28 Jun 2000
Hi -
This is a gift fic that I promised my sweet seishi, Moonshadow D'tarth, known to most of you as Arashi.
*bows low and then pulls out a gift-wrapped fic with a large blue bow on it and gives it to seishi-boy*
Here you go, sweetie. I did my best. You can be the judge of whether it worked. ^_^
kumi
Zechs no miko
DISCLAIMER: All Gundam Wing characters are property of Sunrise, Bandai Visuals, Sotsu Agency, and Asahi TV. This work is not written for profit, but for entertainment purposes only.
Acknowledgements: Thanks so much to Arashi for suggesting the pairing, the women of WIWP for prereading a part of this, the maker's of the movie, "Darby O'Gill and the Little People", which got me interested in this whole topic when I was eight or so, and finally, to Zaz, who was gracious enough to an rp with Irish themes with me once, during which my interest in Celtic mythology was reawakened from a long slumber. Thanks, Zaz.
Pairing: 2x13 (implied 13x6/6x13, 1x2/2x1)
WARNING: Partially AU - this story contains scenes from the series, as well as non-series scenes. This fic contains YAOI and shonen-ai themes. There is a YAOI LEMON scene in part 2. Death is discussed and two people actually die, but both are perfectly fine after they do (and one is *very* happy, indeed...)
Author's Notes: The Dullahan is a creature of Celtic mythology and it represents the physical manifestation of Death. The Dullahan's job is to take the souls of the just-departed from Earth to the Afterlife. It does this either by horseback, or, as is the case in this story, by using a "coach-a-bower" ("coiste bodhar" in Celtic.) This is a large black coach drawn by horses which appears to come from the sky at or near the moment of death. When it arrives at the place of death, the Dullahan, who acts as coachman, descends and calls the deceased person's name. When that happens, the dearly departed steps into the coach and is carried away to the next world.
There are a few things to know about this whole set up before you read the story:
1) Once the coach-a-bower is called to Earth, it *must* come back with an occupant. (It can't return to the heavens empty of a human soul.)
2) It's Celtic name, coiste bodhar, means "Silent Coach."
3) Related to number two, the Dullahan who guides the coach can only say one thing during the entire trip: the deceased person's name. Other than that it remains silent. I've added a twist to this belief in this story, in that *if* the Dullahan speaks during the journey, the soul inside the coach is sent back to Earth and resumes living.
June, A.C. 195
Treize Khushrenada was enjoying the air of Bremen. Things were going well for OZ, and that meant they were going well for him. People on the street recognized him with great respect, the Alliance had been well and truly thrashed by Operation Daybreak, and Dermail hadn't spoken of that bastard Tsubarov for three days running.
Life, in fact, was quite good.
As he neared the lake, he noticed an infant, no more than 16 months old, surely, crawling after a butterfly. Its mother was nearby, chatting with a friend, and growing rather lapse in her vigilance. As the butterfly flew down the length of a dock, the baby followed it, until it was perched at the very end, hanging out over the water, reaching for the colorful insect.
Only then did its mother turn to see where it had gone. The foolish woman cried out, moving towards the seemingly doomed child and as she did, Treize put up an arm and held her back. She was an obedient sort, hanging back behind him, wringing her hands about her baby's fate. "Watch," he told her, and then said something profound about human nature.
Just about that time, the baby lost interest in the butterfly, and backed away from the edge of the dock, happily crawling towards its mother again and finally, standing on its own and taking a few tentative steps. Everyone around breathed a sigh of relief and murmured about the wisdom of the Great General.
/Silly sods/ Treize found himself thinking. /Just proves my point that people need strong leadership./
He was about to continue his walk when what felt like a small pebble hit his back. Feeling a sudden flash of anger at the impertinence of anyone who would do such a thing, the tall man turned to find himself face-to-face with a boy. Not just any boy, however, but a boy that happened to be hovering over the surface of the water. His arms were crossed and there was a distinct pout on his face.
