28-Aug-2004

Title: Nothing Like the Sun
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R
Pairings: 1+R, 1+2, 2+3, 3+4... oh, and 4+OC
Archived: gwaddiction & sweetlysour Warnings: Quatre cusses, gets laid, beats people up
Disclaimer: not mine. I know this. don't sue, it's all for practice.
Note: thanks to those reading & reviewing

Nothing Like The Sun by Sol 1056

Part Eleven

I'd been hoarding Iria's gift, waiting for a good thing to spend it on. I didn't want Heero pitying me if the place looked bad, but that wasn't entirely the reason for the impulse. I also wanted to get started on spending the money before Heero showed up. He would be my guest. I didn't want him feeling like he had to pay his way. Considering how frugal I'd been, I'd probably unwittingly flinch when I pulled out my wallet if I didn't break the penny-counting habit at least temporarily. I could always go back to being careful after Heero left.

An afternoon of shopping at a local discount furniture store, and soon I had an apartment of ripped cardboard and several pieces of golden wood modern furniture. I stood in the middle of the room and admired it all, before hefting the card table and carrying it down to the dumpster. I'd grown up with heavy antiques, ornate and ponderous; the open steel-and-wood construction of the furniture felt light-hearted and playful in comparison.

It was dawn when I did my last trip to the dumpster, cursing and fighting with the second-hand dresser all the way down the stairs. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I climbed the stairs one last time. Back in the apartment, I straightened up a little. The best purchase – and the one I could least resist – was the two red rugs. Some kind of dyed fabric, they weren't too large, but were thick. I put one by the kitchen sink, and the other by the bed. I still wasn't sure how to deal with the fact that I only had one bed, but we'd camped together – if that was the term – back during the war. At least it wasn't a twin bed, I assured myself.

Sleep came with the sunrise, and I think I dreamed of bad directions, trying to assemble a Gundam with a small metal rachet and an eyeglasses screwdriver. I was startled out of the dream by the sound of a shrill ringing. It took a second for me to register, react, and flip the phone open.

"Winner," I said, a bit groggy.

"Chang," Wufei replied. He sounded as exhausted as I did.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. I hunched over in the bed, sheets around my waist as I scratched my chest. He didn't say anything. "What's up," I prompted. "Mission over?"

"Yeah," Wufei replied. "You just wake up? You sound like it."

"Up late. You sound pretty bad yourself."

"Haven't slept in two days. Just put Yuy on a flight. He'll be arriving an hour earlier, coming straight from L1. Got a pen?"

I scrambled for paper and pen. "Ready." Wufei read out the shuttle's call number, and I scribbled it down, throwing the pen after the paper. "What happened?"

"Wrapping up case on terrorist organization," Wufei said. His voice was flat, and the dull edge made me wince. "We got the bad guys."

"Need to know," I whispered, both a statement and a question.

"Yeah," Wufei said, adding somewhat uncharacteristically, "sorry."

"You're safe," I told him. "That's what matters to me. Get some rest. Tell Une if you don't get time off I'll come kick her ass."

Wufei snorted, but it was a pale memory of his usual derision. "I'll take a day. Don't fuck this up, Winner."

"Take a week," I insisted. "And I won't." He mumbled something, and I said my goodbyes. Dropping the phone on the bed, I groaned. Five hours of sleep, but I was awake now. Might as well get up and face the day... and brace myself for an exhausted friend's arrival.

Fuckin' great, I muttered to myself. Heero when well rested can be difficult; when exhausted, he's downright unbearable. But at least it'd solve the question of the bed – he'd sleep the whole time.

I was waiting at the shuttle station when Heero disembarked, one of the last in line. His head was down, the Preventers' duffle bag over his shoulder, a second bag in his hand. His jacket was dusty and wrinkled, and his hair was a little matted with dried sweat. When he came to stand in front of me, I frowned. He'd barely looked up, and I realized his eyes were mostly closed.

"Come on," I told him. "Let's get you someplace safe."

That word seemed to do the trick, and he nodded. I walked beside him, our shoulders close enough to jostle in the crowd, and he seemed to take it as the protective gesture I sensed he needed. Something had gone wrong on the mission; I was almost certain of it. And if my instinct was right, then it was a sure thing that Heero was blaming himself completely.

He balked at the taxi stand and dug into his pockets. I didn't even bother trying to catch his heavy-lidded gaze; I flashed a few hand signals down by my side, where I knew he'd see them.

