July 3, 2000
Gack! I'm sorry this took so long to write...
Duo: Don't fool yourself. Who do *you* think is actually eagerly awaiting this fic?!?
Ana: Go tie up Heero or something, weak mortal.
0.o; Erm... What happens here is dark. Okay, not really dark for me, since I like putting characters through the meat grinder, but it's dark for this fic. And Carlos gets shot!
So...I'll shut up now...
ja ne ~ana~
Dedicated to Mini, who always makes me laugh. ^_^
Warnings: OOCness. Severe severe OOCness. But hell, I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it.
I've taken the...coughcough...liberty of using songs from the 1990's and the...er...00's. Pretend they're from AC 195.
For the best effects, listen to the song posted at the beginning of each part while reading. ^_^
This part's song is "Put Your Lights On" (? Is that the title?!?) by Santana, with an appearance by the guy from Everclear...
"Care to dance?" he asked, pulling Heero to his feet. Wrapping two arms securely around his waist, he gave a little contented sigh, burying his nose and mouth in Heero's hair.
"There's no music," said the Japanese boy, yet he began to sway to the same beat as Duo, the rhythm twining around them, filling the air. His hands rose of their own accord and cupped the American's face.
"There is," disagreed the formerly braided one. One hand slid from its comfortable place on his hip and pressed against Heero's chest, feeling the quick, light patter of his heart.
"That's hopeless romanticism for you."
"Is it so hopeless?"
"No," decided Heero. "I guess not."
Then, they undressed each other and let the past week's tumult and hurt submerge in the idle pace of their love. They came, crying out the other's name into the darkness, falling into a dreamless sleep.
Lazy green eyes fluttered shut. "When did you know?" Quatre asked, resting his head on the rapidly rising and falling chest of his lover. "That you loved me?"
"I can't give you a specific moment," said Trowa after a few moments of silence. "It wasn't like a revelation. Just...knowing." His eyes opened fully, fixing on his anxious love. "Why?"
"The cease-fire's almost expired," he said slowly. "And we've no word from anyone of further peace talks. When it's over, you'll have to leave." He shifted uncomfortably, then leaned against Trowa, careful not to put all of his weight on the slender dancer.
"I know."
"You'll wait for me?"
"Of course."
"I could be killed."
Trowa snuggled him closer, letting his hands graze lightly over his chest. "No, you won't. You could, but it won't happen."
"You sound certain," said Quatre.
"I am."
That makes one of us, thought the blonde boy silently, but there were no more words that night.
Duo woke first, squinting through the damp shadows to the smooth form of Heero's body. One teasing hand brushed the bangs covering his eyes to the side, exposing two darkened eyelids and one pert nose that wrinkled as his hand accidentally brushed it.
"Wakey wakey love," he said in a sing-song voice. Heero made a strange groaning sound that came deep from within his chest, and tried to tug the blankets over his head. Duo smirked; so that was how he wanted to be... He knew there was a reason that he loved the Japanese boy. Other than his hot body and pretty face, of course.
Staring disdainfully at his recalcitrant lover, he ripped the coverings away in one swift, jagged motion. For one single, horrifying moment, Heero thought they'd been discovered. Then the soft laughter floating down to him on a slight breeze began to register and he punched Duo lightly.
"What was that for, Duo? I'm cold," said Heero with the expression and tonal qualities of a fourth-grader. The American pulled other, shivering, boy on top of him so the lines of their bodies were pressed together, rubbing with delicious friction any time either of them shifted slightly.
They were both panting, eyeing the other, trying to anticipate their next move. The previous night's joining had been a torrential journey down a volcano's pit; hot and furious, desperate in the need that had consumed them both. Duo was determined to make it slower this time, not that he was adverse to a fast, hard fuck.
It seemed God was against him...again. No sooner had he flipped Heero onto the rough cotton sheets than a loud roll of thunder rang out, exploding with frightening intensity into the skies. A few seconds later, the rain began to pour in through the slit of the tent, soaking everything within two feet, including Heero's clothes.