"Well thank you very *much*," the boy said, sounding wounded. "I put on the make-up, I come all the way here, and what happens?" he said, his eyebrows shooting up. "Mr. Big Shot has to say something, distracts the kid from the butterfly, and I've wasted a trip." He shook his head, wagging a finger back and forth and causing a long, chestnut braid to wave over his back. "This is not the way things work. I demand an apology." Now the strange boy was nodding and the braid began waving again in a different direction.
Treize's unusual eyebrows drew together in mild consternation as he addressed the odd speaker. "I have no intention of apologizing to you because of the random actions of an infant, but I would ask - how are you accomplishing that? How are you remaining above the water?"
The boy looked down to see his black ankle boots hovering just an inch above the blue waters of the lake and then glanced up at Treize again with a shrug. "Beats me," he said. "It's all part and parcel of the gig. Now listen - about that baby..."
The mild feeling of annoyance Treize had been feeling towards the creature was growing. "Take it up with my secretary," he said absently and strolled on with the certain belief that Une would smooth it all over.
That made it all the more disturbing to find the same boy leaning against the wall, waiting for him, as the General walked around the next corner. This time it was a single eyebrow - that arched elegantly. "Now see here, young man,"
The boy held his hands up, as if to appease, and said, "Just listen. Take me to the bar over there, buy me a pint and just listen."
The Commander of OZ ran an appraising eye over the boy. He was small, with a wiry build and the face of angel. His eyes were large and a strange blue-violet color and his hair hung down to his hips in a single, long braid. /Well,/ Treize thought to himself, /he's a pretty thing to look at, at least, and there's no one even remotely interesting in this town to share a drink with.../
"Very well, my boy," Treize purred, feeling the fun of flirting once again. "Come with me."
Soon they were seated in a nearby bar, ensconced in a small, dark booth in the back. The waitress had just brought a pint of ale for the boy and a large Irish whiskey for the General, and Treize was enjoying the taste of the liquor. /Can't for the life of me figure out why I ordered the stuff -just wanted Irish for some strange reason.../
The boy downed a long quaff of the foamy, dark liquid, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and sighed, loudly and happily. "Now *that's* what *I'm* talking about," he said, nodding in satisfaction. Treize leaned forward, propping his elbow on his hand and sent a clear, sapphire stare through the silly creature. "You asked me hear to listen," he murmured. "I'm listening, so speak."
The boy's face took on a somewhat sheepish look and he shrugged affably. "Well, it's kind of like this. Everyone's got a job to do, right? I mean, you command your army, the waitress over there bring drinks to people who don't really need them, etcetera, etcetera..."
Treize waited, not moving, but still like a cat that might be awaiting its prey.
"Well," the boy continued, scratching at the back of a rather shaggy head, "I got my job too. And if people like you come along and make it so I can't *do* my job, that's a bad, bad thing."
Treize went so far as to lace his fingers together under his chin. "Fascinating," he said softly. "That you've said *so* much with out actually saying *anything* at all. It must be an art form, because I can tell you I have *no* idea what you're talking about."
A heavy sigh came from the slender boy opposite him. He lifted his arm and checked a oversize watch on his wrist. Taking another pull on his ale, he held up one finger and stood. "Let me show you," he said, and walked to where a red-faced older man was mopping his brow with his napkin.
"Choking," the boy said simply to Treize, who looked somewhat alarmed. "Don't worry - he's been living on borrowed time for years." As Treize and the panicked patrons of the bar watched, the main clutched at his chest and fell from his chair.
Treize stood, about to rush to the man's side - this was inexcusable! If the boy somehow *knew* that the man was about to choke, and deliberately did *nothing*... "See here, boy - that is completely unaccept -" And here the General had to break off for although the man's body remained on the floor, another body was standing beside it with a mildly confused look on its face.
As Treize watched, fascinated and horrified at the same time, the boy spoke a name, causing the man to turn around and look at him. Then, suddenly, a large, black coach drew up just outside the large front window of the bar. It was enormous, larger than any Treize had seen, and on the top was a black wooden coffin.