Hold, I've got it covered.

Heero sighed, and climbed into the taxi. When I gave the driver the directions, Heero stared out the window with empty eyes and was asleep within a block.

Thirty minutes later we were in front of my apartment. I guided Heero up the stairs and inside.

"Go take a shower," I told him. "Clean towels are on the hook."

He nodded, dropping the bags by the door and stumbling towards the bathroom. One of the bags clanked oddly, but I paid it no mind; Heero was probably traveling with most of his favorite arsenal again. I busied myself making sandwiches and tea, doubting he'd be up for much more. I never had been, after a bad mission; the tension makes digestion a miserable experience unless the food is simple. I was just setting the sandwiches on the table when Heero stepped out of the bathroom.

His hair was a mess, but his eyes were brighter, and he slipped into the chair opposite me with a tired sigh. His powerful hands, broad and square, picked at the sandwich, before he bit into it. I ate in silence, letting him acclimate to the fact that he wasn't in a shuttle, wasn't on a mission, and was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, not a uniform.

"Thanks," he finally said, and glanced down at his empty plate. He was silent for a long moment, but his fingers twitched against the plate's edge.

"The mission," I said. He nodded. "How bad?"

"We lost two," he stated, in a harsh voice. "Michaels and Petronelli."

I'd met Petronelli a year before; he'd been a young guy, new to the force. Michaels I'd only heard of – she was a capable stealth expert who knew her skills. Heero cradled the mug in his hands and glared at the plate as though measuring it up and preparing to take aim.

"We'd tracked the organization to a hold-out on L1, and the Preventers there requested backup familiar with explosives, so Une sent in our squad. The place was wired. I'd run a scan; there were anomalies in the signature of the electronic system, but we had to act fast. It was a trap. They blew the building. Took five of their men and two of ours."

"Heero," I said, sighing. He didn't respond, other than a muscle flickering in his jaw. "Yuy," I snapped, and his head came up, his eyes narrowed. I didn't drop my gaze from his. "I'm sorry we lost two. But it's not your sole responsibility."

His voice was detached, clinical. "I was the most experienced—"

"I've heard of Michaels' reputation." I kept my voice as flat as his, brooking no argument. "Ten years your senior, and I doubt she'd be pleased to hear you say that."

"She never will now, will she."

Heero stared off into the middle distance, frowning. His hands were white-knuckled on the mug. I waited, saying nothing, and gradually something in him shifted. I could feel his exhaustion and desperate self-blame beginning to fade as he accepted on some level that I wouldn't agree nor would I argue. This was an old pattern between us; not every mission I'd led had gone well. If he had been truly to blame, I would have willingly chewed him a new asshole – I thought of Wufei, and nearly smirked – because that's what Heero would expect, and in some ways, even need. But in this case? No, I told myself, that wasn't the sense I got.

Heero's shoulders relaxed minutely, the line between his brows fading to its usual scowl. His eyes were focused on the pictures on the walls. "You drew all that?"

"Yeah," I said, recognizing the topic change for what it was. I gave him an abashed smile, willing to go along. "Abstracts are not my forte."

"I like them," he said, dismissing my response curtly. "Wufei sends his greetings."

I snorted. "You doctored that considerably, I'm sure."

"He did say something about making sure you actually had food in your fridge," Heero allowed, deadpan, but one eyebrow twitched.

"I just fed you," I said, getting up and collecting the plates. "I'd imagine that's proof."

Heero nodded, leaning back in the chair as he looked around the apartment. "I like it."

"Thanks." I rinsed off the two plates, dried them, and put them away. "I know it's—"

"I never liked your houses," Heero said, quietly. "They always felt like hotels. I like this place."

"You do?" I leaned against the pantry countertop, crossing my arms comfortably. I shrugged. "I'm surprised. So far the reaction from everyone else has been rather... shall we say... not impressed."

"It's more of a home than my place," he replied. I was startled, and he gave me a quizzical look. I shook my head, and he smiled tentatively. "It is. It feels more like... like you," he concluded, with a firm nod. "What are you studying? Just art?"

"And economics, history, psychology, the general stuff." I replied. "Finals are next week."

"Do you have to take all those subjects? Or were you just interested?"

"They're required for graduation. Three from this section, two from that... the university has this thing about well-rounded educations." I grinned. "And apparently our histories don't apply."