"Shit!" Duo stopped molesting the Japanese boy long enough to shove all of their now soaking stuff out of way of the rain. With a displeased grunt, he tied the flaps shut using all of the little plastic straps. He watched with a critical eye as the storm burgeoned against the canvas, but it held.
Heero sighed as Duo pounced on him again, relaxing into his gentle kisses and soft arms, running his hands over Heero's hips, caressing the sides. "Uhm..." he said, distracted by the hot mouth skimming lightly over one hard, wet nipple. "That feels..."
"Hmm?" Duo sat back and went to work on his own erection, letting the Japanese boy watch as he fisted himself, callused white hands tightening over his red, throbbing erection. "Feels good? Unbelievable? Incredible? Terrific? Ama--Mmph!" Heero glared at him, silently rebuking his rapidly deflating ego. He allowed himself one last touch before hurling the thrown pillow back at Heero. It caught him unawares in the face, before falling limply into his lap as a cover for his arousal.
Then Duo laid down beside him, running his hands through his short hair ruefully before sighing. "Heero..." He cleared his throat again, looking pointedly at the pillow. "Shouldn't we remove the obstacle?" Heero clutched the white feather pillow defensively, sticking his tongue out Duo. "We~ell, if we're not just feeling a little cranky today," he teased. "Baby need a fuck?"
"...No. I'm sore," he sighed, giving the cutest little growl. He pushed the pillow onto the ground, then granted Duo an excellently angled view of his full-body stretch. "Later," he promised, eyes smoldering.
Duo pouted. "Can't we just--"
As he spoke, a loud boom rocked through the camp, sending something suspiciously man-shaped flying into the side of the tent. "What the--That was not thunder," Duo said aloud, exchanging looks with his lover. "I wonder what's going on."
Less than a second later, four soldiers bearing Romafeller's red cross insignia burst into Duo's tent, overturning the small table on which sat Duo's laptop. It all seemed to go in slow motion to Heero; first, the men dressed in black uniforms grabbing Duo and pushing him to the ground, a booted heel on the back of his neck. He made a low choking noise as they turned their attentions to him--the ceasefire! It wasn't due to expire for another three days! That meant--
"You broke the ceasefire," he said steadily, Prussian blue eyes flickering from his limp lover to the men that were slowly advancing, gloved hands outstretched. "You're not supposed to--"
"*They* broke the ceasefire before we ever did," one of the men, a bulky looking football type, snapped. "They sent an aircraft here 9 days ago carrying top secret documents for air weaponry. Blame your own, boy."
"Hey!" another soldier added. "You look like--"
"It doesn't matter who he looks like. Search him; he might be the one carrying the documents." Heero looked at the man as if he were insane. He wasn't wearing any clothes! How could he be carrying the--oh. Realization flooded his mind as every muscle in his body froze, whited out with shock. He watched distantly as they pried open Duo's mouth, feeling around the roof of his mouth and throat, then pushed him back onto the ground, long fingers pushing between creamy white cheeks and inside of him. To his credit, the American made not a sound the entire time, but when they started on Heero, stretching him out onto the bed, he cried out in protest.
"Leave him alone! He's--" The American collapsed as the tallest soldier punched him hard, snapping his head back. Heero thought for one agonizing moment that he was dead; the slow rise and fall of his chest showed he was only unconscious. The man that had recognized Heero looked as if he would have liked to done something *else* to the Japanese pop star, but refrained, instead licking his lips as he watched.
"Put some clothes on," he snorted, looking at the naked bodies of the two boys. Heero swallowed hard, then pulled on Duo's army fatigues, and dressed the unconscious boy in his jeans and tanktop. <I never told you.> They were close enough in size so they fit, though barely.
"This boy isn't a soldier," he informed them from beneath brown bangs. The man that had searched him stared into his eyes, as if looking for some sign that he was lying. "He's just my boyfriend, visiting me during the ceasefire. If you have any honor, you'll let him go."
There was a long pause, and Heero feared that he'd been found out.
