Aug 29, 2000
This is twisted and strange. AU, OOC...
If I had known how far my obsession would go, I would have killed myself that first day instead of waiting five years. I sit on my bed in my lonely apartment, watching the cars go by on the crowded streets, and I feel as if every fear, want, and hurt in my life is suddenly boiling over, filling my lungs and my heart and pushing out into my fingertips, burning the skin there, and I know it's time.
My last words, my suicide note and my will, I suppose. Better make it good, then, Maxwell? I reach out and clutch the cheap Bic gel-roller I bought at Stop and Shop for a quarter, the point poised just over the smooth surface of the grainy paper.
Their faces still haunt me, their wide eyed expressions as they died, killed by my stupidity, and my jealousy. I wanted so much to tear them apart, keep them separate so I could have them both. I did, eventually.
And so it begins:
It's my mobile suit!
"It's my mobile suit!" he said, as if that explained everything. I took aim and fired straight at his heart, once, twice, and three times. He was obviously a killer, the way he moved with a fierce grace, his long arms swinging with learned caution by his long torso. There was very little room for mistakes.
I must have gotten lucky the first two times, then, because all three bullets swept right by him, burying themselves into the steel of a ship behind him with triplet dull thuds. Less than five seconds later, the missiles exploded.
I was ready to kill him, only it looked like from the pier that he was already dead, and there's no point wasting good bullets on a dead man. That girl, that too perfect, too sweet, just stood there and looked at me oddly, like I was supposed to go rescue someone that had just tried to destroy Shinigami.
"Well?" she asked impatiently. "Aren't you going to save him?"
I laughed. "Are you crazy, miss? He's dead. There's no saving him." I felt my hand twitch as I barely kept myself from crossing myself. Old habits die hard.
That was the first time I met Heero Yuy.
I hated him instantly. He was a self-assured, over-confident little parts-stealing brat. He was a terrible conversationalist. He hated me too, so the feelings were at least mutual. I couldn't even see him as a human, let alone as someone's loved one, someone's child.
It would never have happened if I had knocked. Just another mission, another bunch of faceless soldiers we would have to kill so we could extend our existence for another mission. Another school. The names and places have blurred together so much; for a 21 year old man, I've got a terrible memory.
Either way, I needed to check over some schematics with Heero, since we were paired together *again*. Sometimes I really don't know if the docs were trying to hook us up or something. The same goes for Trowa and Quatre, although they were good friends anyway, so that could explain why they spent so much time together.
I should have knocked.
"Oh shit!" I felt my heart skip a beat as I got an eyeful of sculpted pale flesh, sliding over soft sheets. They moved together slowly, rocking against the other, Heero's arms locked behind Quatre's back, his long legs hooked around his waist. "Oh, shit." My extensive casual situations vocabulary left me stranded, just standing there in the doorway, watching as Quatre and Heero, the two people I respected the most out of all of the pilots, froze in shock.
"Oh shit." This one was louder than the last. Quatre turned and looked at me over his shoulder, the blonde hairs on his neck plastered with sweat to his skin, and his teal eyes widened briefly. "I-I'm sorry..." But I couldn't seem to make my feet move; they were glued to the floor. Quatre was still staring at me when he gave a little gasp and his eyes clenched shut, his strong frame trembling as he loomed over Heero. Shit! They were... Heero gave a soft cry and I heard the sounds of a body arching off and then collapsing back onto the bed. The little pants of their breath filled the room.
Well, Howard always said I had perfect timing.
I was lucky. They didn't get a chance to corner me for another few weeks, giving me a chance to think of a plausible excuse. We were working on our Gundams in the hangar; well, Quatre and Heero were working on their Gundams. I wasn't really hiding, but I was trying to get some work done and not reveal my presence at the same time.
Then I sneezed.
Before even ten seconds had passed, I had two very irate looking pilots knocking on Shinigami's hatch. "Duo?" Quatre asked politely. "Would you come down for a moment, please?" Sighing, I crawled onto the scaffolding, and let Heero lower us down to the metal catwalk.
Once we touched down, I found myself unceremoniously pinned to the cold metal. My shirt was riding up as the screws dug into my back. Heero sat on my stomach, looking impassively at Quatre for their next move.
"Can you please tell him to get off me?" Quatre shot his lover a dirty look, as dirty as a look from Quatre gets, and Heero relented, pulling me to my feet. I yanked my arm away from him as hard as I could, even as I had to admit that just a little bit, I had liked the feeling of his body pressed against mine. Of course, that probably had a lot to do with the fact I couldn't get the image of him and Quatre doing the nasty out of my mind. They just looked so...right together. Not good together, because physically they were too similar, but right. Like two puzzle pieces that don't really belong to any bigger picture.
"So, how long have you been together?" They looked at each other, holding a silent conversation that went way over my head.