The boy was walking with the man towards the door of the bar and he looked back over his head, beckoning Treize to follow. Being mildly astounded by it all, the tall nobleman took him up on the offer.
As he was coming out the front door of the bar, Treize could see the man being helped into the coach by the strange boy, who smiled affably and waved at the passenger. He closed the door, giving a slap to one of the coal black horses that pulled it. The two of them stood on the sidewalk and watched as the coach began to rise, its horses pawing through the clouds now as it slowly disappeared from sight.
Turning to Treize, the boy grinned somewhat sheepishly. "That's what I do -that's my job."
The General was stunned for a moment, and then stammered, "You mean... you're..."
"Death," the boy nodded and waggled his thumb at his chest. "Yeah, that's me. Normally it's a pretty predictable line of work - I get the cases from the Big Guys (he pointed upward and rolled his eyes a bit) and come down and get them sent off. But *you* screwed me up today and now, NOW..." He threw long, slender arms into the air. "I don't know *what's* gonna happen."
Treize put a hand to his hip, feeling rather affronted. "Pray tell me, young man, how was it that *I* interfered with your gruesome occupation?"
Dropping his head to his hand, Death shook his head in disbelief. "The baby - the *baby*" he said, as if any idiot would have known. "The baby was supposed to go into the lake. It was supposed to die - that's why I was there - but *no*, you had to come along and say your profound words and get the baby to come back. Now the baby's still alive and *I've* got one hell of a mess on my hands, and all I know is - it's not my fault!" Hands went to slender hips as Death nearly stamped his booted foot in frustration.
Treize had to smile. Even give that the boy *was* death - and he wasn't conceding the point yet - he was also completely adorable; feisty and petulant in a strangely endearing way.
"Well, well," the General took on an air of deep concern, "this *is* a problem. Had I known, of course, I would never have become involved. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"
"Sure!" The boy was suddenly all grins. "You can take the baby's place!" The moment he spoke the black coach appeared in the sky, making it's silent way down to earth and stopping smoothly when it reached them. It was only then that Treize noticed that the horses that pulled it were headless.
Feeling a vague sense of unease, Treize raised an elegant arm in protest. "No, no - I think you misunderstand me. I'm willing to *help* but, well... I'm hardly going to give up my own life."
Death looked crestfallen. "But... you have to!"
The General demurred. "What do you mean I *have* to?"
"I mean you *have * to!" The boy was insistent, Treize could tell - he had his hands on his hips again and that meant trouble.
"Just send the damn thing back," Treize retorted, growing increasingly weary of the argument.
"Impossible," said the boy, waving a slender arm. "Once it comes, there has to be someone *in* it when it goes back. You were the one responsible for it not picking up the baby, so it's only fair that *you* ride it back."
It was a very effective argument, especially against Treize, who felt the obligation of duty and responsibility keenly. With a slightly irritated expression, the General put a hand on his hip and said, "What does it involve?"
Death was now in a much more affable mood, knowing that the coach would have an occupant for the return trip and that he wouldn't get into too much trouble with the Big Guys. "Well," he said cheerfully, all you do is stand there and I say your name. When I do that, the door of the coach will open and you and I get inside. Then it..." his voice trailed off and he pointed vaguely skywards. "You know..."
Treize still wasn't satisfied. "How long will it take to get to where I'm going?"
"Oh, it'll be awhile - most people like to use that time to think," the boy admitted. "Guess there's just something about being in the Death Coach that makes folks kinda philosophical, you know?"
"Yes," Treize murmured, "I see. Well, at least I'll have a lively companion for the journey." The tall man smiled and gestured graciously to the boy.
But Death was looking somewhat embarrassed. "Ah, well - not quite."
Long powerful arms were folded as Treize frowned. "*You're* not coming?" he said.
"No, I'm coming!" the boy reassured. "It's just that, well... after I say your name, and once the coach gets going, I can't say anything more until you've arrived at your final destination."
"Truly?" remarked Treize.
"Oh, yes," the boy sighed, those are the rules. Some rules can be bent -like the get up the want me to wear. Sheesh - talk about lame. But other rules... well, they just can't be." He shrugged again, eloquently.