"I'd imagine not, unless you're planning on another Eve War," Heero said. A frown crossed his face, and he turned away from me, his gaze on the sketchbooks on the desk.

"It's only six o'clock," I said. "You can sleep, and we'll go out when you wake up. Or you can sleep until tomorrow morning and we'll hang out then."

His brow furrowed.

"I do have to study," I told him. "I'll keep the light low." When he didn't get up, I lowered my chin and glared at him. "Move it, Yuy. Sleep."

He arched an eyebrow – to anyone else, it would have been barely noticeable – but to me, it was loud as day. He was daring me to make him try. I didn't drop my gaze, and it was a long minute before his lips curled in derision, but he still didn't say anything. He simply stood, walked over to the bed and lay down with his back to me. Within three breaths, his shoulders began rising and falling in a deep, even pattern, and I knew he was sound asleep.

I shook my head at him, amused and flattered but also relieved. Manhandling an exhausted Heero into sleeping was something I'd hoped to avoid. I doubted even I would survive that experience. I flipped off the overhead light, and carried one of the chairs to my desk. Turning on the blue lamp, I flipped open my economics workbook and began reviewing my vocabulary.

Heero glared at his reflection, and I leaned into the bathroom long enough to give him an annoyed look.

I pointed at the mirror. "You break it, you buy it, Yuy. Let's go."
He scowled, following me out of the bathroom, tugging at the black shirt I'd loaned him. It was just a long-sleeved t-shirt, but the way he acted, it was burning his flesh.

"I don't see why—"

"Can it, Yuy," I said, but there was no rancor.

If I let him, he'd hedge all night, despite his insistence that he wanted to find out how I spent my time. I'd always included him in my schedule before, although usually my evenings involved wearing a suit and shiny shoes. My suggestion for the night hardly qualified as such. It took little effort to pick up on the intense curiosity coming from him even if he did cross his arms and glower at me when I told him he wasn't wearing his Preventers' jacket.

A few minutes later we were out on the street, Heero dressed in my black jeans jacket. I'd offered him my coat, but he'd put his foot down at that, insisting he could handle the cold better than I.

At the club, Fred met me with a huge grin, clapping me on the back. He started to do the same to Heero, but one look from Heero and Fred's hand was wisely retracted. We breezed in past the line of people waiting and Heero raised his eyebrows at me when he realized no one had checked our ID or taken money from us.

"Heero," I mouthed, "we are nineteen. We are supposed to get into clubs in hopes of drinking. Or would you rather I have them stamp your hand?"

He didn't say anything, but his nostrils flared, and he jerked his head towards the bar. I followed, smirking behind his back. As long as I stood my ground, he'd back down. I'd first learned that three years back, in the moment I'd handed him the disks and told him I could fight without Zero. It wasn't until the Mariamaia Incident that I'd realized if I challenged his abilities, he couldn't resist proving me wrong – even if he then went about doing what I wanted him to do in the first place.

Yeah, it's manipulation, I thought, ordering shots for both of us. He sniffed his cautiously, waiting until I'd downed mine before he drank his, and I allowed him that little victory. But with Heero, I was always careful to use it only when I had no other way to get him to do what he secretly wanted anyway. And in that moment, his gaze resting on the empty drink, he was as transparent as the shot glass. His fingers were drumming on the bar, in time with the music, his eyes just a bit wide despite the line between his brows.

"That's probably enough for you," I told him. "I don't want to carry you back to my place if you can't keep up with me."

Heero's head came up, and I nearly ruined the game by laughing outright. He signaled to the bartender, who glanced at me, and I nodded. Put it all on my tab, I signaled, and Allison shrugged. This time Heero didn't wait for me to drink. He slammed the shot back, clapping the glass back down on the bar with a solid thunk and a challenge obvious in his eyes.

In some ways, that night wasn't much different from all the times Heero had accompanied me to various professional gatherings. Most of what I had had to do consisted of smiling, laughing at stupid jokes, pretending to flirt with married women but not enough to get in trouble, and generally keeping that diplomat's smile glued to my face. Heero had insisted on his attendance at the more prestigious events, under the pretense that I required a bodyguard. I'd never protested, nor did I remind him that the Maganacs would have been there in droves had there truly been a threat. Sometimes I even suspected that he invited himself along out of some awareness that having a friend at my side was the only thing making such suffering even remotely bearable.

