happy end to the Fuzzies-series.

Summary: Friday. Trowa slowly overcomes his hangover, after nearly a week's worth of mornings-after.



"Off the record, Trowa," Sally said, stacking some files and shoving them into a folder that had his name on it, "just go for it."

He stood up. "Go for what?"

He regretted the question immediately. She looked up at him, cocked her head and watched him as he felt his face being decorated with a light blush.

"You've caught on, I see, so I won't chew it out. As your sergeant, I ordered you to eliminate the distractions that keep you from doing your job; as your friend, I am telling you to go for it."

Uncomfortably hot in his uniform, Trowa repressed the urge to raise his hand and fiddle around with his shirt collar.

"Will that be all, Sir?"

The woman laughed and gestured to the door.

"You're hopeless. Get out already."




Back in his office, Trowa took out his frustration on a stack of files. He had been preparing the past two months for a deep infiltration mission that would start next Thursday, but the sergeant now deemed him unfit to undergo the mission. He jammed the whole stack in the paper shredder next to his desk.

He agreed with Sally, of course; he had been distracted a lot the past days and today his negligence had nearly made a muck of a simple security mission. He had received his reprimand and would take his disciplinary fourteen day unpaid leave as soon as he finished tidying his desk.

What was so damned frustrating was how his gossiping colleagues had made it impossible for him to just forget about last Saturday's party; they had all witnessed that blue-collar guy with the long braid smacking him into a wall and kissing him on the lips. The office hallways were his circus stage; Trowa was sure he could not have been showered with more attention if it had been the Bearded Lady who had snogged him.

The paper shredder sputtered and stopped with a loud grinding sound, not even halfway through the stack. Trowa tried to tear the paper out, cursing and kicking the machine, but it was jammed.


"Barton, what are you doing?"


With both his hands tearing at the stack of paper and using one foot to push against the shredder to get more weight behind his pull, Trowa turned his head to look at the man standing in his doorway.


"Don't tell me you put that in all at once," Wu Fei said, walking up to him quickly. "Only the new guys are such idiots!"


He pulled the machine's plug out of the socket to cut the power and let out a deep sigh. He looked at Trowa with a dark frown.


"Don't take this as a compliment, Barton, but I honestly thought you were past the Idiot-stage."


Trowa snorted and let go off the paper, cutting the soft skin at the base of his left thumb in the process.


"You thought wrong," he said, his face contorting as he looked at the paper cut. Damn, that stung.

"If you are done damaging yourself and office equipment, could you help me—"

"—Sure, if it can wait two weeks."


Not understanding, Wu Fei stared at him and shook his head.


"I've been ordered to leave the premises. You remember this morning? You had to jump in and correct that mistake I made?" Trowa winced and sucked at his now bloody hand. "Fwowwy, Fjhang, feemf ah hreawy ammang iggiok."


One glance at the red stamp on the paper stuck in the shredder seemed to put the pieces of the puzzle together for Wu Fei. 'Strictly Confidential'. He nodded faintly.


"Okay, I see. Just go. I will make sure the files are destroyed and the machine gets fixed."




He sat down on a bench in the park, only one block away from the Preventers building. The walk had seemed much longer, the distance covered with the heavy feet of failure. Trowa considered having a late lunch at the Subway, but found he was not all that hungry; besides, his clumsiness had cost him two weeks' salary, so the smart thing to do would be to stop at the market for groceries to save money.

He leaned back on the wooden bench, tilting his head backwards to look at the sky.  'Just go for it.'  Had Sal gone out of her noggin? He knew he had been drunk and was pretty sure Duo had not exactly been sober when he pinned him to that wall and made a spectacle of both of them. A drunken kiss, inspired by Howard's cocktails – that's all it was. Duo had always been the physical type, fond of games and pulling pranks, so  why go for what?


Trowa had not been able to let it go because of his gossip-mongering colleagues, though: they had snickered and joked and given each other Looks every time he passed them in the canteen, the hallway and even the restroom. That is why he had called Quatre to try and pry information out of him about 'the incident', every night from Monday to Thursday. Sunday, the day right after the party, he had called too, but for completely different reasons. He closed his eyes and repeated it to himself in his head:  completely different reasons. I barely remembered what had happened, after all.

Quatre had acted like he had no idea, of course. Trowa harboured the suspicion he knew something, because the little twerp had seemed to find amusement in stating how surprised he was to get his call and asking Trowa if he was feeling alright.  Every single time.