A vague idea was forming in Treize's mind. "What happens if you *do* say something more?" he asked, feigning a benign interest.
The angelic face looked puzzled for a moment. "Well, then... it wouldn't work. It just... wouldn't work."
Sighing heavily, the leader of OZ nodded and agreed to the plan.
Death beamed at him. "Aw, you're great, man! I *really* appreciate this. Okay - you ready?"
"Ready," Treize said with great seriousness, working hard to cover a smile.
"Okay," the boy said. He cleared his throat and blew into his hands once. Straightening up, he pointed a slender finger at Treize and then spoke in a strange voice that was ancient and hollow - nothing at all like the pretty boy he looked. "Treize Khushrenada."
"That would be me," Treize said under his breath as the coach door opened silently. He stepped in and saw the black velvet upholstery, same colored curtains, with hanging gray fringe. "My, how utterly... gothic," he murmured, for want of a more complimentary word.
Opening his mouth to explain the coach and why it looked the way it did, the boy widened his eyes suddenly and clamped a hand over his mouth. Treize smiled inwardly. /Nearly got him that time.../
They sat opposite each other on large upholstered benches, Treize calmly assessing his surroundings while Death folded his arms in front of him, put his nose in the air, and stared deliberately out the window as the coach rose slowly above the small bar. To the General he had looked young enough to begin with, but with this rather defiant posture immediately reverted to appearing an absolute child. Treize found it no end of amusing.
"Really," the older man mused, "such working conditions you have. You would think that someone with your power would pull a little more weight - be able to modernize things, or at least get the period right."
Death frowned at him, but said nothing.
He pointed to the velvet swags above the coach's windows and snickered. "These, for example, are perfectly ghastly! What *were* you thinking?"
The boy's brows drew together in consternation, but still he remained silent.
Treize noticed that they were just beginning to drift over the lake. He made his move.
"Well, I supposed that being Death *is* a full-time occupation."
Death nodded firmly.
"And you can't expect a creature such as yourself to have decorating sense, now *can* you?"
Violet eyes grew large and the boyishly handsome face took on an aura of outrage. Treize continued.
"In fact, I would bet that aside from saying people's names in a theatrical manner, and opening coach doors, you probably can't do much of anything." He smiled faintly at the boy, then turned his attention to his fingernails. "Imagine, and I'd always thought death a force to be reckoned with..."
The braided boy stood suddenly. "Now listen you!" he began, and then fell forwards as the carriage gave a lurch, having to brace his hands on either side of the tall man's seat back. Their faces were only inches apart, and the boy's voice weakened considerably as he continued his rant and gazed into gorgeous blue eyes.
"I am... *so* good at other things... I... just can't ... *think* of any right... now..."
Treize, who was enjoying his own view of violet eyes, cocked his head to one side and smiled. "What was that you said?"
Death didn't answer immediately. He was trying to think of a good excuse for kissing the elegant man, but no death tradition he'd *ever* heard of required a kiss. Then he realized what he'd done. Standing suddenly in the shaking coach, he stared at Treize, open-mouthed. "You dirty *rat*!!" he nearly shouted, as the coach door swung open on its own.
Treize felt a slight tugging in the direction of the door and, looking down into the water that was approximately fifteen feet below him, he gave the boy one last smile. "I do believe this is where I get off." With that, he stepped to the coach door and jumped.
Face pressed to the coach window, the angry boy watched the General hit the water, slip out of his cape, and begin swimming to the shore. "I'll *get* you for this!" he said to no one in particular. Then, a bit more plaintively, "*Damn* he was good-looking..."
September, A.C. 195
The castle in which the Romefeller Foundation had assigned the prisoner to was just coming into view above the rise, but it's future occupant didn't see it. He was, instead, examining his surroundings in a vaguely sentimental way. "A great deal like that other coach I rode in once - how very fitting..." Treize Khushrenada's tone was partly nostalgic, partly cynical, as the coach he rode in grew closer to his large and ornate prison. Dermail had finally done it - had sided with Tsubarov completely and now the only place he felt safe for Treize to be was in prison. He was jailing his own nephew.