Being at the club wasn't nearly as torturous, but in most ways it wasn't that different. I ran into every employee, both on-duty and off, matched most of them for shots, introduced Heero, and chatted amiably. To my disappointment there wasn't even a single fight all night, so I didn't even have that to distract Heero. He stayed at my side, managing a nod to those introduced, and a glare to anyone else. Fact was, I'm sure some of my former coworkers considered him a rather intimidating bore, but I knew the signs. Heero was having a great time.

It's the little things, with Heero, or Trowa, or Wufei. Hell, even Duo only gives away his true feelings in tiny doses. Wufei's chin comes up when he's pleased; Trowa gets a little quirk of his lips that everyone else interprets as disdain. Duo's fingers twitch, beating against his jeans in time with the music, even when the rest of him is perfectly still. Heero shoves his hands in his pockets. For someone always prepared for the next fight, having one's hands not immediately available is akin to leaving the gun under the bed, safety on. Pretty much about as relaxed as a former soldier and current officer was going to manage, but I suppose that went for all of us.

So I smiled at my coworkers, tolerated their inquisitive glances at Heero, and felt satisfied that Heero was not nearly as bored as they thought. I even caught his head nodding to the music a few times, his gaze lingering on some of the people walking past. He sipped his beer with a casually lethal air, which didn't seem lost on many in the crowd. I noticed a number of people giving us a wider berth than one might expect possible in a crowded club.

"They're dancing," Heero mouthed at one point. I looked down from the back bar towards the dance floor, and shrugged. He arched a single eyebrow at me, his eyes on mine as he finished off his beer.

"I suppose," I mouthed back. "Waltz and foxtrot aren't worth much here."

"Doesn't look like dancing," he replied, his eyes narrowed. Two girls bounced past, wearing little more than six inches of skirt and a strip of fabric against their breasts. Heero frowned, and he glanced my way again. "Twitching like road kill."

I smirked. "Good description."

"They should take lessons from Duo," Heero said, his eyes still on the dance floor. "When he—" Heero stopped, his mouth open just a little, and if it weren't for the lights flashing overhead, I might've been able to tell if he were blushing. He seemed a little flushed, at least.

"He's out of their league," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant and let the moment pass.

"Yeah." Heero turned away from me, staring down at the label on his beer. With a smooth motion, he tossed it over the crowd into the nearest trashcan. It landed with enough force to shatter, and he scowled. "Don't have to carry me yet, Winner," he informed me.

I nodded, and followed him to the bar again. Looked like the credits I'd set aside for his visit were going to be spent mostly on one night's tab. But then, it was decent alcohol, and I figured he needed it.

The on-hold display disappears, and a man about Quatre's age appears. He's of Italian descent, judging by the tanned skin and the name flashing at the bottom of the screen: Rod Descanti.

"An improvement over Boston," Quatre quips.

"What about afterwards?" Heero's hands were out, swinging loosely at his sides. His head was tilted back, watching the deep blue skies overhead, tinted orange by the city lights. "Back to WIC?"

"Don't know." I shrugged, and balled my fists in my pockets. The spring night had turned cool while we were at the club, and I sniffed the air. The city felt stale; possibly a storm coming in off the lake waters. "Depends on if we can find a compromise."

"Ah." Heero nodded, his head still raised upwards.

"My building," I announced, nudging him gently before he walked right on past. Through the old creaking door, and our footsteps were near silent on the old stairs. I usually stomped; with him at my side, it felt like we were heading into another mission. I reached for my gun until I remembered and pulled out my keys instead.

Inside my apartment, I decided against turning on the light. The golden glow from the window lit the room well enough to see. Heero dropped the coat over a chair, kicked off his boots, and collapsed on the edge of the bed. He got up after a second, picking up one of his bags, and bringing it back with him to the bed. It clanked again, and I settled down at the end of the bed, my back against the wall, my elbows on my bent knees.

He pulled out a box, no more than six inches on a side, and dropped it unceremoniously by my feet.

"There," he said, already turning away. "Dorothy."

I raised my eyebrows at him, but he was digging through the bag and apparently ignoring me, so I opened the box. Inside were four small pottery cups, barely big enough to hold a few swallows each. Heero turned sideways on the bed to face me, cross-legged, and pulled out a bottle. Grunting, he undid the cap, and motioned at the cups. I held up two, and he filled them.

"Plum wine," he told me, and set down the bottle. He took the second cup, and I sniffed it carefully before sipping. When I coughed, he looked pleased, and sipped his without reacting. "Blame Chang and Catalonia."

