Secret Santa
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Tub
Merry Christmas, Natty! You get one humor-ish DeaYza fanfic. I tried to keep it conservative in this one, but I hope it's still fun and it makes you happy to read it. It's funny in a nerdy fangirl type way.
Enjoy!
~
The bathroom was, on this rare occasion, calm and silent. All of the crew members that sport green uniforms were hurriedly denied entry from the room by pilots Yzak Joule and Dearka Elthman, and whether they had the authority to do so or not, it was made open only to those with a higher rank.
The room's white floor and walls remained spotless like they always were; the counter, sink and mirror were all sparkling with the bright fluorescent lighting that gleamed off of their shiny surfaces.
On the far side of the room was one wall that did not match, one made of glass and with a plastic curtain behind it.
Yzak let out a content sigh in his sleep, resting comfortably against the edge of a sizable plastic bathtub. His white head rested on his bent forearms, his waist and legs were covered in soft, warm water tainted with sweet-smelling bath oil.
Dearka sat at the other end of the tub, also napping, his head in his hand, supported by an elbow bent on the tub's edge.
The mood in the tub was completely different than that of the rest of the whole Zaft ship. Dearka had suggested, with every thought of rejection, (he was expecting "no way" in at least 17 different languages) that he and his silver companion rest in a bath for two to relieve some of the day's stresses. When he accepted, the two walked proudly into the bathroom, removed their clothes, and hastened into the warm, inviting water.
Now, behind their sliding glass screen and white curtain, asleep in their 10x4 foot paradise, lay Dearka and Yzak. Their feet rest atop of each other, touching and caressing cozily.
Dearka blinked awake and took in his surrounding. The small cubby was dark, a pale orange glow was falling all around him from a small light above him, lighting the whole den. The water rippled when he moved, putting both dark arms into the water.
Dearka smiled softly as he saw Yzak, his crossed legs jutting out to the side, his small feet brushing Dearka's own ankles. A small part of Yzak's thigh was above water, and Dearka could not resist his hand reaching over and touching the creamy white skin. His warm hand ran over the other boy's leg, leaving it shiny with water. Dearka's grin broadened as a slim hand covered his own and led it higher up Yzak's hip.
Yzak turned his head and lay it sideways on his arm to watch Dearka dreamily, if not groggily. His slim grey eyes still held to sleep, lidded and unfocused as they were.
"Do you feel refreshed?" Dearka asked softly, drawing circles on the other coordinator's leg with a wet fingertip.
"Yes," Yzak replied after a pause, a tiny smile on his thin lips. "I hate to admit that this was a good idea."
Dearka's smile looked very bright in the orange glow of the cubby.
Yzak sighed warily. "We'd better get back to our posts now," he said, his voice deepened by shades of authority, but regret kept it quiet. "I wonder what time it is, anyway?"
Dearka leaned back on the edge of the tub casually, stretching out to occupy as much of the area as he could, seeing how annoyed he could make Yzak, waiting for him to squirm and retaliate. He pressed on Yzak's inner thigh with his toe.
"Current time?" called Dearka to his wrist watch, which did not respond. Not so much as a beep echoed in the room.
"That's weird," Dearka commented softly, "its fuel cell must be out."
As Yzak stretched his slim appendages, arching his back and raising his arms high, Dearka made to disappointedly exit the bath. Water rolled playfully down his legs as he peeled back the thin curtain and slid the glass door, revealing the room.
Yzak began twisting water from the ends of his white hair, the thin strands contorting awkwardly. He was looking out of the corners of his eyes; already it seemed that the suspicious calm was a warning sign of bad things to come, if anything to disrupt his uncommonly relaxed mood.
"Hn," came a slightly surprised grunt.
Yzak tensed instantly. "What is it?"
Dearka's wet feet squeaked on bare linoleum. "There are no towels."
The white coordinator looked suddenly aggravated. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly that. There are no towels," Dearka repeated calmly. "It must be laundry day. Someone probably just came in while we were asleep and took them."
Yzak stood up and held the sliding door's handle to support him. He stuck out a nimble toe and pushed the plug with it, lukewarm water instantly draining away, taking with it his rare relaxed disposition.
"That would be why my watch didn't respond - it's not here," Dearka said to himself.
Sighing in frustration, Yzak pulled open the curtain and door, looking out at the linoleum to find a place to stand. The absence of a mat made standing tricky, and so Dearka offered a hand to support his comrade. Yzak waved the hand away without a glance at it, and then took in the bathroom's state in horror.
The off-white room was completely bare of all and any fabric. No towels hung on racks, not so much as a bath rug graced the floor. And worst of all, the two pilots' clothes were gone. Where once sat a pile of assembly-line-grade uniforms and accessories now was void of all signs of life.
So now Yzak stood naked, dripping into a piteous puddle on the slippery floor, staring in shock at his surroundings.