"Perhaps it was destiny," he mused darkly. "Perhaps I really *was* meant to go with that charming boy..." His brooding was interrupted by the abrupt halt of the coach. The prisoner had arrived.
Late October, A.C. 195
He'd been under house arrest for nearly two months and finally, *finally*, a gundam pilot had made it to the castle. As it turned out, it was the one he'd been thinking of, Heero Yuy - the boy that Une had spoken with him about - the one who'd become the obsession of Zechs.
The two of them had confronted one another and, just as he'd predicted, the boy had been armed. When he stood there, eyes closed, and told the gundam pilot to kill him, he'd been perfectly ready to die. But the boy wouldn't, or couldn't, do it and now Treize had shown him Epyon, the beautiful machine he'd designed for his dearest friend, back when they still together.
Heero had just taken off in the new gundam, to circle the battlefield that Luxembourg had become on Treize's behalf. As the roar of it's engines faded he felt something small strike his back, causing him a flash of anger, and then a soft smile of recognition. He turned slowly, almost expectantly, and there was the boy, sitting cross-legged on a planter. He was dressed in the same black outfit he had worn in Bremen and his long braid was draped carelessly over one slender shoulder. The lovely violet eyes, however, were covered with sunglasses against the autumn sun.
"Hello again, my friend," Treize said cordially.
"Hi," Death replied, giving him a little wave.
"It appears that you have made another unnecessary trip," the ex-commander of OZ drawled. "I did my best to die but it seems that Mr. Yuy didn't have the stomach for it."
The boy's shrug was eloquence itself. "Personally," he said, "I believe that trying to get someone *else* to kill you is cheating, you know? I mean, if you want death, take it yourself - that's what I say." He nodded several times, agreeing with himself.
Treize regarded him coolly. "Yes, well, you would, wouldn't you?"
The boy grinned. Then, standing up and lowering his sunglasses to the tip of his nose, he put his hands on his hips and threw a seductive gaze at the older man, purring, "Do *you* want Death?"
Treize found himself surprisingly intrigued and, if he allowed himself to admit it (which he wouldn't) not a little bit aroused by the boy's suggestive behavior. He smiled and allowed himself a long look at the lithe young body before him, and as he did, the boy known as Death let his own eyes wander over Treize.
"I have to admit," the former General said at last, it's a *very* tempting offer, but I believe I've already missed my opportunity. As I said, Yuy wouldn't fire at me."
"True," the boy said, slowly pushing his sunglasses up. He hopped lightly to the ground and stood next to the older man. "But you're waiting for him to come back, aren't you?"
He walked away from Treize, a little further into the courtyard and then turned. "You think that when he comes back, you'll both have seen your tragic futures, and that you'll both be ready to die." He waited expectantly for Treize to answer, but the tall nobleman was silent. "Well," the boy said putting his hands on his hips, "am I even warm on this?"
"That would make two passengers for you, wouldn't it?" Treize mused.
"Yeah," the boy said casually, "but it's cool - I can do groups."
Hearing that statement, a rather pornographic image came to Treize's mind (something that hadn't happened for weeks) and he gave the boy a rather predatory smile. "Can you indeed?" he purred. "Well you *are* a most talented boy, aren't you?"
Death actually blushed.
Treize laughed softly and murmured, "I *do* enjoy your company, my friend."
Just then, the whine of Epyon's engines could be heard above their heads and in another few minutes, Heero was stumbling - well, falling actually, out of the cockpit. On his hands and knees in front of Treize, he looked up at the former Commander with glassy eyes, his breath coming in labored gasps.
The boy in black suddenly moved forward. "Heero? C'mon pal - it's not your turn! If it was I'd have known about it..." He dropped to his knees as Heero collapsed. "Heero..."
Treize watched, feeling sad all of a sudden and not really knowing why. "I take it Mr. Yuy is someone you know well?"