"I'll do that," I said, wincing. It was a sweet, but sharp against my throat. Compared to the abrupt shots we'd done all night, the plum wine had a smoothness that soon warmed my body. I couldn't help but tease; his smug expression was annoying. "What's the occasion?"

"You not being a prick," he replied. A slight raise of his eyebrows belied the deadpan delivery.

I grimaced, thought better of it, and shrugged. "Guess I deserve that."

"Some." Heero refilled his cup, then mine. He set his cup down next to the bag, and pulled out another box. "That's from Relena."

"She'd better not be giving me more ties," I grumbled. I finished my cup, and opened the box. Inside was a photo album, and I chuckled. "This is from the winter party?"

Heero looked surprised, then nodded. He refilled our cups, and I alternately sipped and hissed, flipping the album open. I tilted it towards the window, and that was enough light. Sally, laughing with Zechs; Une, chatting with Wufei and Duo... my hands froze over a picture of Duo, caught unawares. Trowa was at his side, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Trowa, looking down at Duo with a surprised, delighted expression; Duo's mouth was open, his eyes shut, laughing at something. His body was tilted towards Trowa's, a trusting, inviting position.

"Oh," was all I could manage.

The clink of glass bottle against pottery was the only answer, and I took a deep breath before turning the page. Relena, wearing a strange hat loaded with fruits and vegetables, with her skirt pulled up above her knee. It wasn't clear what she was doing, but she seemed to be pointing at her kneecap, talking to someone not in the picture. Two men stood near her, one laughing, the other looking away. I didn't recognize either of them.

More pictures, even a few of Heero talking with various people from Preventers and among our group of close friends. In a few, he was even smiling, but I noticed in all the pictures his hands were out, hanging loose at his sides. I glanced at Heero, at the other end of the bed, but he was staring down at his duffle bag, deep frown-lines carved into his face.

Relena, again with one of the men from the other pictures, her hand slipped through his arm. Duo, hugging Sally from behind. Trowa, chatting with Cathy and Une. Relena and Wufei pretending to strangle each other... and then a plethora of shots of Trowa, Duo, and several other Preventers dressed in faux togas. I recognized Hilde, whom I'd not seen in a year or two, wearing a blue-flowered bed sheet and hugging Relena side-by-side, mugging for the camera. I laughed out loud at the picture of Dorothy dressed in a sheet, gracefully draped across her lean frame, but she looked mad as hell. Heero looked over, and I turned the photo album around so he could see.

"Who talked Dorothy into that?"

"Trowa and Hilde, I think," he murmured.

I held out my cup, and he refilled it, then I went through the album a second time, slower, noting the little details.

"This guy... " I tapped the picture of Relena wearing the bizarre hat. "He's in a lot of the pictures. New Preventer? Or new bodyguard?"

"New fiancé," Heero whispered. He stared across the apartment at the window, and the city sky's orange cast a strange glow on his face.

I felt like I'd been sucker-punched, and stared at the picture. "Oh," was all I could manage for a long moment before I found my voice. "It's been formally announced?"

"No," Heero replied, lips curling. "She told me that night. Said she wanted to warn me, so I didn't... " Heero shrugged, and finished off his plum wine, setting the cup on the floor. Then he slowly pulled his legs up until they were under his chin, and wrapped his arms around his legs. "I went to find Duo... I don't know why, I just wanted... " His fingers played with the cuff of his jeans, but he seemed unaware of the superfluous motion. "He was... I found him in one of the side rooms. Library, study... that kind of room... " Heero shrugged. "He and Trowa were... "

I let my breath out slowly, and set the photo album aside. There was nothing to say. The day had been coming for a long time, but in one night to discover both were gone... only Heero would walk away with his chin up, and no one the wiser how he felt. Even Wufei, I suspected, would have shown something.

Heero was quiet, and I put down my cup, scooting along the bed until I sat beside him. Not quite close enough to touch, but at least not in his line of sight and near enough to feel the heat from his body. He was roiling with emotions, and I felt dizzy: grief, anger, self-hatred, pain, and under it all, a deep current of regret.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I knew it was inadequate.

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the window. "I envy you," he said. His chin came up, catching the light on his face, but his eyes were cloaked behind the tousled fall of dark hair. "Going after what you want. Having the guts to try—"

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," I said. "And that doesn't always—"

"No," Heero stated flatly, cutting me off. "If I'd—"

"You can't live on what-ifs." It was the lesson he'd taught me, during the war and a few times afterwards. Sometimes it seemed I had to teach it back to him just as often. "What's done is done."