"Fine," the man said, shaking his head. "Let's go, then." With that, he found himself pushed outside, where the other soldiers were being herded. Three of the soldiers departed, but the last paused, long enough to break Heero's wrist with one quick twist of his hand. "That's for the honor crack, bitch. You'll go first." He finished with a hard right hook, sending him flying into the ground. He had to brace himself on his broken wrist and let out a loud curse.
Heero found warm arms wrapping themselves around his form, and the scent of flowers invading his nostrils. "Duo," Quatre whispered. "Are you all right?" Heero turned, just enough to let him see who it really was. "What are you doing here?" the blonde boy demanded, aghast.
"I took Duo's place. He's unconscious in the tent." He still felt numb; this couldn't be happening to him. It was his eighteenth birthday...
"You can't do this, Heero," Quatre said urgently. "We could all be killed for breaking the agreement--"
"You'd do it for Trowa," he said simply, and there was no arguing with that kind of logic.
Trowa watched from his hiding place in the tree, Quatre's binoculars in hand. He hated himself for his cowardice, for his weakness. He should be out there, trying to help Quatre...
But he was a dancer, not a soldier, and wouldn't be able to hold his own against even the most crude and unskilled the enemy had to offer. All he could do was watch, and hope that help arrived soon. As soon as they moved out, he could call someone...
Who would he call? Heero's agent? He laughed at the thought. He knew no one in the military, had no idea what he was doing. And here he was, planning a rescue from over two hundred Romafeller soldiers all by his lonesome. And Heero, if he was still alive.
Trowa surveyed the crowd again; he'd lost Quatre for the sixth time. The blonde boy had been swallowed up into the crowd. A few minutes later, he spotted him, hanging over Duo. Then Duo turned, and he saw that it was Heero, dressed in Duo's clothes. They hung a bit baggy on his skinnier frame, but still were a good enough fit to pass him off as a soldier. Was he insane?!?
Trowa watched for twenty minutes and still couldn't see Duo anywhere. Which meant...
He was probably still inside the tent.
Heero had taken his place. He cursed the boy for his foolhardiness and misplaced courage. He was endangering his own life for an American soldier he'd known for barely over a week.
Trowa only wondered why the idea hadn't occurred to him first.
"Ooh..." His head ached like a motherfucker... Duo grabbed his head, massaging his temples gingerly. His mouth tasted like dirt... "Heero...Heero!" He sat bolt upright and then wished he hadn't; nausea stomped thoroughly over his tender stomach. Duo leaned over and vomited violently, noting the blood with mild discomfort.
Heero...
Heero was nowhere in sight. He searched under the bed futilely; he knew where he was. They'd taken him. His traitorous mind supplied him with dozens of images of Heero, being tortured for information, raped by soldiers, crying out in pain. Those blue eyes, glassed over in death. It was like a glass in his mind shattered. He let out a despaired, animalistic cry that tore straight from his gut.
He flew out of the tent; nearly dusk. It had been morning when he'd been knocked unconscious. There was no one else in sight; all the other soldiers were gone, supposedly captured.
Okay. Breathe.
In.
Out.
In. He was alone in a camp; a quick check into the bays proved that they'd taken their tanks and Jeeps. Alone in a camp with no mode of transportation. The tire tracks pointed north, but it would take forever to follow them on foot; they had almost a twelve hour head start.
The supplies had been ransacked. Most of the blankets were gone, as were the first aid kits and various guns were missing from all the tents. There was--Jesus! There was a bleeding man stuck to his tent, the blood congealed and crusted onto the canvas painfully.
"Hey," Duo said, crouching beside the soldier. Careful not to jar him, he lifted his chin and swore as Carlos blinked at him, disoriented. "Carlos, man. You--" He swallowed a lump in his throat. It was pretty stupid to ask if he was okay; he had a bullet buried in his stomach.
"Duo," Carlos gasped. "Man, I saw Heero. They took him with the rest of the soldiers." He coughed, shuddering dry heaves that sent chills down Duo's spine. "He was wearing your uniform; why would he be wearing your uniform?"
"I don't know, Carlos," Duo said softly. "I really don't." His eyes darted back to Carlos, who was still supporting himself on the tent pole, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Let's get you inside the tent. It's going to be a cold night."
End Part Eight
Ariana
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