"Oh, yeah," the boy said quietly, his hand on the Japanese pilot's back. "Heero and I go way back. This guy's caused me no end of grief - talk about wasted coach trips. He's a real pain in the ass."
The words were uncaring, but the look and touch were anything but.
"Is he dead?"
Death ran the back of his sleeve over his eyes and looked up at Treize. "He could either way right now. This is one of those judgment calls on my part." His violet eyes reflected true misery.
There was a pause and then Treize said, "Take me instead."
The braided boy looked up in shock. "W- What? You'd... You'd take his place? But why?"
Treize pointed to the large black coach that was nearing them from the sky. "You said it had to have an occupant?"
"Yes," the boy whispered, nodding. Once it comes out, it can't go back empty..."
The young General turned and watched calmly as the coach came to a smooth stop in front of them. "It's odd," he said, "that we shouldn't hear the beat of the horses hooves upon the stones of the courtyard."
The boy was standing now. "Not really - the true name of this monstrosity is the coiste bodhar - the Silent Coach. It can't make a sound when it's running - that's why you got away last time."
An idea began to form in Treize's mind.
"I see," he said, looking over at the unconscious form of Heero Yuy. "Well, shall we get on with this?"
The dark-clad boy looked at him, the expression on his beautiful face unreadable. "If you're sure," he whispered.
Treize nodded and walked to the door of the coach. "I suppose I get to hear your lovely stage voice again," he said dryly.
Death wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked somewhat chagrined. "Yeah, well - people expect that kind of thing from Death." Then he cleared his throat, pointed his finger at the tall man, and once more in that eerie voice intoned, "Treize Khushrenada."
The door to the coach swung open and Treize stepped inside, followed by the braided boy. Both of them turned to look at the unconscious pilot lying on the courtyard stones. The ex-general smiled a bit, and then proceeded to put his plan into action.
"I understand how you feel," he began, laying a tender hand on one black-clad knee. His fingers caressed the dark fabric as he stared into wide, blue-violet eyes. "I, too, have a friend." He leaned towards Death conspiratorially. "You think *yours* is difficult to handle? Well, believe me, he's got *nothing* on mine."
The boy looked surprised and tilted his head to one side, as if he were trying to work out a puzzle.
Treize continued, moving his finger up slightly to stroke at the inside of the slender boy's thigh.
Death squirmed a bit, but looked rather happy.
"Always taking chances with his life, *never* listening to what other people have to say, trying to live up to some impossible reputation, pretending that he doesn't care when he really does - just pure, reckless behavior." Treize took a breath. "It's almost as if he didn't *care* about his life."
"Oh, *man*!" the lovely boy exclaimed, nodding his head in empathy, "that is Heero to a *tee!*"
Treize leaned back against the seat, and smirked. "What a shame," he murmured, "and you were doing *so* well..."
The boy stopped nodding, looked up at Treize for an uncomprehending moment, and then pounded his fists on his knees. "Rats! You keep *doing* this! It's not *fair*!!"
Slowly, the coach door swung open and Treize was pulled to it. He shrugged, quite elegantly, and said in mock regret, "Rules are rules. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing matters to attend to."
The next moment he was falling, landing with a rather unpleasant, jarring thud on the grass at the edge of the courtyard. Remembering his combat training, he took the impact with a roll and stood, shakily, to see Heero Yuy stirring to consciousness.
"Two souls saved this time," he said softly as he watched the black coach disappear into the clouds above Luxembourg. Then his expression softened. "Don't get into too much trouble on my account, dear boy..."
24 December, A.C. 195
In the blackness of outer space, Treize Khushrenada knew at last what had to happen to achieve peace. He had wanted it to be Mirialdo who delivered the killing blow. Better than than some impartial soldier, or worse, a heartless machine that didn't feel anything from the act, that didn't share the connection that comes from taking and giving up a life. But Miri had refused him, broken out of the Code of Knights at last, and so Treize had found another dear friend.
