Deep Emotion [ dearka x yzak ]

Secret Santa
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A/N: Gwah! Finally done! Well, slvrsolealchmst, here you are. I really tried my best with these two--it was my first ever DeaYzak fanfic, yay! But when you requested some Dearka-angstin'... :O Well, this popped into my head, and it sorta... expanded into fluffy nonsense from there. (I wouldn't call it 'mad' angsting, though... I don't know. Moreso frustration? :o) But all in all, it's just a cutesy little ficling, with some mild language and some sexual innuendo~ Coz you can't leave home without it. Hopefully I didn't kill their characters too badly. ;D S'how I imagine them in an actual relationship, at least. I wish you a wonderful Christmas~ All stalker-creepiness aside, I think we should get to know each other! ^^ You seem like a neat person. Oh, and... it said angsting /or/ Christmas-themed... so I just didn't mention Christmas and made it winter. So... yeah. I win! -shot, slinks away-

He absolutely hated it. When Dearka sat there at his desk, hand buried into his thick blonde hair and the other clutching a pen, he just -despised- it. That was the correct word for it, right? Despised. He loathed every inch, resented every fiber, and after more musing, the boy was convinced that in the end he would go insane as a result. A purse of his lips, which felt chapped from the cold, and he gave another flick of the pen, the 'click-click' a minor distraction.

He couldn't.

Absolutely shouldn't. After all, what type of Elsman was he, acting so stupid over one thing? The gutteral and inevitable sigh-- Dearka stared at the clock, brows knitted and purple eyes showing their irritability. -That- mocked him, too. Like a silver-haired lover, which he could imagine very plainly, shouting curses and insults with each tick of the red hand. The clock was kinda silver. ... More white, but still, it had the ability to piss him off.

Dearka grumbled and hunched his shoulders, wincing at the ticks and thinking himself reprimanded, as per usual. And how completely ironic was that? Yzak-clock, shouting at him for writing the -real- Yzak a... Well... A letter. He thought it best to go with that-- and hey, non-humiliating! Just an ordinary letter. Nothing... odd, or... emotional, or anything like that...

"Damn it," the blonde grumbled miserably, completely at a loss. He tossed aside the pen and mumbled, "I can't do crap like this. He's definitely not a girl, and he'd kick my ass if I said anything wrong... What does he expect, saying something like that?!" The 'WUMPF' that followed afterwards was Dearka's forehead promptly smacking itself into the table. Which he immediately regretted because it had -hurt-, but his distress pushed all thoughts of that pain aside.

You couldn't just say 'I love you' out of the blue. If you were Yzak Joule, it was absolutely unheard of. Mythic. There had to be paper work and several signatures before any sort of commitment could be made. Those signatures, of course, -had- to be in blood, and if there was any sort of sacrifice involved, Dearka would have never been surprised. ...And yet he had said it. Those three words. And -to- Dearka, as a quick confirmation. So horribly unexpected, in the mingled air of their spent passion... The blonde had heard him mumble it, in a sleepy and muffled voice before drifting to sleep. Save for the moments in war where Dearka feared his own death, never had his heart thundered so violently then.

The next day, Yzak had been completely oblivious to what secret he had confessed. He went on in his typical bitchy manner, and Dearka just grinned gently and shrugged at his partner's temper. He dared not mention the incident, all the while attempting to justify it in his head. The coordinator had been drunk... he had been hallucinating... he had been thinking of someone else! ... Ha-ha. Yeah, right. As if Yzak could fall for anyone else.

Regardless, it forced him to think. If Yzak had truly meant that, semi-conscious or not... did Dearka feel the same way? Could he bring himself to say it back, while remaining completely honest and confident with himself? Practicing in front of the mirror had not worked. He was just confessing to his reflection, which was much different from Yzak (And loving himself was just a completely other kind of love). His next attempt, naturally, had been to somehow write down how he felt.

Now, Dearka was not the most eloquent of people. He didn't like poetry, he rarely read anything other than a magazine, and overall his manners left much to be desired. To that extent, he somehow envied Yzak. Despite his loose mouth and haughty nature, the man could compose himself in the tightest of issues, holding that regal chin high, and speaking with an air that commanded the attention of everyone. Dearka was only capable of that when he was drunk, and the sway of his body never helped matters.

"I don't know how I feel," he spoke again, staring at the ceiling. "Should I even... bother? But I just can't... ignore it."

The knock at the door made him jump and nearly topple out of his chair in mid-spin. He was about to question who it was, but a rather loud shout confirmed his suspicions and fears. Exactly the person he had -not- wanted to see.

"Dearka! I know you're in there--- get off of your ass and open up the door!"

The coordinator cringed and peeked from behind his hiding spot, truly debating whether or not he should obey this command. It wasn't as if Yzak -owned- him, after all-- he was his own man! If he didn't feel like it, Yzak should have to wait! The power of free will! The strength of resolve! He could wait out there in the cold, for all he cared! The man, who drove him insane, who tore at his emotions! Damn him! He didn't want anything to do with it! And he absolutely would not!