Trowa straightened and leaned forward, now focusing on his hands. His paper cut had stopped bleeding. He noticed how deep it was and when he spread his fingers, he could feel the breeze coolly prickling his wound.

It hardly mattered why he had called Quatre, thought about that kiss so much, or had kept that blasted pink parasol as a souvenir, he decided. The fact was that he had failed to do his job because he had been lost in a frivolous daydream, in which he had grabbed Duo and taken over the kiss to make it his. He balled his fists.  I have some serious control issues.

Suddenly, lightning struck.

"Wait, 'just go for it'," he said to himself, "Sal thinks I like Duo? ... In that way?"




Barely half an hour later, Trowa was approaching the garage where Duo worked. It all made sense, even if it seemed a bit stupid, that he had developed some sort of 'alternate vision' of his old comrade-in-arms; the involuntary surrender to daydreams, his persistent-though-hapless investigative skills, seeing sentimental value in a drink ornament that he had brushed over Duo's cheek...

Ten metres away from the garage's entrance, his feet seemed to get heavier and his knees wobblier. How dangerous was this mission going to be? His heart was racing like a duck with a jalapeño up its arse and his mind was a jumble, much like a shoe store super sale. What would he say?

At the entrance, his feet were like nailed to the ground. Trowa searched his mind for something to say, a good excuse for dropping by on a Friday afternoon during working hours.  Garage, cars, broken things – yes, yes, he needed a new cup holder! He had broken his while on a stake-out with Wu Fei. He hadn't, really, but it would be believable, at least to Duo. Wu Fei had been an arse, and Trowa had jammed his coffee cup into the cup holder so hard it had broken in two—three pieces! Great!

Except, it was not really fair to Zhang; the 'Chinese temper tantrum', as Duo had once dubbed him, was one of Trowa's most reliable colleagues and had saved his ass twice today. So maybe he should ask advice on how to fix the lock on his dashboard cabinet instead, or—


"Can I 'elp ya, mister?"


Trowa nearly jumped at the sudden appearance of a bulky, large man wearing garage coveralls. He was holding a white bun in his hand with what smelled like a meatball in it.


"M—Maxwell; is he around?"

"Ee's no' in trouble, is 'ee?" The man looked concerned. "We don'ts gets Suits 'ere offen, you see. Only when some knickknack or o'er goes missin's from some Suit's dashboard cab'net, or—"

"No, no, nothing like that," Trowa replied hastily, "No trouble."

"Good. Maxwell's a good lad, see? Likes 'is jokes, but 'ee's no thief."


Trying his best to not laugh out loud at the friendly giant's statement, Trowa inclined his head. He didn't think Duo would steal anything from cars brought to the garage for repairs, but the guy was like a magpie and would flaunt his amazing sleight of hand every time he had the chance.


Even at Zechs' bachelor party, when they had just arrived at the karaoke bar, Duo had managed to get his hands on Yuy's and Howard's (identical) cell phones. The real trick, though, had been to slip the phones back into their pockets without getting caught; Trowa and Duo had laughed long and hard at the look on Yuy's face, lit up in bright red confusion when confronted with a particularly intimate text message meant for the saucy old hippy.


"Mister? 'Ee's workin' on a jeep, ways in the back."


Trowa looked up and gave the bulky mechanic a slight nod in appreciation. He took a step over the threshold, entering the garage, but hesitated to go further. Maybe he should just give Maxwell a call, ask what his plans were for tomorrow; the thought made him queasy, as he was not very good talking on the phone when it came to social calls. Besides, he felt he needed to know if he really had caught the affliction of Infatuation, as Sally seemed to think. Quatre probably thought so too; that must have been what was so damned amusing to him.


Gritting his teeth, he urged himself forward, one foot before another, past the many cars, vans and jeeps parked or mounted on large metal lifts. Some men were busy dismantling a monstrously large truck engine that stank of diesel and cleaning fluids; the scene somehow brought back memories of the work he had done on his dear old Heavyarms, even if the engine looked nothing like the ones that had powered his Gundam.

The men, leaning close to study a blueprint together, reminded Trowa of how Duo had always helped him make sense of the more complicated malfunctions – always leaning close, always breathing warmly in his neck as his fingers followed invisible connecting lines on the mobile suit's blueprint...