His mind was resolved now as he prepared for his last attack on Chang Wufei, the attack he knew would bring the result that had to be. He was just about to engage the forward thrusters when a familiar face appeared on his vid screen - hovering about ten meters to his right. He almost laughed when he saw the lopsided grin and the little wave. Then he moved forward with a hoarse cry and aimed his beam saber directly at Wufei, who counterattacked without thinking, with the instincts of a superb warrior, and ran him through. The pain was intense, but there were things needed to be said, so he said them to the Chinese boy, sent a reminder across the battlefield to Miri that he would be waiting and then closed his eyes.
As he walked up to the boy by the coach, he was aware of a brilliant flash of light and debris flying everywhere, but nothing of the blast seemed to affect the two of them.
"That was rough, man, but you pulled it off," the boy said, clapping Treize's arm and nodding to himself again.
"Thank you, dear boy," he said, bowing slightly. "Well, here we are again. You know what they say - third time's a charm."
A pleased smile settled on the braided boy's face as he looked up at the tall man. "True indeed - where there's life, there's hope!"
Treize gazed off into the stars and touched a finger to his chin in thought. "That would seem to be a poor choice of platitudes, given the circumstances."
The boy turned a stunning color of red and apologized. "Ready?"
"Absolutely." Treize murmured. "Let's here that pretty voice of yours.
"Right!" Death said, and rubbed his hands together with determination.
The slender finger came up and pointed at Treize and, for a third time, Death called the name of Treize Khushrenada.
Stepping into the coach, Treize looked a bit wistfully out at the starry battlefield and then decided he would have enough time to think about things when he arrived at whatever destination they'd chosen for him. At the present, he mused, he had a challenge seated across from him. The boy was simply too adorable to ignore, and was even more so when he was flustered. Distraction was badly needed, so the General decided to play one last game.
Leaning forward, Treize cast a meaningful gaze at the lovely boy and opened his mouth to say something. To his great surprise, however, Death was ready for him this time. In fact, Death had spent the better part of two months figuring out a way to keep Treize Khushrenada quiet enough to get through the whole coach ride.
It began with him pinning the elegant man back against the black velvet seat with a long, deep kiss. He could feel Treize flinch at first, and a slight resistance - his arms pushing away and his head trying to turn. But Death was nothing if not persistent, and he teased the noble's lips with his tongue as his fingers wandered up to bury themselves in silky ginger hair.
At that, the General's mouth opened to him, and the boy proceeded to feast on the warmth he found inside. Treize was making soft, hungry sounds, his own tongue now sparring with the boy's as his hands slid around slender hips and then trailed down to squeeze gently at a tight little bottom. Before he knew it, the jacket of his uniform was gone and the braided boy was unbuttoning his shirt, warm fingers slipping inside to brush lightly over the older man's nipples.
Treize's head was spinning, and a slow ache grew between his legs as the boy pressed against him with every soft rocking motion of the coach. He looked up for a brief moment between kisses, to see wide eyes full of want and need, and it made him groan softly - the idea of what they were about to do.
Death pressed him down to lie with his back on the seat and ran slender hands down Treize's chest, leaning over him to take one hardened nipple into his mouth.
"Ahhhn!" The man arched up against the lovely suction, pressing the boy's head against his chest as his shirt slid off of his shoulders and was left to hang from his elbows.
/Oh *heavens* what is he doing to me? I'm dead, aren't I? I shouldn't be feeling these things... Shouldn't want him to... ohhhh, dear *gods*.../
The boy sat up for a moment, kneeling between Treize's legs, and ran his hands down the tight breeches the man wore. As he did, the fabric all but melted away, leaving an utterly beautiful General, wearing nothing but his laced cuffed shirt, off of his shoulders, and the tall, black boots of OZ.
Treize looked down at himself and moaned. He'd never felt so wanton before, so eager to be taken, and well-used, and now he raised his eyes to the boy above him and pleaded for his own violation. "Please..." he whispered, his hands stroking Death's arms. "Oh *please*..."
