I do not own these puppets, and though I'm not sure who does, I'm only playing with them for my own personal entertainment.
Duo held back a hoarse sob, a single salt tear trickling down his too pale cheek, and knelt down beside the bed, his violet eyes smudged with dreams of darkness. "Heero..." he whispered, bowing his head.
The long-haired teenager ran a hand over that perfect skin, the alabaster marble that seemed to be more beautiful in death than in life, and shivered, feeling the cold seep into his bent fingers. He'd patched up Heero's wounds, bound the cuts and scrapes, set the various broken bones, all in a vain attempt to pretend that his small lover was still alive, merely napping, recharging his strength.
If only he hadn't self-destructed. Duo had overslept his alarm, and flown as fast as he could to the target base, where he found Heero in a bad way, and his Gundam out of firepower.
Shinigami had just activated its scythe when Wing Zero suddenly lit up the sky, glowing brightly with all the contained power about to blow. Duo remembered hearing someone scream, their shrill cries following him even into the waiting arms of darkness...
He would have given anything to hear Heero growl, "Omae o korosu" the way he did so well, in a style that was low and sexy and utterly Heero. One last time, for posterity.
And yet, the slight Japanese pilot remained still. His deceptively soft mouth that was able to cut more effectively than any knife, was slightly parted, as if waiting for a kiss. Bending over, Duo obliged him, gently suckling his bottom lip. Yet even the cavern of his mouth was cold. He drew back, eyes blurring, wiping his streaming eyes on the back of his hand.
He drew back to look at his lover. He'd undressed Heero, for where he had gone, there was no need for clothes. It was almost surreal; no more black biker shorts, green tanktop. No more Heero. And this empty body, still a bit warm, was only the empty shell, the housing for his true soul.
The American sat on the edge of the bed, twining his fingers through Heero's soft brown hair, softer even than his own, and bit his lip. He laid down, half-on and half-beside him, ignoring the chill that skittered down his bare skin. Duo pulled Heero's limp arms around him, and reached beneath the bed, feeling around for the glass bottle, he knew that he'd stowed it away somewhere under there...
Ah. His fingers closed around the neck of the Wild Turkey whiskey bottle, and he carefully flipped the makeshift cap off, dousing himself and the bed with gasoline. The air was filled with the stench of it, foreshadowing death...
He laid back and lit a match, reaching into the bureau drawer for a pack of Marlborough Reds Duo'd stuck there for emergencies. Some days it just wasn't enough to get shamelessly drunk. It was just that Duo was easily stressed out, and a cigarette helped alleviate the stress...
Duo closed his eyes, and took a deep drag. He tightened his hold around Heero's hand, and slid his fingers into the empty gaps between his. "Good bye," he said softly. "I love you." He let the cigarette dangle from his fingers, toying with the idea of putting it out. Duo thought of Quatre and Trowa, Wufei and Hilde... They would all miss him...
It wasn't enough.
Duo let the cigarette drop.
The flames rose up instantly, making a ring of fire roses bloom, licking at his flesh, parting the skin and burning their way to his heart. The gasoline had pooled in his collarbones, and now flames rose in long stalks up to kiss his face. Tears leaked from his eyes as the fire consumed his body-oh GOD it hurt, it hurt so much, and the flames were still there, slowly burning him alive...
Duo shivered and snuggled closer to Heero, taking comfort in the warm shelter of his arms. For a moment, he could pretend that the heat around him was simply the warmth of his body, his arms around his waist. He imagined that his own shriek of pain was the sound of the squeaky gates opening to Heaven. Duo spread his arms, welcoming Paradise into his blood...
End
Ariana
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