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

Published: 1st May 2004
Disclaimer: I so totally own them. Bwahaha.

Feedback: It keeps the boys panting.



Takeover 2



As I exited the men's room, five minutes to seven, I catch sight of Chang walking along the corridor towards my office. I saw him from the front yesterday; this time I take the chance to admire his rear view.


Today, he is dressed entirely in black: a well-cut black leather jacket shows off the broad set of his shoulders nicely, which tapers down to a trim waist. His hair is caught up in a braid this time, a twisted streak of glossy ebony that catches the light as it swings. Snug black jeans cup the sweet curve of his hips and ass, and I must admit my attention comes to a short circuit there.


Christ. He has a fantastic, tight bubble of an ass. Makes me wonder what he does to keep fit.


Makes me wonder what it looks like without the jeans.


"--to see Mr Yuy, Ms Po," Chang says politely. God, even his voice, deep and sure, sounds like sex. He probably has to beat off his students with a stick.


"Call me Sally, Mr Chang." Sally smiles warmly and I choke. My assistant has often been compared to the Cerberus; as watchful and just as friendly as the mythical gatekeeper to Hell — and I do catch that reference to me as well. Duo has been calling her "Sally" or "Sal" for months, and her response is usually a frosty "Call me Ms Po."


"In that case Sally, call me Wufei."


My scowl deepens and Sally happens to look up at this point, eyes widening as she catches sight of my possessive glare.




"Mr Yuy!" Sally sounds a bit flustered. Good.


"Give me a moment, Chang." I stride into my office, picking up my laptop and keys. An unfamiliar feeling of doubt coils heavily in my gut and I recall the background check I ordered on Chang Wufei this morning.


Twenty-six, living alone at one of the executive apartments provided for the university lecturers on campus. Only son, parents passed away. Earning a decent salary, frugal and has a good credit line.


Then came the stunner.


Married at twenty-two, widowed at twenty-four. Apparently no serious relationships since then.


Married! To a *female*!


I recall the brief wrenching feeling of disappointment and anger, when I had been sorely tempted throw my laptop against the wall, before I pulled myself together. Like I'm going to let a mere thing like heterosexuality stop me. I'm a Yuy. I've *never* been refused before.


Then I realized — I had never lost my temper to the extent I wanted to throw my beloved laptop against the wall before. I'm not prone to fits of pique or tantrums.


Damnit. What are you doing to me, Chang?


Having recovered from her earlier fright, Sally gives me a knowing smile when I left my office. Nosy woman. She's too observant, but it's good if she knows I'm interested in Chang and keeps her paws off him.


"Night, Sally."


"See you tomorrow, Mr Yuy." Was there a hint of questioning innuendo in her voice? Cheeky woman.


Still, I'll be keeping an eye on her. And Chang. She's Chinese, he's Chinese. I'm not racist but who knows? Maybe Chang is; his dead wife was a pure-blooded Chinese too. A distant cousin of his from the Long clan too. Damn. Maybe his family believes in 'keeping it in the family'. Good thing his parents are dead — one less obstacle for me.


"Have you read—"


"Dinner first, Chang." I drawl. The life dings and we enter.


Chang frowns and flushes slightly.


Standing side by side, he stares straight ahead and so do I. As the lift travels down silently, I catch his eyes in the mirror. "How did you get here?"


Under his jacket, he's wearing a white linen shirt with a mandarin collar. Is it a coincidence? Black and white again. Traditional mourning colors for the Chinese — is he still hung up on his wife?


Catching sight of my furrowed brows and pursed lips in the mirror, I make a conscious effort to relax.


"Motorbike," Chang replies shortly, zipping up his jacket. "Where are we eating?"


Looking at his attire, I make a quick decision. "Hil's Cafe." It's not too high-brow, it's got good food, good view and most importantly, it's private. I do *not* want any interruptions tonight. 


"Ok. I know where that is."


The lift dings again and he walks out first, heading for a sleek black bike parked near the entrance. Once again, my eyes are irresistibly drawn to his rear, the slight sway of narrow hips hypnotic. His gait is smooth and even; he moves like a dancer or a martial artist.


