Title: Takeover
Author: Kiarene
Pairings: 1x5
Rating: R
Summary: AU. Corporate raider Heero Yuy has his sights on one Chang Wufei.

Published: 24th April 2004
Disclaimer: I so totally own them. Bwahaha.

Feedback: It keeps the boys panting.

 

 

Takeover 1

 

 

//Mr Maxwell on line two, sir.\\

 

“Thank you Sally,” I say politely and press a button on my intercom. “Hello Duo. What can I do for you?”

 

Leaning back and swivelling my chair around to gaze out at the city as my boyfriend chatters away on the phone. Large panes of glass cover one entire side of my office, giving a panoramic view of the city below. From the CEO office of one of the largest companies in Sanc, WingCorp, it is a very grand view indeed.

 

My attention wanders. From the fiftieth floor, I could hardly see the people and the vehicles look like toys. It all looks eerily fake — the rest of the world that is. It all seems so insipid, so distant. So beneath me.

 

Not yet thirty — another two months — and I am already one of Sanc’s richest men. And I did it all on my own.

 

Not yet thirty and I am already jaded and cynical. I've been called arrogant and cold-blooded too and I don't care. I can't remember the last time I felt excitement or any emotion other than annoyance or anger at the stupidity of people around me. Even another successful coporate takeover only feels expected and routine, instead of generating the fire in my belly it used to when I first started building up WingCorp.

 

Not yet thirty and I feel like old. No, that isn’t it… It’s not that I feel the dulling of senses that comes inevitably with age, but I feel… disconnected. Disinterested.

 

Dull.

 

//Are you listening, Heero?\\

 

“Yes, Duo,” I say, careful to keep any irritation out of my voice.

 

Duo Maxwell is quite different from me. A popular model, Duo is beautiful, gregarious and charasmatic; everybody loves him. Wants a piece of him. Well, everybody except Sally that is. But I like that in her; Sally Po doesn't take nonsense from anybody and that's why I pay her so well to be my secretary.

 

Duo could have anybody he wants, and he had a string of partners, of both genders, in the past. But from the first time he saw me at a party a year ago, he didn't bother to hide the fact that he wants me and chased after me like a dog with its bone. Duo… can be quite exuberant.

 

Quite flattering, really.

 

I am under no illusions as to my attraction for Duo. I'm rich and powerful, and incidentally not too bad looking; I used to be consistently listed as one of Sanc's most eligible.

 

Duo is my boyfriend, but am I Duo's?

 

I think about it as I grunt into the phone absently.

 

Well, for the moment. Duo was not too bad as a companion. He’s *alive*, bubbling like New Year’s champagne and I guess I keep him around in hope that some of the glitter might rub off on me. He's on the high maintenance side, but he's smart and amusing. I don't have to be worried about being embarrassed when we attend the high-profile events both often gets invited to. Sex is *great* and god knows that's rare. Plus, and it's a big plus, he keeps the other useless admirers away.

 

Mentally tallying up a list of pros and cons, it would be more logical to remain with Duo.

 

I suppose there should be something wrong when I access my personal relationships like I go over one of my companies' quarterly evaluations, but I fail to see why. It is only logical.

 

//Ja. Maybe I’ll see you for dinner this weekend.\\

 

"No problem," I murmur. That was another thing I liked about Duo — he isn’t clingy. We both have busy schedules and usually only see each other on the weekends, which suits me fine.

 

Duo makes some loud kissy sound. I make a non-committal noise — I have never made such juvenile sounds in my life — and replaced the handset, wondering what Duo had been bitching about this time. Probably something about Howard, Duo's agent, again.

 

However, I do not get back to work immediately. Instead, I continue staring out over the city, feeling restless and wondering if maybe a trip was in order. Maybe a weekend in Hong Kong or Thailand; somewhere with good food.

 

//You have a visitor, sir. A Dr Chang.\\

 

I frown. "I've no appointments with... Wait. Is it Chang Wufei?"

 

//Yes sir.\\ A pause. //Shall I let him in?\\

 

Chang Wufei is a Biochemistry lecturer at Sanc University. One with a stubborn activist streak a mile wide and skin a foot thick. I’ve never met him before, never seen the guy or heard of him before, but for the past month, he had been among the forefront of WingCorp's critics, taking issue with our environmental practices.

 

My fingers drum irritably on my desk as I consider.

 

This wasn't the first time Chang had come to my office, demanding to be heard. I turned him down last week, even refusing to pick up his call when he tried a day later, but it appears that the Chinese man could be very stubborn too. What *is* his problem?

 

//Mr Yuy?\\

 

Why the hell not. Maybe if a face-to-face meeting would convince Chang to leave me alone. Turn on the Yuy… charm.

 

"Send him in, Sally."

 

//Yes sir.\\

 

My expression hardens and I lean back, right ankle casually thrown over left knee and fingers steepled.

 

When Sally opens the door, I barely managed to conceal my surprise. I had been expecting an elderly academic or a middle-aged paper-pusher in tweed and coke-bottle glasses — that was what *I* remembered of my lecturers back in Sank University.

 

Not this spit-fire.

 

Chang Wufei strides into my office with the coiled grace and power of a panther, ponytail swinging and dark eyes flashing behind fashionable wire-rims. He is young, probably in his mid-twenties, with black hair that reaches half-way down his back in a tightly caught-back tail and bronzed skin that shows he is definitely *not* just a desk-bound academic.

 

Dressed in a white Chinese tunic over black jeans, the traditional top emphasizes the almond shape of his piercing eyes and the ebony of his hair. A tiny black embroidered dragon plays on one shoulder, the tail forming an asymmetric row of frog buttons. Quirky.