"Our clothes are gone?" Yzak asked no one, slouching with disappointment. It was natural for Yzak to fall to pieces in this type of situation, spouting every single thought in his head out of his mouth, so Dearka was prepared. But when no mad flailing ensued, he felt more liberal.
"'Must be laundry day," Dearka said calmly, stepping towards the other boy. He lifted a playful forearm to rest over Yzak's shoulders, then proceeded to bite at his comrade's complacent arm.
Yzak paid his fellow pilot little heed. "Why would they think it's a good strategy not to knock? Or enter though a closed door?"
Dearka shrugged, his mouth still occupied with the sweetness of freshly-washed white skin. "We don't pay the laundry staff to make practical decisions."
"God damn thing," Yzak muttered, brow steadily creasing. "What should we do? This is your damn fault," he turned to the boy beside him and promptly shoved him away.
"If I may point out, dearest, it's the laundry staffs' fault," Dearka responded, quite aware of the consequences of his sharp tongue.
"Dearest? Don't push it, you bastard," Yzak snarled.
Dearka sighed. Such a nice time they were having, all but a memory now. At least he was now on the same page as his tub-mate; Yzak was acting as he normally would.
"It's no problem, really, Yzak," Dearka assured the aggravated soldier, "we'll just drip dry, and then walk into the hall. Or else, use the com. system to ask for towels."
Yzak did not take kindly to logical thinking when he was right in the middle of getting angry. He deliberately scoffed the idea, waving it off with a flick of his thin wrist. "I'm not telling them I was bathing while I should have been working – and with you, no less!"
"
Better with someone else . . . ?" Dearka mumbled, catching a steely glance. "Well then we just have to walk stealthily back to our room," he insisted, running a hand through his half-dry hair and shifting his weight to one hip.
"No way!" Yzak's frusteration was turning hurriedly into panic and anger – most of his emotions quickly morphed into panic and anger, however.
"We can wait until the halls are quiet," Dearka suggested, quite ready to streak up and down the corridors of the Vesalius with no respect for man or beast – though he greatly hoped that there were no beasts on the ship.
"Sure,
you go out there and bring
me back some clothes," Yzak decided, rather sarcastically, and pointed an accusing, pure white finger at his friend.
Dearka snatched the finger in his hand and pulled it towards his hip and behind him, tugging the body of his companion towards him in a couple of awkward steps.
"What if I'm caught up in urgent affairs and can't get back to you . . . ?"
Yzak stared in disgust at Dearka and his stupid, stupid retorts, but he realized that it most certainly could happen that the darker coordinator would get distracted and abandon him if the opportunity presented itself. Another painful realization struck him and he instantly stiffened, tipping back his head. "La Klueze!" he hissed, "what if he's looking for us? We could be discharged!"
Dearka made a throaty sound of amusement. "Then there's only one option, my dear friend," he tried to place Yzak's hand on his waist, to no avail, "we streak."
Yzak jumped and tore his hand away. "Dear gods," he exclaimed, stress bubbling over into the last syllable. He turned away dramatically.
One could argue that that was their plan in the first place, to walk naked down the halls, but at that time, they meant to do it "clandestine", causing little harm to passers-by. But streaking entailed something must more exhilarating: running wildly with no heed for who saw them or who they offended.
Dearka liked the idea. "It really is our only choice," he explained, an open palm ready to catch suggestions, "we'll just make a break for it and hopefully not run into anyone important."
Yzak looked doubtfully from his friend to the sliding metal door that separated the two pilots from their destiny. After a few moments of reluctantly mulling over the idea, he began to approach the door cautiously behind a confident darker coordinator.
"Are you ready?" Dearka asked, looking through a tiny pane of space-ware glass in the air-tight door.
Yzak did not answer, because truthfully he was most concerned about his reputation among the ship's staff, but to answer he knew would draw much mocking from his fellow soldier.
Dearka smirked as he looked over his shoulder at the other boy. "Chicken."
Yzak glared fiercely, but before he could respond, Dearka appeared to see a chance to run, the door slid open and the pair was racing down the deserted silver spaceship's halls.
On their way sprinting gracelessly down the hall, the two passed a masked man and a professional looking companion.
Yzak felt his heart skip a beat and he nearly tripped over the metal floor as he sped. He shot a blue glance over his shoulder to see his creepy commander, though stiff, try to fluidly continue to escort the guest around the ship's normally immaculate interior.
Dearka suddenly grabbed the corner where the hall which down they sped met another and he flung himself around it and against the wall, panting excitedly. Yzak landed against the cold wall with him, though the exasperated youth was much less thrilled by the events.
"The commander saw us," Yzak gasped, looking carefully up and down the empty hall. "And who was that he was with?"
"I don't know. He looked important, official," Dearka replied loosely, watching his comrade's panic swell once more.
