01-Nov-2004
Title: Inferno's Touch - Chapter 26
Author: Ravynfyre
Archive: GW Addiction
Category: yaoi, AU, occasional humor, action, drama, lemon (yes, you read that right. lemon. finally.)
Pairings: 2x1, 4x3 implied, 5+6
Standard Disclaimer: All parts of Gundam Wing are Not Mine. It's all Theirs. *sigh* Too bad, but otherwise, I guess I'd never get anything done *happy hentai thought*. Anyway, not makin' any money offa this so dun sue me. You'd only get some college debt, a few dogs, and a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers anyway. Ya know... blood. Turnip. Do the math.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Yaoi.
Spoiler: None.
Notes: All terms will be explained at the end of each chapter. If I miss something, please let me know and I'll be happy to explain. You waited for it. Here ya go. More to come in the future.
Feedback: Yes, please. All comments welcome.
The silence rattled around the large house as Zechs slid sideways through the front door, too tired and beat down to even bother with opening it fully. In the front room, the old grandfather clock that had thus far managed to somehow follow him throughout his many moves tolled the unholy hour of 2 am. As the deep bongs of the chimes resonated through the house, echoing painfully in his skull, Zechs irritatedly wondered why he bothered carting that damned familial relic around anymore. In the last move, it was Wufei who insisted on making sure the monstrosity came with them, standing back to watch as Zechs helped the movers wrestle it onto a dolly and up the ramp into the truck. It was big, unwieldy, ugly, and always seemed to howl like a dead thing and keep him awake deep in the night when what he needed was rest.
No, what he really needed was Wufei. Here. Now. In his arms, safe. Safe and... strong.
Zechs sighed, suppressing the urge to curl his arms around himself, stifling his silent wish that his lover were there to do that for him, or to ask for Zechs to return the favor. Well, as best as he could return a comforting hug right now, with his shoulder splinted up immobile to protect the fractures.
That damned clock was still ugly, though. Why Wufei liked it was beyond Zechs.
With a disgruntled sigh, Zechs tromped off to the bedroom and the master bath, intending on attempting a quick shower before tumbling into the big, empty bed. Standing at the doorway, staring over their neatly arranged comforters and blankets, the corners as precise and exact as the bedding in a five star hotel or a hospital bed would be, Zechs sighed in defeat and simply shed his clothing, leaving it all in a trail from the doorway to the bed. It just wasn't worth the trouble to try to take a one-armed shower alone, and then climb into a cold bed. Wufei would be able to help him clean up in the morning, and Zechs had the feeling that his lover would need as much comforting as he himself needed physical reassurance. Lying there in the slowly warming sheets, Zechs' mind kept racing over the details of the fire, the sensation of wrongness from the moment the tones came in to that last horrible flash, Otto backlit against hell.
Rage welled up within him. Whoever was responsible... they had to pay for this. Somehow. Some way. The tears he hadn't allowed himself on the scene started slowly leaking from his eyes, slipping down his cheeks to pool in the ripples and folds of his platinum hair and burgundy cotton pillowcase.
" ...bastards... " The harsh rumble of that whisper would have shocked him if he weren't already exhausted beyond caring. He'd be paying for the abuse he put his voice through for days, but it hardly mattered; he was officially off duty until his shoulder healed. Weeks.
It occurred to Zechs suddenly that not needing to report to duty every third day for a few weeks would allow him to more closely help Wufei with this investigation. As the silent tears slowed and then finally stopped at that comforting thought, sleep finally rose out of the darkness and snatched him away.
bastards.
He clutched his head, shaking it in a vain bid to ease the pain spiking through his brain. All that the movement did was make his disjointed thoughts rattle even more for a moment before that perfect clarity that came from his flame returned to him.
The wickedness and evil in the world, it had to stop. His knights...
He clutched his head again, tears slipping unheeded down his cheeks for a moment. His beautiful Knights. Oh his beautiful Knights, slain and wounded, ambushed by a demon. Demons must be wiped from this world. Demons brought the wickedness and evil with them from the dark dens of hell that they crawled from. The demons must all be slain.