On one hand, I'm disappointed we'll be in separate vehicles. On the other hand, seeing him bent over that sports bike, thighs hugging that powerful machine — I guess that's more than adequate compensation.


As I drive out behind him in my own car, a two-seater Porsche, eyes flickering between the distracting ass and the road, I sincerely hope I do not get into a traffic accident.





Dinner was frustrating.


On one hand, Chang is fixated on my factories’ environmental practocols, while I simply couldn’t care less. I want him to focus on *me*. On the other hand, *he* was there.


I’m fascinated by every tilt of his head and curve of his lips, distracted by the flick of his wrist as he gestures passionately, enthralled by the glimpse of ivory of teeth every time he takes a bite. 


The waiter clears away the plates and asks us if we would like dessert. I shake my head but Chang nods with a smile.


“You like sweet stuff, Chang?” I ask with interest.


He looks faintly embarassed and keeps his eyes on the menu. “Well, yes. Not so much sweets, but I confess a weakness for chocolate.” I file away that little titbit. Folding the menu, he hands it over to the waiter. “A slice of the chocolate truffle please.”


“A glass of red for me,” I tell the waiter. I don’t really like to drink; I don’t like the idea of losing control, but dining and wining are necessary corporate skills. So I drink a glass — it keeps clients satisfied for most people have this odd notion that it’s rude to be the only one drinking and a few glasses lowers their own inhibitions. I also think it’s a good idea to build up some alcohol tolerance, unfortunately, I have to drink occasionally to keep up that tolerance.


“You’re not really interested in what I’ve been trying to say, are you?” Chang asks bluntly.


“Frankly? I’m not really interested in the scientific or environmental aspects,” I hold up my hand to forestall his retort as his face frowns, “but, I am willing to listen to you.”


“Really,” he snorts derisively.


“Really.” I try to smile sincerely. “It would be good for WingCorp’s image.”


Chang looks disappointed and angry, but resigned. “I guess that’s the best I can hope for.”


“Seriously Chang, I’ve never thought about such issues. Don’t you think that it’s quite an achievement that I’m willing to consider changes after only talking to you twice?” I coax. I may not be the natural charmer like Duo, but I’ve had the best image consultants and body language coaches.


While I’ve never fully given in to demands, I’ve realize that it’s best to compromise a little as well. Give them their small victories and they’ll keep coming back.


“Well, you’re honest. Of course, the rest test would be to see if you are truly sincere in making changes,” he sneered.


“What kind of changes do you have in mind?” I asked curiously.


He eyes me for a moment before opening the folder and taking out a few sheets of paper. "I've only sketched out a rough outline, but there are processing and scrubbing technologies available that would render your by-products more environmentally friendly."


He hands the papers to me and starts explaining. I look over the numbers, impressed by the effort he had put in, considering that I may not even grant him an audience, much less implement his changes.


"This will be costly to implement..." I check the figures, frowning. "Firstly, I would have to replace all of the existing equipment, which aren't cheap nor are they wearing out yet. Secondly, the new technologies cost, on average, twenty to thirty percent more."


Chang grimaced. "Yes, unfortunately environmentally friendly processes are still in their infancy. Hence the high cost."


"Do they even work? Deliver the numbers promised? Have they been tested in industry?" A small part of me is asking why I am even giving this serious consideration.


To be really honest? I'm being swayed by a pretty face.


"They should work. I'll have to admit, most of these processes have only been tested in laboratories. Those that have been tried and tested in industry do deliver, although there might be initial hiccups," Chang replies earnestly. A few strands of hair escape from his braid as he nods and he pushes it back behind his ears absently. "I know the outlay is high, but I believe WingCorp can afford it."


I raise a brow. "Yes we can. But why should we, given that none of our competitors are doing it?"


"Don't you ever do anything for the principle of it, regardless of the monetary cost? Some things are more important than material gain," Chang said crossly.