 

Chang is an arresting mix of foreign and familiar. With the amount of inter-racial mixing these days, it is rare to find someone of Chang's pure-blooded looks. Myself, I am of mixed descent — a Japanese with blue eyes. Even my Chinese secretary, Sally Po, has hazel hair and blue eyes.

 

Chang Wufei is *gorgeous*.

 

"Have you even read or heard anything about what I've been saying about dioxin or PCB poisoning?" Chang slams a folder down onto my desk. "Do you even care?"

 

Concentrate Yuy. Stop lusting after the guy. I open my mouth, ready with the usual spiel. "We process our by-products carefully--"

 

"Not carefully enough!" He interrupts and matches me scowl for scowl. Flipping open the folder, he rifles thought the papers inside and plucks out sheet after sheet. "I've been sampling the water, soil and air from the areas surrounding your factories, and the levels of dioxins and other pollutants are still at dangerous levels. Your factories have deplorable standards!"

 

I glance down at the data, recognizing it from the latest set he sent a few days ago, which I had only given a cursory glance through. "By whose standards are you following? According to the Health Ministry's guidelines—"

 

"—which are outdated and set for the average male that weighs like a cow—"

 

"—our levels of pollutants fall within—"

 

"—and those so-called guidelines do not take into account women and children, who have a lower body mass—"

 

"—you’re overreacting. There has been no studies to show that—"

 

"—that's because such epidemiological studies take years, in case you have not realized—"

 

"—hence you have no proof either that such levels are—"

 

"—there *have* been animal studies that conclusively show the effects of dioxin exposure, for instance in reduced endocrine and liver functions—" A finger jabs viciously at a figure or diagram to prove this point.

 

"—animal studies are *not* indicative that the same effects—"

 

"—do you realize how asinine your last statement was?" Somehow he managed to look down his nose at me even though we were the same height, condescending scorn dripping from his tone. "In what way are animal studies not indicative? And that brings up another point; if the levels of pollutants produced by *your* factories are harmful to humans—"

 

"—which they *aren't*—"

 

"—yes they *are*, and don't interrupt me, then they are certainly lethal to the ecosystem and animals that have a lower body mass than humans—"

 

Suddenly, I realize that we're standing almost nose-to-nose, voices raised angrily. Accusations and rebuttals fly furiously between us. My blood is pumping and I'm sure my cheeks are as flushed as his.

 

He looks good with color high on his cheeks, I think distractedly.

 

I haven't had so much fun in a long time.

 

He is quick, his mind like a trap as he catches my arguments deftly. The usual media spiel won’t work with him. But I am no slouch either — I would not have made it this far in the business world otherwise.

 

And it certainly helps that he's ...more than easy on the eyes. Intelligent dark eyes — are they as black as his hair or are they just a very deep chocolate? I lean a little closer, curious — flashing as they dart between his painstakingly prepared documents and me, sensual thin lips twisting angrily as sharp words spilled. Lean muscles flexes beneath the silky material of his top as he gestures and I'm suddenly consumed by the thought of seeing him without that top. Without anything at all.

 

I’m abruptly abushed by thoughts of those sloe eyes heavily hooded and dazed with lust. Lips swollen and wet and throughly kissed. My eyes trail down the sweet curve of his neck before I manage to tear my gaze away.

 

Shit. I don't need to look down to realize I'm currently as hard as rock, no — I think I can bloody *carve* a rock.

 

"Are you free tommorrow?" I place my hand over his mouth abruptly. I suppose I could have interrupted him in a better manner, but... I’m feeling bold.

 

And yes, his lips *are* as soft as they look.

 

"What?!" Chang tears my hand away, stepping back with an outraged expression on his face.

 

"Dinner. You can convince me more then, because I'm running late for another appointment now."

 

"Kisama! Have you even been listening to me? I warn you, I will bring all these data to the newspaper if—"

 

Gods. So damn fiery.

 

I give a delighted smile that throughly unnerves him. "Yes I have. That's why I want to have dinner with you tommorrow. The newspaper won't print this anyway."

 

"What do you mean by that?" Confusion is quickly replaced by fury again. "Do you think they won't believe me?"

 

"No, not that. Just… give me a chance to listen to you." I flash him my most charming smile and the look on his face is priceless. He looks shocked and suspicious, eyes wide and wary, and kissable lips slightly parted as if to say something.

 

Gently but firmly, I move around to the front of my desk and place my hand on his forearm, intending to guide him out. Hoping to hell he doesn’t notice my tented pants. He snatches his arm away and shuts his jaw with an almost audible click.

 

“Seven. I’ll pick you up at the university.”

 

“No, I’ll come here.” He scowls at me, clearly torn. Probably wondering what the hell I’m playing at.

 

“Fine.” I open the door, ushering him out. I have an urgent appointment all right — my dick throbs against my pants in impatience.

 

"Read that," he scolds me as he leaves.

 

I feel like an errant schoolboy again and grin. "Yes... Teacher."

 

The sturdy door to my office swings shut and cuts off his reply. Immediately, my back is to the door, my pants and underwear are around my knees and my right hand is around my cock.

 

Gods. What an exquistite, gorgeous creature. So argumentative and fiesty and brillant and passionate and lickable…

 

I'm so damn hard I came within a few strokes.

 

I *came* so damn hard I nearly keeled over, vision exploding in brillant white for a moment. White like his virgin-white silk top.

 

Fuck.

 

What have you done to me, Chang?

 

I sag bonelessly against the door, feeling oddly satisfied and also frustrated. An odd laughter bubbles in me, carbonated silly bubbles of sound. I haven’t lost control like that since… since never! Nobody has *ever* affected me like that.

 

Duo Maxwell is alive, but Chang Wufei makes *me* feel alive.

 

*Fuck.*

 

My spent cock twitches in agreement.

 

~*~

 

tbc…

 

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