Death was more than willing to accommodate him. The boy's clothing disappeared and, with a seductive grin, Treize's legs were raised and he felt a gentle nudge against his entrance. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Treize thought of how he must look,long legs, encased in gleaming black boots, high in the air, the small, tight pucker exposed between upturned buttocks, and his head thrown back against the velvet seat in utter bliss. He gave a long whimper at the image and then gasped as he felt the boy enter him.
/This can't be happening... surely I'm not really here, being taken this way... by Death himself.../
The thought was so arousing that he had to turn his face to the soft fabric of the coach seat and moan out his pleasure, as the boy pushed deeper and deeper into him. Slowly, he looked back up at Death and reached a hand out to grasp the boy's long braid, which he pulled over the slender shoulders just as the boy began slow, deep thrusts, in and out, in and out...
Treize held tightly to that silky plait as the boy's pace began to quicken. With each deep penetration, a low whimper was pressed from the tall man and he could feel everything begin to tighten, knowing release was near.
The boy's eyes were closed in pleasure now, but he had taken hold of the General's aching shaft and begun to stroke it in rhythm to his thrusts. The feeling of it proved too much for Treize and he arched up against the pounding, covering himself and the boy with warm seed that disappeared the moment it touched his skin. As he floated in a heady afterglow, he felt the boy tighten against him and slender fingers held his hips firmly in place as Death flooded him.
The only thing left to do was simply moan at the wetness and the heat.
After an undetermined amount of time, the late General of the World Nation awoke to kisses being pressed over him - to his mouth and jaw, his chin and eyelids, and nuzzled against his neck and throat. His hands came up and found the lovely boy, draped over him like a blanket. They were still in the coach.
"About time you woke up! Is sex always such a tranquilizer for you?" the boy said, smiling devilishly.
Treize blinked several times and looked over to the door, expecting it to open. Following the man's gaze, Death laughed softly. "Sorry! We're already here - I can finally talk again. And it's a good thing, too, cause *man* is it tough to have sex and not say a word!"
Treize glanced down at their positions and the general state of undress they found themselves in. "So we really did..."
"Oh yes," the boy grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "We did. You were really good, too - for an older guy."
An unusually shaped but elegant eyebrow lifted. "Thank you - I think. So, do you have sex with everyone who dies, or was I... *special* in some way?"
The boy sat up and stretched, his heavy braid swinging over his shoulder. "Oh, no - you were definitely special. I had to do *something* to keep you from getting me to talk."
Treize smiled slyly. "You couldn't just ... *be quiet* all on your own... during the trip, now could you?"
Breaking out into a long fit of laughter, during which the General simply stared in profound confusion. Then Death gave Treize's arm a push and then wiped a tear out of one eye. "Oh, you're joking, right?"
A slightly amused look crept over the General's face. "I suppose I must be." He reached up and pulled the silky braid towards him, running the end of it over his chest. "Has anyone ever told you that you are a most unusual young man?"
"Once or twice," Death said softly, nodding. "Once or twice."
Without taking his eyes from the boy's face, Treize slipped the elastic tie off of the braid and ran his fingers through the thick strands until a shining, chestnut mane spilled over the slender shoulders. "Thank you," he said, "for making it easier... I'm forever in your debt."
"Well, it wasn't entirely unselfish," the boy said, running a finger down the broad chest and then smiling impishly. Then he lifted his arm and checked his oversized watch - the only thing he happened to be wearing. "Well, your friend and mine are due to arrive in about 50 years," he said with the voice of authority.
Paling a little, Treize stared at the watch, wondering what the face must look like, and deciding he didn't want to know. "Will it seem like 50 years... to me?"
"No," the boy said reassuringly. "Time passes differently here. You've got about..." Violet eyes narrowed and he stroked his chin, "a week or so. Then you'll see him."
The nobleman couldn't help but smile. "I can't wait to see what he thinks of *you.* But tell me, dear boy - is there anything to do here, while I wait?"
The devilish grin came back as an answer as the boy leaned over him, long hair falling like a curtain around their faces. "I think I might be able to arrange some entertainment for you..."
And for a very long while, the coach door stayed firmly closed.
owari
(:./kumiko/dullahan)