A pang of hurt lances through me at his disapproval but I ignore it. Who is he to judge me? Frowning, I cross my arms and ask him, "Why do *you* do this?"


"Because it's the *right* thing to do. We all have a responsibility to our environment; we *live* here too. WingCorp is not struggling; you can afford to effect these changes. Have you ever..." Chang trails off quietly, eyes dropping to the tabletop.


"Have I ever...?"


"Never mind." Chang shakes his head. "It's not relevant to the discussion at hand."


My frown deepens — I do not like *not* knowing. Who ever said ignorance was bliss was clearly an ignorant fool. But I do not pry further.


"It would be good for WingCorp's image, as you've admitted," Chang continues, raising his head to look at me again. His dark eyes seem to sparkle as he talks about his passion, his gaze intense and tone passionate.


"You can implement these changes gradually, in some of your factories first, and after a few years, your investment *will* pay off. Because the processes are cleaner, you'll be saving in energy cost. Some are even more efficient than traditional practices. Many groups now are lobbying for more stringent standards; I believe it’s only a matter of time before industry has to adhere to more environmentally friendly standards."


His tone turns sly and he waggles his brows playfully. "In fact, some of my own research focuses on such cleaner processes..."


I laugh, teasing him. "Fishing for grants, Chang?"


"It is mutually beneficial. We can share rights to the patents," he smirks, nodding at the waiter who arrives with his dessert and my wine.


"Perhaps." I take a sip. I sound non-committal, but actually, that proposal — investing in his research — sounds tempting. "Will you object to overseeing these changes, if I should approve?"


Will I get to see more of you, in other words.


"Will you hire me? Am I not irritating, pestering you like this." Chang smiles and suddenly I want to see him smile like that again. He has a beautiful smile, honest and warm.


“Hire you?” I smirk, thinking of what I’ll want him to do if I could …hire him.


"I warn you, I’m not cheap." Chang quips. Fuck, I’ve a wicked, *wicked* imagination.


Picking up the small fork, he takes a bite of his chocolate truffle and gives a low, estastic moan. "Gods."


I almost choke on my wine. "Good... cake?" My voice comes out a little hoarse.


He glares at me. "It's not *just* a cake." And licks an errant bit of chocolate icing from his upper lip.


"Right," I mutter weakly. His lip gleams wetly in the soft amber lighting. He’s playing with me, I swear.


Chang takes a larger bite, eyes slitting in pleasure. His smile becomes sweet. "So does this mean you'll do it?"


"Yeah." My eyes stay fixated on his lips, full and red after a meal. They part slightly and a pink tongue — wet and soft — darts out to check if any chocolate has been smeared on those lips. There is some chocolate on the tongue in fact, and his tongue’s action stains those previously cleaned lips, and so the tongue comes out again to lick...


"Oh yeah...." I hiss in a low voice.


The slim bronze column of his throat works as he purrs in delight and that sound should be *illegal*. "This is so, so sinfully rich." Digs his spoon into the gooey chocolate, his wrist twisting elegantly and I'm *never* going to look at chocolate in the same way again. "Positively decadent. Horrid to work off..."


And that conjures up images of all things sinful and decadent and *moaning*. Cool sheets and hot limbs entwined. A flash of caramel skin, a smear of dark chocolate.


I manage, very manfully, to stifle a whimper.


His eyes snaps open abruptly, the chocolate-induced orgasmic bliss forgotten when he registers what I've just said. "Yeah? As in, you'll make the changes?"


Changes? I blink. What *did* I say? "Yes...?"


"Great!" Chang's expression lights up. "Everything I recommended?"


Oh. Those changes. Shit.


"Oh. Uhh… Yeah."


Giving myself time to think, I signal for the check. "It's been a long day. Shall we discuss this further, perhaps tomorrow? I pick up the check of course."


"Sure," he chirps happily. Of course he's happy. He just did what nobody else in Sanc had done before — got me to roll over like a docile puppy and offer my tummy for a rub. Figuratively.


Scarily, I probably *would* have done that if he licked his lips like that again.