A warm tickle ran from his gut up to his heart and back down to his groin. Trowa frowned and closed his eyes in irritation.  Seriously, No-name. What a time to be wagging your tail.


Trudging on, he soon arrived at the back of the garage, where a lifted sand-coloured jeep was being inspected by a mechanic wearing coveralls and a black cap. Trowa's heart jumped at the sight of the long braid carelessly being swung over the mechanic's shoulder; it swung gaily back and forth before slowing to a gentle sway, its curly tip brushing over that tight little ass.

Trowa swallowed hard and tried to think. The fumes of car varnish were strong here, making him feel lightheaded and a bit unstable on his feet.  Cup holder, dashboard lock, seat heating, squeaky suspension, lubricant...


Before he could stop himself, he stepped forward and grabbed the object of his possible affections and undeniable lust by the shoulder. He turned the unsuspecting mechanic around with a forceful jerk and pressed his lips to the ones parting to form a surprised 'Oh', his tongue briefly touching those soft lips and tasting strawberries, reminiscent of the Attempted-Suicidal palate Duo had left on his bottom lip before bolting like mad lightning.

He pulled his charge closer and felt a flexible warmth bulging against his chest that did not compute; he let go and stared at the confused mechanic that gazed at him flush-faced and gasping for breath.


"Well, mister, that was some kiss," a female voice stuttered. "Have we met?"


Trowa stared at her breasts and face and felt his cheeks glow with embarrassment.


"Look, I know you have a tongue. What's your name?"

"B—Barton," he blurted, feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded.

"So, Buh-barton, what's a Suit like you doing in a place like this? You lost?"


He thought hard of an answer, looking at the ground and rubbing a hand awkwardly through the hair on the back of his head.  Shit.

The girl seemed to have overcome her initial shock and laughed. As mortified as Trowa felt, he was intensely relieved to find she did not seem to be angry. Sexual harassment would not look good on his already imperfect profile.


"Oh, Maxwell," she called out to an entering colleague, "Guess what?"


Trowa looked up to see Duo approaching. He crossed his arms over his chest and hoped nobody would hear his stampeding heartbeat.


"Well, if it isn't the Health and Sanity Inspection," Duo said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Whatever Q told you about me, he's vainly exaggerating!"

"You know Buh-barton?" the girl mechanic said and started laughing. "Then I guess that passionate kiss he gave me must have been meant for you!"


Trowa looked at the floor, embarrassed out of his wits about not having a snappy remark ready. He was not used to being quiet for lack of words; it had always been a choice.

Duo stepped forward, slowly.


"You... you kissed MacKenzie?"


Trowa could not make out whether Duo was impressed, repulsed, or shocked. Probably the latter, though, considering his own surprise. He uncrossed his arms and looked up, willing himself to look Duo in the eyes.


"Yes, it seems I did."

"What the fu— Why?"


MacKenzie left with a broad grin, pulling her fellow mechanic's braid playfully as she passed him. Trowa took a deep breath, inhaling the nauseating varnish fumes that tickled in the back of his throat and made him cough.


"Who knows," he said between coughs, not allowing further thought of his mortification to interfere with his reply. "Maybe I was ordered to investigate this ridiculous act of kissing unsuspecting people, since breaking my head over it is making me a liability at work."

"Ridiculous?" Duo's eyes were ablaze, his cheeks streaked with flush. "Fuck you and your high-and-mighty attitude, asshole! Oh, I can just see you and Kat laughing behind my back, making a big drama out of one lousy kiss—"


Trowa started at this tirade, stepping back, wide-eyed and shaking his head.


"What? No, Duo, I—"

"For your information, Suit," Duo raved, entering Trowa's personal space, "just because I somehow got it into my head you were attractive, grinning like a stoned hyena and goofballing around with your stupid little umbrellas, doesn't mean anything. I WAS DRUNK, damn it, and so were you!"


With his hands rising in defence, Trowa took a couple of steps backward, strangely intimidated by Duo's furious rant. If he had been confused before, he was now the school example of incoherent thought.  Those were parasols, he wanted to say, angry shame boiling inside him for feeling like a cornered animal.


He halted and grabbed Duo's wrists, which prompted Duo to try and wrestle free.


"Let me go, asshole! Why don't you go back to—"

"—Why the Hell would you be attracted to me," Trowa said.


It was all he could force out of his throat and he was only sure it had even been audible when Duo stopped struggling and gave him a very deadly look.