"You meant not-done, undone," Heero said, and lowered his chin to rest on his knees. "They're very happy," he announced. He sounded like he believed it; I knew he felt like he wished it were true that he did.

"Yeah," I replied. "That's something."

"You miss him?" Heero glanced sideways at me, then away, just as quickly. There was a roll of thunder in the distance, followed quickly by lightening. It flooded the room with an electric silver. The after-image of Heero's question hung in the air between us.

"Yes and no." I leaned back on the bed, propped up on my elbows, and studied the scroll hanging on the wall. Rain began pattering against the window. "It wasn't like we ever told each other how we felt... so I miss the opportunity to have something. I missed it, and I miss it. More than missing him."

Heero nodded. "I wish I had memories."

"I don't know if that would make it better."

"Me neither." His fingers moved from the cuff of his jeans down to the bed sheets, twisting and plucking. "But it'd be better than... having nothing."

"But you have memories, more than I do," I pointed out, in the reasonable tone of one who'd been pickling in alcohol for several hours. The rain grew harder, and I waited as another roll of thunder passed over and between us. "I never said anything to Trowa, and he never said anything to me. Too little, too late. But you know they both loved you—" I caught my mistake too late.

Heero stiffened, and I sat up.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "That was thoughtless of me. They still love you, and always will. I think so, at least."

"But it's gone now," he said, in a very small voice. "Just once... finally... I really wanted. I aimed too high." He tossed his head, and the quick move revealed deep blue eyes, bitter and longing. "If only... "

"Again with the what-ifs," I said, and elbowed him in the ribs. "Cut that out, Yuy."

He snagged my arm, and shoved back at me. "Winner, I'm—"

"—A stubborn, principled bastard who takes everything too seriously," I answered for him, and twisted sideways to kick out at his hip. His eyes widened, and he flipped around. His fist came down on the pillow next to my head, and I grinned.

"That's your job description, not mine," he breathed. "I slept with Relena, once."

I blinked, completely uncertain how he'd jumped from one topic to the next. He was leaning over me poised on all fours, his fist planted by my head. His face was streaked with shadows in the rain-fractured light.

"Heero?"

My voice was rather breathless; even drunk, he'd wipe the floor with me if I pushed him too far. And in his maudlin, unstable, exhausted state, even a fingertip's brush could send him tumbling.

"I never slept with Duo," he said, and sat back on his heels. I coiled to sit on my haunches, and ran a hand through my hair. He looked as lost as I felt. "He kissed me, a few times." Heero's hand came up, his fingers against his lower lip; the gesture was curiously vulnerable from someone so strong. "I wanted to, but I never... " He sagged, but his hand didn't move, a finger running along his lower lip. "Now I'll—"

Things make sense when you're drunk, in twisted logic that defies explanation later. I proclaim that as my excuse, that and the combination of his longing, tortured into brokenness by his own ethics. That's the only reason I came to my knees as well, facing him. I put my hands on his thighs, and took a deep breath. I'd felt that wanting, that need, and I welcomed it as an old friend even if for once it wasn't coming from me.

"Heero," I whispered. "Close your eyes." He stared at me, suspicious, confused, and I nodded, giving him a little smile. "Go on. Imagine... " The rain pounded against the window, hammering at my senses. Slowly his lids dropped, and I leaned forward, brushing his lips with mine.

He sighed into the touch, and I grew bolder, pressing forward. I ran my tongue along his bottom lip, where his finger had been, and he tilted his head, opening his mouth. His tongue darted into my mouth, and I pushed for the advantage, bringing my tongue to meet his.

Slowly he fell backwards, until I was lying across him. His hands were running up and down my spine, searching, and I realized he was seeking a braid I didn't have.

This is not for me – and I knew it, deep down. And somehow it seemed right that anything I felt, or thought, be set aside, as easily as one disrobes before a shower. Bare oneself, fingers catching a shirt and pulling upwards to reveal tanned, scarred skin, the twitch and flex of muscles moving beneath the surface. Dark brown nipples, ringed with pebbled flesh, and I kissed each, swallowing the gasps and moans as the skin shivered beneath my tongue.

When I leaned up to kiss him, his mouth was the shape of Duo's name.