Wasn't it only last week when I left a board of directors cursing my name when I undercut their offers shrewdly? Cold-hearted bastard was probably the mildest expletive.


Chang is probably laughing at me now, I know it. I glance at him out of my eye as I sign the check, but he's only preoccupied with finishing his desert.


Damn. Now I'm envious of his chocolate. Getting licked and swirled and swallowed.


Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Like he said, WingCorp can afford it. Better yet, it would give me plenty of reasons to see more of him.


Bad, *bad* thought. But my traitorous mind has scampered on ahead with naughty thoughts of bronze-creamy skin and silky black and white clothing that was rapidly *not* there.


"Shall we go?" I stand up abruptly.


Leaving the warm, lit café, we walk slowly towards the darkened streets where our vehicles are parked. He’s talking animatedly about plans to revamp my companies' processing technologies, but I’m not been listening — I'm trying very hard not to think about kissing him. The velvety stroke of tongues, the satin glide of lips, the delightful juxataposition of sharp teeth and soft skin.


No, I'm not thinking about that.


Not thinking about touching him, feeling his skin next to mine, silky warm. Soft caress of rough hands. The sinuous strength of his body arching up against mine, hard planes of his chest and curve of strong shoulders and biceps, and the shallow dip of hipbones that I'll want to map with my tongue.




Slow down, Yuy. Is he straight? Could he *even* be attracted to me?


This feeling of lust, of expectancy — it's been steadily creeping up on me the whole day. The longest foreplay I've ever had, exquisitely torturous in its uncertainity. And yet, the sweet promise of *possibility*, that this just *could* blossom...


"Chang." My voice is strained.


He turns around, a faint quizzical expression on his face.


There really is no way to say this without sounding incredibly stupid — so I won't. I take a step closer and his eyes widen, but he does not move away.


"Chang..." I step closer, so close I could smell the faint, spicy cologne he wears. He smells of heat and promise.


"...What?" He asks, silky tenor sandy with nervousness. "Yuy?"


Slowly, recklessly, I raise my hands, one hand cupping the side of his face while my left drops to his shoulder. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated in bewilderment. They're black, not dark brown as I thought, inky pools that beckon and entice, and I cannot resist.


His carriage is stiff but he does not react when I press my lips to his. Buoyed by this, my tongue slips out and traces the outline of his lips, gently at first, and then more insistently. His lips are soft and lax, with the barest taste of chocolate.




A faint shiver ripples through him and suddenly, he goes *rigid*. A hard shove and a clumsy stumble back, and I now find myself pinned against my car, arched back uncomfortably over the top of the hood.


His voice is low and shaking, hissing in anger. Dark eyes snapping with indignition. “What was that about, Yuy?”


I stare boldly at him, unfazed by the hand wrapped around my throat. He’s leaning so close to me that I could feel the hot puffs of his breaths against my face. “Isn’t it obvious?”


Chang reddens. “I’m not attracted to you—“


“I think the point is that I’m attracted to *you*.” My lips curl and I roll my hips sinuously against him, my erection leaving him no doubt as to the veracity of my statement. 


He’s struck speechless by my audacity. The hand around my throat falls away and Chang stumbles back, shaking his head. “Dammit Yuy… Look I’m flattered and all, but I’m not even gay!”


“Are you homophobic, Chang?” I ask dryly. Straightening up, I pad towards him, like a predator which had sighted its prey.


I may have compared Chang to a panther before, but all I could think of now was how much he looked like a spooked cat as he backs away until he hits his bike. One hand reaches out to clutch nervously at the handle. Eyes *huge* and shell-pink tongue flickering out to lick skittishly at parted lips. If he had a tail, it would have been fluffed like a brush.


“No, but I was married! I had a wife!”


“But you’re not now.” It *really* wasn’t the smartest thing to do now, but I couldn’t help leering.


“Hun dan!” Chang growls, appearing to recover some of his verve. Spinning around, he mounts his bike in a swift motion. Without bothering with his helmet, he guns the engine and drives off.


“I’ll phone you!” I call after him, grinning. 






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