"DEARKA! I -WILL- CASTRATE YOU, HURRY THE HELL UP!"

"Yessir," Dearka sheepishly answered to himself, scrambling up and running to unlatch the lock. Yzak practically shoved his way inside, shivering and blowing frantically at his hands. He tossed Dearka a dirty look, blue eyes resembling ice daggers. Thankfully, Dearka had (supposedly) long ago built up an immunity to the deathly glare.

"Took you long enough."

"Heh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that..." With a scratch at his neck, Dearka felt like slapping himself, kicking himself, as his stomach shriveled into a ball and screamed bloody murder. So much for that... ah, resolve.

"You haven't been answering your phone," the silver-haired boy elaborated as he stepped into the living room, unwrapping a scarf from around his neck. "I came to see if you were still alive. Obviously..." His eyes trailed to various junk food wrappers littering the coffee table. "Though I don't see this as any better."

"Right, well. I've just been... a little sick," Dearka worked quick to come up with an excuse, though by the scrutinizing gaze of his lover's, it was quite plainly ill-received. Attempting to lie to the Joule was the equivalent of Russian roulette. He had just been shot point-blank.

"You look fine," he snorted, "And I don't see any medicine." Dearka felt his heart thud when Yzak's eyes briefly wandered across his paper-littered desk. Not good. If he saw his scribbled attempts at a letter, he would definitely question the contents. Worse still, what if he misunderstood, and thought he was writing it to someone else?

"Well I feel better today. And I was just about to call you... Uh. What have you been up to lately? Can I get you anything?" Distract him. Distract him! Dearka forced on a grin, the blonde's trademark expression, and wandered over to Yzak's side. He slid his arms around the coordinator's thin waist and buried his face into the back of his neck. He smelled faintly of cologne, and whatever starches and various detergents bathed his laundry, always perfectly pressed and neat. Dearka thought back to the times where he took pleasure in wrinkling Yzak's clothes--- all sexual origins meant, of course. The grumbling and mumbling of his partner was heard, but otherwise ignored as his shoulders unwillingly relaxed. This was always predictable, yet Yzak had never managed to train himself to -expect- it. Which just contradicted itself, but whatever.

"Bastard..." Yzak spoke, his voice now somewhat dreamy as Dearka expertly kneaded at a tightened muscle. "I'm trying to... yell at you, here."

"I know."

"You're hiding something."

"Hm? I'm just saying hi."

"Dearka."

"Yzak."

Finally, he pulled away from the tanned hands and scowled, however regretful he was to deny the amazing feeling. He refused to be fooled, so easily. Looking at porn or spending the night drinking without him was one thing. This time, however, Dearka seemed to be genuinely concerned about something. And Yzak wasn't going to believe some shit about having a cold. Like that had ever stopped the blonde from being his typical self. After a moment of glaring, he noted the man's lips tugging into a gentle frown, and his eyes wavering. Yzak stamped his foot, and he winced. And what was up with that?! The ultimate 'kicked puppy' behavior. And the commander had done so such kicking. Not yet, at least.

"Tell me what's bothering you." In an awkward attempt at casual affection-- mind you, Yzak was horrible at this, but still attempted nonetheless-- he traced a light touch across Dearka's cheek. The Egyptian wanted to snort; it seemed both utterly ridiculous and oddly endearing. Were he in another mood, he would have commented how adorable he looked like that.

"It's nothing... you were going to yell at me, remember?" Ranting always distracted him, at least. That was when Dearka made his mistake, however. His eyes trailed off to the side, to the desk, and Yzak quickly followed suit. Before he could protest, the huffy platinum-haired boy marched over to the pile of papers, snatching the first up. Dearka attempted to swallow his tongue, hands itching desperately at the air. About ten seconds of silence passed, as Yzak attempted to read the half-scribbles and semi-thoughts splayed across the page.

This is sort of difficult to say. I'm not really good with words, you know that, but it doesn't seem like I could tell you any other way. And it isn't a cop-out! Honest. And you're probably glaring, wanting me to get straight down to it, right? Right. I...

Various things scribbled and bled there, causing Yzak's nose to wrinkle as he attempted deciphering.

I care about you a lot. And I don't mean some stupid mushy poetic thing, because you hate poetry and I totally get that. But I'm being completely true. First trying to understand it myself, it was a little frightening. I didn't know -what- to think. If it was just lust, or I was just constantly horny... or some shit... I'm really wooing you right now, huh.

Yzak snickered then, actually snickered-- and Dearka thought himself a dead man. But when he looked up, Yzak was... well. It was the closest thing to a smile, outside of a smirk, that he could muster.

Okay, okay. What I'm trying to say, exactly. We've known each other since we were kids, sure. Went through ZAFT together, and the war... ... the second damn war... You get it! And still, I've stuck with you, and vice versa. And recent things make me think, and then I start acting like some chick, and that's the type of thing you make me do, you know. Not anyone else. Yet at the same time, I'm happy about it. Because you're you. The bitch, the control-freak, the high-strung commander that walks with his nose constantly in the air. Now, you know that's all true, so don't start crumbling this up. That's the great thing about you. You do everything that you want, and to hell with everyone else. It's your fire. Without that, life would be so fucking boring. You're passionate. And that's the reason.