His hands were gentle, trembling on my skin, feeling their way from collarbone to pectorals to abdomen. Muscles that can bend steel, and yet his touch was elusive, hesitant as his fingertips slid from hip to thigh and between my legs to brush against my cock. I shuddered, feeling his fear and regret give way to something more primal. I could feel his want, his need, building, and it made me ache.

Reaching past him, I pulled the bottom drawer of the dresser open, digging around for the two items I'd purchased in hopes of someday working the nerve to bring Jamie back to my place. The thought of him made me pause, hovering over Heero. But that is not this, I thought, and here, we have only the moment. Heero's eyes were shut tightly, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He arched his back, his cock pressing against mine, and thrust shallowly. His whimper was caught in his throat.

I made my decision.

I withdrew the condom and the tube, unsnapped the cap, and slid down Heero's body. His fingers dragged against my hips, my chest, my shoulders; they pulsed against me in time with the rain's melody on the fire escape. His fingers alternately tensed and wavered, blunt nails scraping my skin. I kept moving, until I was kneeling between his legs. His cock was weeping, red, the cut shaft unexpected proof of his birth somewhere Earthside. Gently I stroked him, and he moaned helplessly, his hands shifting to the bed sheets. Fabric rustled as he drew fistfuls to his side, thrusting his hips into my touch, and I lowered my head to his cock.

There was nothing to do but let him in. Long ago, in a year's lifetime of blood, I had known his heart. And now I could again, when he came in my mouth, a low moan spilling from him with the release. His regret and grief was seeping away, drawn out as I sucked, swallowed, pumping him lightly. I fumbled with the tube, coating my fingers and bracing myself. The idea was one thing, and having it done to me was another, but to actually do it...

"Duo," he whispered. "Please... "

My heart broke, and I slid a finger inside him. He keened, his hips rocking against my hand. I looked up across his body; his head was thrown back, his mouth opened wide. Slick, tight, hotter than I'd imagined. The moments were marked by thunder while I stretched him, making a place for myself inside him even as I gave him room to hide within me.

One leg tightened around my waist, the other was over my arm, and he curled under me. His nails dug into my chest, slipping on the sweat. His eyes were closed, and I rested my weight on a hand by his shoulder. I stared at us for a second, my paler skin against his gold, seeing the fragmented light mottling my skin. I caught my breath as I slid into him. He hissed and tossed his head; one hand latched onto my shoulder, clutching, scrabbling. I shushed him softly, unwilling to break the spell. I had to close my eyes at the pressure on my cock sending rain-spattered pleasure up my spine.

Heero sighed as I came to rest fully inside him. I opened my eyes, staring down at him. A lightning flash turned the world blue, and that moment was imprisoned as securely as I. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his mouth a round 'o', a thin line of concentration between his brows. Hair damp and tousled, matted on his brow; muscular cords standing out on his neck. The line of his jaw was firm, proud – his expression intensely vulnerable as he relaxed into acceptance.

Thunder cracked, echoed in the small room, and I began to move. Small gasps met every push; his body shuddered beneath me, skin quivering. I rotated my hips a little and drove into him, biting my lip to keep from crying out at the breathtaking heat. His leg tightened around my waist. He rocked against me, his stomach clenching as he propelled his hips upwards.

I angled my movements, pushing deeper within him at every thrust, and he absorbed me, overwhelmed me. The room was spinning; I was swept up, moving at the pace of thunder, lost, following his lightning shivers. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. His chant was drowning in the sound of rain on glass, but I could see his lips move, and knew his prayer. I couldn't be that one, but I could let him believe it.

His hands sought out my body, running across me with a reverence I did not expect. I rose up further on my knees to arch over him, circle against arc. My hand found his cock, encircled it within our curved bodies, my hips rocking, moving him into my palm. Heero answered with a whimper, and his fingers clawed at my shoulder. His chin came down, his head tucking under mine. I cradled him close and pushed in, driving deep into his center. I tightened my fingers around his cock and his moan faded into a sob as he came.

His body squeezed around me, beneath me: his fingers in my shoulders, his lips on my chest, his leg around my waist. I came with a soft grunt, silver licking at the edges of my mind, running across my skin to shiver into my fingertips. Heero sighed, rocking a few more times, gradually stilling but remaining tightly coiled beneath me.

I knew I'd let him stay there, protected, for as long as he wished.

He sighs, and flips through his registry for some decent music.

End Part 11

(:./sol/nothing11)