"I wonder the same thing," he replied, eerily calm. "'cause ostentatious jerkwads like you are not my type. Now, I'm sure Prince Winner is anxiously awaiting your story, so you'd better leave."


Baffled, Trowa let go of Duo's wrists, barely acknowledging the painful friction against his paper cut, and speechlessly watched him as he stamped away and left the garage through an 'authorised personnel only' door.

With heavier feet than before, he walked toward the entrance, where the large mechanic stood watching him with concerned interest.


"Could 'ear ya's all the ways outside, mister!" He cocked his head. "Don't worry, 'ee's been a bit off 'is rocker since affer the weekends. Said 'ee dids somethin' stoopid."


Something stupid. I see.


Shaking his head, he walked on, folding his arms around his aching chest. The mechanic behind him said something else, but Trowa could not make out what; his ears were ringing with a particularly nasty cocktail of all the things he had heard today—

"Just go for it" ... "thought you were past the Idiot-stage" ... "ostentatious jerkwads like you are not my type" ... "you're hopeless" ... "grinning like a stoned hyena and goofballing around with your stupid little umbrellas" ... "Go for it" ... "stupid little umbrella—"


He stopped abruptly at the corner of the street and reached inside the chest pocket of his uniform jacket. He retrieved his hand and twirled the pink paper parasol between his thumb and forefinger. A rush of heat flowed through his gut, his heart bounced in his chest, and—

He turned on the spot and made a mad dash for the garage. Damn it, he had no idea what had gotten Duo's knickers in a twist, but he was loath to believe it had been him.  If Duo even has a 'magic word' that makes him unleash all Hell, it shouldn't be 'ridiculous'.


"Sorry, unfinished business," Trowa said to the large mechanic in passing him and rushed on.


He headed straight for the door dubbed 'authorised personnel' and practically bashed it from its hinges when he opened it. He peered around the hall and zigzagged past the rows of lockers, avoiding a toolkit or two but nearly tripping over a chair.

His heart was pounding in his throat in anticipation when he reached the shower room. Not inclined to muck up in hesitation again, he opened the door and barged in — sooner than expected standing face to face with Duo's fiercely blushing scowl.


"Duo, Duo, please—" he said, adrenaline pumping through his veins, "Please just shut up and let me start over."

"Shut up? Okay, I was done talking to you anyway."


Trowa faltered, despite his resolution to be a Man of Action. Duo crossed his arms and turned his head away from him; the blush spread from his cheeks down to his neck. Trowa glanced down at the parasol in his hand and nearly chuckled.

He stepped closer and raised the parasol to Duo's cheek.  What do you know; it IS a perfect match.


"Is everything a joke to you?" Duo smacked away Trowa's arm and turned around.

He shook his head dismissively. "Why are you so angry?"

"Just go away, alright? I know Kat's been playing me and we both know he gets off pointing out the imperfections of the people around him — that's all fine with me. He's the one born with the silver spoon, after all," he said, before narrowing his eyes at Trowa with disdain. "But if clowning around with my feelings is your idea of fun, you twisted mercenary bastard, then fuck you."

"What?" Trowa's thoughts slowly came together. "You think driving myself crazy over a stupid drunken kiss, botching a mission and consequently getting suspended for two weeks is my idea of a joke?"


Trowa looked at Duo in bewilderment, Duo's expression a mirror of his own. It made Trowa feel slightly nervous.


"You... you got suspended?"

"And I got a paper cut," Trowa added lamely, feeling his cheeks tingle under Duo's attention.

"Damn, Tro."


He nodded and looked at the floor. Something was fluttering at the base of his stomach and he was unsure of how to act; should he tell Duo what Sal had said before dismissing him? Stuff the parasol up the guy's nose for being much more of a 'temper tantrum' than his venerable Chinese colleague?

Just as he thought of looking up, insecure in this lasting silence, he felt two callused hands touching the sides of his warm face, gently tilting his head up.


Two dark blue eyes, like bottomless pools, swivelled their gaze over his face, as if it were the first time they saw him from up close. Using one hand to brush Trowa's hair back and hold it at the top of his head between his fingers, Duo closed the distance between their faces and made their lips meet for the second time in six days.


Trowa never wanted it to end, if only for the self-consciousness-inducing idea Duo might expect him to say something profound. When they finally broke the kiss and straightened up to look each other in the eyes again, Duo was smiling.


"Stupid git," he said. "You should have called me instead of Kat."