What that reason was, exactly? The letter didn't say, because Dearka had never managed to finish. Yzak coughed lightly, and in a very nonchalant way, he placed the paper back down. He stood there a quick moment, before turning to his lover.

"Well, it sure as hell isn't for anyone else, I assume." The blonde gulped lightly, and shook his head, neck bowed.

"No... Definitely not."

"..." Yzak clucked his tongue gently, his fingernail idly scratching against the top of his desk chair. He located the trash can, stuffed with sketchier rough drafts, no doubt less complete than this one. "... You didn't finish it." Was that disappointment, he detected in the Joule's tone?

"Yeah." Standing up, and hot with embarrassment, Dearka shoved his hands into his pockets. He stared at the opposite wall, pondering what to expect first. Another threat to castrate him? A cruel laugh, as Yzak mocked Dearka's girlish lapse of romance? Maybe just a punch, for acting like a complete idiot. "I didn't know how... I didn't know what to say."

"Well... there's only one thing to say, right?"

"Not without scaring you off." Dearka blinked, bewildered, as he felt Yzak's arms wrap around him in a tight (slightly painful) embrace. He stuttered a moment, both confused and speechless. What the hell was this? This was not Yzak-esque!

"Guh," the man mumbled, half-sighing into his neck. "If you want to tell me something, say it to my face. Don't frickin' ignore me while you try and work up the nerve." Dearka could be such a dumbass, sometimes. Usually, it just wasn't for something this... serious. So, sure, he was handing him a little slack.

"... Oi, I'm not a kid or anything," Dearka growled after a second of due processing, the moment he sensed his condescending tone. To assert this, he squeezed Yzak's hips, and the fairer coordinator grinned, lowering his gaze to the table.

"Yeah, okay. So... You love me."

"Yeah, yeah-What." Dearka choked, staring down at him incredulously. "I never-- Hey! No fair! Dammit, Yzak!" He was only met with a devilish chuckle, at which time he promptly groaned and held on tighter.

"But it's true, right? That's what you're trying to say." Even Yzak's facade of smug contentment couldn't last for long. The predictable commander would have laughed and cursed Dearka for his immature viewpoints. He would have condemned love as an excuse people used to describe 'passion.' And yet, his cheeks were warm, and his chest oddly... fluttery? Could he say that word, without sounding like a complete woman?

Meanwhile, Dearka was blinking, perplexed and shocked. He even shoved his face forward to confirm--yes,-- his lover's gentle blush. Well, I'll be damned, he thought. If I tried to take a picture of this, would he kill me? Yet that still didn't explain everything. He... still needed to know!

"So... that's really great and all... but... what about you?" The Egyptian had heard him mumble it, yes. But that just wasn't the same. Could Yzak actually set aside his pride, and openly confirm these feelings?

"What about me?" Yzak questioned in reply, cheeky as ever. Noting the instant change of expression, however, he snorted. "Oh, don't look at me like that... I'm kidding." His hand slid back, and the boy carelessly wove his fingers into the coordinator's curly blonde hair. It was so much different than his. They were complete opposites, in all aspects. Hot, cold. Dark, fair. Toned, lithe. Careless, high strung. His favorite? Gold, silver. That was enough logic to confirm that they belonged together, however much Yzak denied it. And he very openly denied it. Denied it fiercely, with his snappish comments and dark flushes. Yet his denial had a ironic tendency of reverse psychology. He had only come to care for Dearka more, due to that. Dammit. "You want me to say it?"

"Yes." Dearka closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his skin pleasantly prickling. "I just want to know... that I'm not completely ignorant. That I'm not alone in this."

"Idiot." It was Yzak's equivalent of a petname, if spoken fondly. "You couldn't survive without me if you tried. So... yeah." He swallowed and worked up that extra bolt of courage, "... I do. ... Love you, that is." Yet be that as it may, he had the tremendous urge to run and scrub his tongue with sand paper. But Dearka had already dragged him in a larger bear hug, destroying any action. And before he could protest and sarcastically comment upon this, a smouldering kiss occurred then, wiping the slate of his mind completely clean.

On the other hand, Dearka felt ecstatic. This... This meant no more stress for him... and a victory. And he didn't mean it vainly, at all. A victory of Yzak's devotion. Knowing that he had gained that trust and affection. He was the individual that mattered in his life. And so help him, Dearka prayed that it could remain that way, however much they bickered and fought. Yzak had been right. They just... belonged, by balancing each other out. So why the hell had he been complaining before? Yzak boldly deepened their liplock, humming and lost in the mood of it all. The soldier contained his mirth, indulging himself in the wonderful pleasure. The room was quiet.

"Mm... hey. Dearka."

"... ... Yeah?"

"I'm cold."

"Ha-ha... ya don't say. Can I... warm you up?"

"I'd be insulted otherwise."