"Before the war." I stared hard at Heero as he spoke, watched the lines crease in his forehead, and knew he was lying. About something, I wasn't sure.
"We weren't together, but..." Quatre shrugged. "He killed my step-uncle. It was a good thing for the corporation, actually. He was embezzling funds, got mixed up with the wrong people, and then he suddenly died and we discovered where all the missing money had gone." There was something else he wasn't telling, but then, that's the way the world works. You never really know the whole story.
Pieces started to fall together. "You saw him." I smirked as a scowl crossed the Japanese boy's face. "You've got to work on blending in, Heero. You stick out and then you get these people falling in love with you everywhere."
"We're not in love," Quatre said firmly. "We've already discussed this." A nod from Heero showed they weren't joking around. "It's just...gratification. Something that feels good; something to keep us sane during the war. That's why--" He swallowed. "We'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the others, Duo. It's a secret we haven't told anyone."
"I would have thought you of all people--"
"I'm sorry for destroying your white angel image of me, but it's the truth." He shrugged and wiped a smear of grease from his cheek onto his shirt. "No one is perfect. And we're not in love."
They kissed deeply, then, maybe to show how much of their relationship was built on passion and attraction. They're both terrible liars, by the way, and they were lying then.
Everyone says that I watched Heero a lot during the war. Even Wufei admitted, "You stared at him a lot, Maxwell. What were we to think, that he had a permanent piece of food stuck in his teeth? Of course everyone thought you were jealous."
I watched Quatre too. I watched the way he fussed over Heero, always using his uchuu no kokoro to watch over him like a mother cat. It was obvious he was slowly falling for the Japanese pilot, despite their vows of pure physicality. He guarded his back in battles. He bandaged cuts and scrapes and made him countless cups of tea.
And all the while, I was falling in love with both of them. I loved the way they started every morning with a kiss and a cup of coffee, they way they sneaked looks while they thought the other wasn't looking. I wanted to be part of that, that warmth and stability.
So I watched them, and I wrote down their stories, their lives. I called myself Quatre, I wrote prose about Heero and I, about the picnics we took, the battles we fought. I wanted to be the blonde haired Arabian so much it hurt sometimes to get up and look in the mirror, expecting to see aquamarine and seeing purple instead.
Besides that first time, I watched them make love four times during the war. Each time, the sex was better and better, becoming less an act and more a revelation. The first time in Heero's Gundam, the hatch slightly ajar in order to keep the glass from steaming. It did anyway, and it also gave me another sliver of insight into their minds as I spied from Deathscythe's cockpit.
They did it with their eyes closed, like they didn't want to look down and see that their lover was really their lover. They made love like they were fucking a dream.
That night, as I sat down writing down what they'd done in Wing, I had to stop twice and touch myself, thinking about them was making me too hot. When I opened my eyes, for a moment, it was like I was Quatre. My skin wasn't the right color, it was too pale, too soft.
That was about the time their relationship started to get a little bit rocky. I decided to pursue Heero, the one who always haunted my wet dreams with those eyes, cloudy with lust and his lips, wet with seed from my cock. For a short time, Quatre had an affair with Trowa, who was unwilling but unable to resist for long. Who wants to hurt their best friend?
I did. I wanted Quatre to disappear completely so I could have Heero the way he had him. I realize now that I had images of them that were never real, that they never expressed their love through words because love is a mirage and the only thing that is important is feeling, not saying.
I had him, once. It was a moment of weakness for him, I think, burned by the unfaithfulness of Quatre, where he sought the next best thing. I made myself available, let him know I wouldn't be averse to visiting his bed, and screwed him senseless. He looked so guilty the next morning, I let him go.
They were back together by the time everyone retired to bed the next day. The walls are thin in these old school dormitories.
We got captured. That's the long and the short of it. The Gundam pilots weren't good enough. They searched Deathscythe before destroying it and they found them. The stories, I mean, all of them, the good, the bad, the hot sweaty sex scenes.
They played with them before they died. The worst part, I think, was watching Heero as they recounted every place he and Quatre had made love, and watching the light die in his eyes. Their secret, and he believed his lover told.
I wanted to say something and I didn't. I was afraid that his wrath would turn from our enemies to me.
So they died. They killed them in the courtyard, their blood spilled effortlessly onto the clay tiles, their lives wasted. They died together, at least. They weren't alone.
They never said it, the three little words, but I hope that they knew. I pretend that they did; it's the only way I can stop tossing and turning at night. I remember walking out to the fountain and seeing it stained with Heero's blood, more than my hands had ever been.
And Quatre just looked up at me with those eyes, blank like he'd gone completely Zero System, and I knew that he knew. And he forgave me, not enough to absolve my obsession or the seduction, but enough so that I would keep living, keep suffering.
That was his final revenge for taking what was never mine.
Help us. ^^;
Ariana and Bianca
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