"Why today? Why did I let you talk me into this?" Yzak tipped his head up, anxiously curling and uncurling his stiff fingers.
"Would you rather streak another day?" Dearka teased. He knew that there was a time of youth and rebellion and vandalism in which Yzak would have loved to cause trouble, but that time was gone. It was still fun for himself, though.
A blue-grey gaze was instantly trained on him, and it was not a happy one.
Dearka simply shrugged the gaze off; it rolled like the water that was still dripping down his back as he turned to look down the hall back and forth, his military-trained eyes scanning the territory for hostiles.
"If I get in any kind of trouble for this, I swear," Yzak was starting a rant, but was cut short when his partner grabbed his wrist and the two were making another dash down the hall like a pair of criminals evading the authorities (the sacks that they had in their possession were not full of money, though.)
Upon rounding the next corner the pair nearly crashed into not one, but four medical staff, obviously on a break from their duties. Yzak skidded to a halt before them, his eyes wide, wondering if Dearka had put them in that position on purpose, a blush growing on his face.
Beside his embarrassed comrade, Dearka let out a sound of amusement, comparable to the one he released when he first noticed that the clothes they had expected to wear were no where in sight.
The four nurses, all older that the ripe young pilots before them, cheekily let their gazes fall downwards, each cocking a similar unimpressed eyebrow.
For a moment it seemed that Dearka would be quite content to stand and chat about the weather in space or something equally pointless, but Yzak regained his composure and hurriedly grabbed his friend's arm and raced away.
One more corner braved, and Yzak pulled open the nearest unlocked door and rushed inside with the darker coordinator. It was fortunately not a meeting room full of crewpersons, but a simple equipment storage hold.
The pair stood panting in the poorly lit room as though they had just completed a very exhilarating session of something other than running; the disassembled guns and microwave light bulbs gaped at them from every angle.
"You're blushing like a tomato," Dearka commented, a smile that had never left his face glowing, still damp strands of yellow hair falling into his face, "a skinny, angry tomato." He reached brown fingers up to brush Yzak's pink cheek.
Yzak, as expected, slapped the hand away. "Don't touch me!" The pilot reverted from some-sort of battlefield stealth to fuming mad. "This is your fault! I don't know why I ever agreed to do anything with you . . . !"
"My fault?" Dearka looked suddenly disheartened despite his good mood sustained throughout the chaos. "Yzak, all that I'm guilty of is trying to make you relax for a few moments of your life. God knows you need to be tied down at times and forced to forget about your record and reputation and the injustices of the universe."
Yzak was silent, his red lips pouting slightly. Dearka only said his name with that tone when it was very important to get his attention, like "Yzak, watch out behind you!"
Dearka sighed. "It's unfortunate that it didn't turn out ideally for you." He and his friend often shared emotions; when Yzak was genuinely upset, Dearka did all that he could to fix things.
Yzak pondered whether that was an apology. He realized that it didn't matter how it was worded, because he found himself forgiving the other coordinator instantly.
"Well," Yzak said after a moment of silence, "I'm getting some clothes."
Dearka leaned against the wall, his skin beginning to prickle with goose-bumps. He folded his arms as he watched the other gundam pilot skillfully slide open the door a crack and peer out into the hallway.
Yzak looked up and down the hall and spotted shy Nicol Armafi. He sighed deeply. There could be a worse person to ask for help.
After gaining the small green-haired one's attention, Yzak found himself in a critical amber gaze. Nicol's face instantly lit up and he put a slim hand to his mouth to keep from giggling at the sight of Yzak's naked body.
"What happened to your clothes?" Nicol asked the obvious question, with a cute voice, one that annoyed Yzak instantly.
"I'll never fucking tell you, Nicol," Yzak replied gravely, finally releasing the bad language that he had wanted to since the beginning of the whole pants-less affair. "You go and get me some clothes."
"Of course." Smiling was Nicol's only reaction to Yzak's fierceness.
In moments Yzak was hastily receiving a bundle from Nicol and shutting the door with his beloved red suit in hand. He changed into it in record time Dearka's commenting and teasing his about Nicol's reaction and anything else that he spotted.
"I'm leaving," Yzak said simply, bending over to pull up a white boot. He reached up for the door controls.
"What about me?" Dearka asked suddenly, his voice deep with concern.
Yzak turned to his comrade, one hand pressed onto the keypad to open the door. He leaned close to Dearka, glad to have the upper hand.
"What if, say, I'm caught up in urgent affairs and can't get back to you?" Yzak opened the door and stepped nonchalantly out, letting it close behind him and with an unexcited hiss, leaving his partner-in-crime alone and surrounded.
Not ten minutes later was Yzak seen trying to as inconspicuously as possible put a neatly folded red suit through the slightly opened door of an equipment room, firmly telling room's contents to never speak of this again.
END
