Title: Cultural Experiences
Fandom: GW
Pairing: 1x2
Genre: Sap/Fluff
Word Count: 2,283
Notes: Written for settingdarks birthday, 2004.
Summary: Duo asks Heero to teach him about Japanese culture.

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"Are you sure these things are edible?"

Heero gives me a look that I am quite sure is Perfect Soldier for "yes, you complete and utter imbecile", but I'm not so easily deterred.

"I mean, they're slimy. And… they have tentacles. No food that glistens like that can be healthy!"

Heero sighs and places his chopsticks on the table with slightly more force than strictly necessary. "Eat the tako," he orders flatly.

"Taco? What taco? There's tacos?"

Heero scowls in annoyance, picking up his chopsticks again. "Tako," he tells me, pointing at the octopi, and I figure out that in Japan tacos must be slimy sea-monsters rather than Mexican corn chips with filling.

Damn. I like that kind of taco.

"But they're slimy!" I whine again, glaring at the horrible tentacles just in case they move. "How do you know they're even dead? What if they're just pretending?"

I think Heero's getting fed up, if the way his grip is tightening on his chopsticks is any indication.

"You've eaten far less sanitary things before. I've seen you."

"Hey!" I protest, slightly wounded by the implied insult to my eating habits. "Like what?"

"You had McDonalds two days ago."

"So? What's wrong with McDonalds?"

… That probably could have sounded a little more convincing.

"Nothing with bread buns that taste like cardboard can be good for you," he points out, and I hate it when he's right. Which is always, might I add.

"Eat."

Cringing, I reach out and stab fruitlessly at the plate for what must be five minutes, chasing the tentacles around as Heero rolls his eyes. At this rate I won't even having to worry about eating any octopus-- using chopsticks is a lot harder than it looks.

Evidently Heero has had enough of my clumsy antics, because he reaches over and grabs my hand, effectively stilling my pathetic efforts.

"Here," he mutters, closing his hand around mine to show me the correct way to hold the chopsticks, and now I remember why I asked him to teach me about Japanese culture. Heero picks an octopus up as if it's the easiest thing in the world and I hadn't just spent forever trying and failing to do the same thing, and then guides it towards my mouth.

It wriggles.

"Oh my God, did you see that? Did you see that? It wriggled! It wriggled, Heero, it's ALIVE DON'T MAKE ME EAT IT!"

Unfortunately for me Heero has always taken a hard line on end versus means, and he uses my screaming against me. It probably makes a neat little equation in his logical little mind: Duo's mouth open, shove food in.

"MMPH."

"Chew," he advises me, and I could have sworn there was a definite undercurrent of smugness in his tone.

Whimpering slightly, I do as I'm told, trying to ignore the disgusting slimy rubber texture of the food in my mouth. "Food". Hah. That's being too generous.

Imagine my shock when I discover that, against all the odds, octopus actually tastes good?

My thoughts must be plastered in neon lights across my face, because Heero is giving me this almost imperceptible "I told you so" smirk. Have I mentioned that I hate it when he's right?

I finish chewing and swallow, glaring at Heero rather suspiciously. "Don't say it," I warn him. "Don't you dare say it, 'cause I know you're already thinking it!"

"I told you so," he responds, completely deadpan, and hey, I'm not the only contrary one around here.

Right when I'm about to start bitching at him, though, it occurs to me that his hand is still twined around mine in the correct grip for chopsticks. Not that I mind, of course. Hell, I'm ecstatic that he trusts me enough that he hasn't even noticed when usually he's so wary about the slightest touch. At least, I don't think he's noticed. He would have moved by now if he had, right?

"Hey, Heero…"

Heero glances at me, mouth still quirked in a gentle smart-arse smile. He doesn't speak, but I trail off all the same, and then he's moving our hands again.

Um, what? Okay, maybe he did notice. Duh, I guess, since he's got perfect reflexes and notices everything, but if he noticed…

If he noticed, then why hasn't he removed his hand yet?

I watch transfixed as he picks up another piece of octopus-- taco?-- and brings it to his mouth, along with my hand. His lips brush my fingertips when he puts in his mouth, and from the raised eyebrow he's treating me to I must have a pretty strange look on my face. Well, who can blame me? It's not normal to look so sexy when eating tentacles, dammit!

"Mm?" He says when he's done with the octopus, and my mind is so glazed that it takes me a second to even figure out what he's responding to.

"Huh? Oh. Um." He hasn't moved his hand yet, and I've completely forgotten what I wanted to say. Am I missing something? I think I'm missing something. He's still waiting for me to speak, though. Think quick, I berate myself! "How do you say you like something in Japanese?"

I am brains on legs. Not.

His mouth twitches into a more obvious smirk, and okay, I know he's laughing at my expense, but hell. I'm down with that, 'cause Heero laughing is always good.

"Suki," he tells me, and I'm almost surprised he bothered to dignify that with an answer. I'm surprised that he even agreed to teach me about Japanese culture in the first place, actually. I suspected that he hadn't been listening and was just saying yes to shut me up at the time, but he seems to be taking this pretty seriously. My buddy is sometimes unpredictable even to me.

Did I say sometimes? Silly me, I meant 'usually'.

"Right. So… I ski tacos?"

He looks like he's torn between sniggering and wincing, though he manages not to do either. I must have said something pretty bad.

"Tako ga suki," he corrects me.

"What the hell? But… that makes no sense," I protest weakly. Why does Heero have to speak such a fucking difficult language? Damn it, I knew God hated me.

He simply shrugs, and our hands are still joined. I drop the chopsticks just to see what will happen-- I always have had a rather morbid sense of exploration-- and instead of glaring at me or moving to pick up the chopsticks and rearrange them like the anal retentive whacko he is the way I thought he would, he threads our fingers together and stands up.

