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"Cleanse"

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Heero had been the one to save his soul. Heero had saved him from a coward’s death, had helped him atone for his villainy, had pulled him back from the brink after he’d failed to adjust to a normal, civilian life. The blue eyed man, who sat on the couch opposite Wufei, seemingly unaware of the musing, ebony eyes on him, had given Wufei chances for life that he’d never thought he’d have.

Heero gave him peace, and when peace wasn’t possible, Heero gave him an outlet for his demons.

"You’re staring."

Wufei blinked and looked up into the bemused cobalt of his lover and friend, and smiled. “So I was,” he replied.

Wufei's smile turned into a smirk. “What do you intend to do about it?”

Heero stood slowly and fluidly and crosses the space between them in two long steps. His stride was longer than Wufei’s - although they’d both grown since the war, Wufei had ended up the shortest of the five by a bare inch. Heero and Trowa towered over the other three. Said giant now stood over Wufei, arms crossed over his chest, his mouth now included in the bemused and affectionate expression of his eyes. “I suppose I could toss you in the pool,” he said, inspecting his fingernails with a nonchalance belied by the slight tensing in his thighs and shoulders.

Wufei lifted an eyebrow. Heero would do it, he knew that, without a care for the items in Wufei’s pockets. “Oh,” he replied, keeping his tone as casual as Heero’s, “and why would you do that?”

He was surprised when Heero plucked the book from his hands and slid into his lap, the armchair creaking in protest at the additional weight. Wufei smiled and wrapped his arms around Heero’s waist.

"Maybe because you are supposed to be talking about your demons, instead of brooding over them." Heero’s answer came with a soft brush of his lips against Wufei’s cheek, and the Chinese man sighed.

"I wasn’t…" Heero cut off his protest with a finger pressed against his lips and a soft shush. "You were."

Wufei looked up at the man seated quite comfortably on his lap and swallowed. He’d never told Heero that the Japanese man cleansed his soul, washed away the blood on his hands. He didn’t know how.

Heero smiled softly. “When you’re ready,” he said gently. “And not before.”