Okay, what the fuck? I definitely missed something.

"Suki is an ambiguous word," he adds quietly. "It can mean love too."

This time he really does free his hand and starts piling the dishes and chopsticks like the anal retentive he is, and I'm so confused that I just watch him blankly as he carries them out into the kitchen. So it can mean love as well as like? So what? What's so ambiguous about that? I like octopus, I love octopus, big dif.

Oh, wait. We're probably not talking about octopus anymore, are we? It takes me a whole second to get that, and I think I'm being a bit slow today. You know, if this was anyone but Heero I'd think they were trying to give me a hint.

Hang on, is Heero trying to give me a…?

…Nah.

I follow him into the kitchen, trailing behind as he dumps the empty dishes in the sink and wraps the octopus in gladwrap before putting it in the fridge. I'm probably getting in his way, but he hasn't glared at me yet so I can't be that annoying. Hey, it might even be a slight improvement- for once I can't think of anything to say. Congratulations, Heero Yuy, you win the prize for rendering the famed motor mouth Duo speechless.

Heero turns around from the fridge, and I guess I was a bit closer than I meant to be, because our noses almost bump.

"Duo?"

"Right, sorry, impinging on your personal space there, didn't mean to," I assure him hurriedly, waving my arms as I take a step back. Heero blinks at me, and I think I saw a flicker of uncertainty pass through his usually impenetrable eyes.

"Hn."

Curiosity killed the cat and it'll probably be the death of me one day too, but sometimes my mouth runs off without stopping to check with my brain. I get myself into a lot of trouble, that way, and looks like it's one of those days-- the words are out before I can even think about what I'm saying.

"Hey, Heero, how are you supposed to tell if it's meant to be like or love?" And cringe, because talk about dropping hints. Still, I'm probably just being hypersensitive. It was the last thing we were talking about, so it's a natural thing to ask, right? Right. And Heero's dense about these things anyway, so all good.

"Context," he answers simply, and yet again I get the feeling that there's a double layer to this conversation that I'm completely missing. Maybe it's paranoia again, but… man, sometimes I don't get Heero.

"Context?" I echo blankly, and I'm starting to think it's not just my imagination after all, because Heero isn't laughing at me, but it kind of feels like he is. Somewhere on the inside behind that poker face of his, he is laughing. I kid you not.

Of course, I could just be imagining that too. Just a possibility, though. I know Heero better than most people and I'd place bets that he's mentally sniggering.

"Context," he repeats gravely, and he moves as if to push past me. Being the considerate guy I am I start to step away to let him by, but he takes me off guard when he stops me with a hand tightened around my wrist and eyes fixed steadily on my own. Not glaring, not really, but his gaze is as intense as always.

"Baka," he mutters under his breath, and that's one Japanese word I don't even need to ask about, he's called me it so many times.

"Hey, who are you calling--"

-- idiot, but before I could finish my retort he's yanked me forward and has his mouth pressed firmly against mine. He's not a good kisser, technically speaking; too much pressure, and I don't think he knows what he's doing. I guess kissing isn't really something you need to teach someone you intend as a weapon, after all. Knowing him, though, he'd be good with only a little practice. He's good at everything.

He pulls away, stare a mixture of challenge and uncertainty, but I'm definitely not functioning enough to muster up any kind of response. My mind is just running on auto-pilot, contemplating Heero's kissing ability, and-- it's only just sunk in. Heero kissed me. Heero kissed me? Okay, now I know I missed something.

"Huh?" I say intelligently, and then what might be a revelation of sorts gradually dawns upon me. "Hey, is this some kind of date?"

He doesn't answer, eyes sliding to the side, and I can just feel a goofy grin breaking out on my face. I never thought I'd say this, but he's kind of cute. Now don't get me wrong-- I've always found him damn sexy. Just not cute, usually.

"Y'know, Heero, normal people don't eat slimy things on first dates."

He's still not looking at me, but he's scowling slightly. Aw, hell, I think maybe I hurt his feelings. I didn't think Heero could get hurt like that, but shows what I know. I was just teasing! Me and my big mouth.

"But we're not normal people, so that's okay. Heero? Where're you-- oi!" Frustrated that he doesn't seem to be getting my point, I grab his shoulder as he tries to pass, and this time I kiss him. One of us has experience with this kind of thing, and for once it sure ain't him.

I at least have more than a vague idea of what I'm doing, so this time the kiss is better, softer, lips moulding together rather than being mashed into teeth, and when I pull away he's the one looking confused, not me. We somehow ended up tangled together, my back against the fridge and my arms around Heero's neck, and with a bright smile and an airy laugh I let my head rest limply on his shoulder. Maybe not the most romantic set-up in the universe, but hey-- don't knock it if you haven't tried it.

"Hey, what's 'you'?" I ask breathlessly, privately amused when Heero twitched as my breath lightly brushed his neck.

"Omae," he says distantly.

"So… how'd you say it? Omae ga ski?"

There's a comfortable silence where all I can hear is the clock ticking and the tap dripping slightly. Heero's probably debating whether or not to correct what I said; maybe I should stop massacring his language, but hey, I'm trying. It's got to count for something.

He doesn't correct me, though, and I'm taken completely by surprise when his arms hesitantly raise to circle my waist and he turns his head to bury his face in my hair.

"Ore mo," he says quietly, and no, I don't have a clue what those words are in English. He could use them in a sentence and I'd probably give him a blank stare. The thing is, though, I don't need to know what he's saying, because I can already guess what he means.

I love you too.