But how? The demons were too powerful, it seemed, to outright attack. If one could find them, that is. Demons were tricky, hateful, slimy, evil things, more suited to hiding in the crevices and cracks of the imperfect human soul than to honest open confrontation.
The imperfect human soul... the imperfect...
His head snapped up, staring about him with wide eyes, seeing the filth and degradation of the world. There was no light here. Too many imperfect souls polluted and fouled the world for the perfect light of his Knights to filter through. These wicked, imperfect, tainted souls needed cleansing. His Knights needed a beckon to find this wickedness, to root it out from the world and cast it back into the pits of hell where it belonged. Where the demons belonged.
Evil. Hateful. Bastards. Filth.
His hands were trembling. The rage, that siren's song of hate and righteous anger trilled along his own soul, guiding him. It hummed in his brain, both clouding it with pain and clearing the filth from his vision. The world was a red haze and shadows. Darkness curled around the edges of his sight, threatening to swallow him whole.
No. No, no, no, no. NO! That wouldn't do.
The gasoline smelled almost sweet in his nostrils, like the faintest hint of sun-baked Elysium grasses, the fruit of Ambrosia upon the back of his tongue, sunshine and raindrops and children's untainted laughter. Yes. Yes, this would do the trick.
He kicked the now empty can against the far wall, listening with satisfaction as the plastic rattled and rumbled as it struck the crumbling plaster. Oh, quiet, not too loud now, or else the demons sleeping within these pitiful tainted slumbering souls would awaken. Imperfect, wasted, blunted, forgotten. They were nothing more than a breeding ground for evil, these imperfect, tainted souls. Huddled in their squalid filth and sinful indulgence, they harbored fragments of the wickedness of the world, hiding it from the purification of light and flame and righteousness.
Righteousness. He licked his lips, tasting that word upon the blood he found there. Blood and fire and rage and sorrow washed away in light and flame and purity and his Knights... his beautiful Knights.
Quiet now. So quiet, silent seeping creeping howling wailing softly now. The fumes rose from the floor, from the pool of amber liquid seeping into the broken boards and collected trash. One of the wicked stirred a little in her drug induced stupor, barely registering the acrid reek of the fuel that even now pooled before every door and window. Almost time now. Creeping, sneaking, waiting, patient patient patient.
He giggled at that thought, amused by the double entendre, and how it would never be fulfilled as long as his flame, his beckon of purity, his cleansing fire did its ordained duty.
The flame leapt to life clutched between his sooty fingertips. His Knights... his heart... A spasm shot through his soul, clutching his heart in a vice-like grip. His hand twitched, and the guttering match slipped to the floor. He had to leap back as the fuel caught the kiss of life with a soft roar, like the sound of a body striking dusty packed earth. Almost too soon, too close. The demons were trying to claw their way into his soul, too.
Can't let that happen. No, no, no. Demon eyes flickered to life across the flames, blinking awake, peering through the haze of dancing gold and raging red. Smoke billowed down from the ceiling, those eyes casting about frantically for escape and finding none. Demon voices raised in panic and wrath and fear, thwarted, trapped by the flames. Quiet now. So quiet. Crackle roar sputter burn. Yes.
The heat drove him back, ashes drifting down from the ceiling to settle in his hair. Demon voices crying out in pain and fear, sweet, sweet music. Demon eyes vanishing behind a curtain of purifying flame, the most perfect work of art. Wickedness being purged from this little corner of the world.
His Knights... The faintest wail of their steeds on the wind. Time to leave. Time to return to the silence and the darkness to wait until his Knights needed him again.
As he slipped away down a shadowed alleyway, the flames burst from their prison behind him, bringing a smile to his lips. Run, demons. Run. Can you hear the hounds of fire shrieking at your heels? And when you are caught, righteous purification will free your wickedness, and return light to the world.
And he would shepherd his Knights through the valley of darkness unto the plains of salvation.
Wufei grumbled tiredly to himself as he sorted through the various bags, tubes, and sample jars that Noin was helping him to label before shipping off to the ATF forensic lab. Noin spared him a glance as she noted the time and date on the tube in her hand and then racked it with the rest of them. She knew better than to offer any useless platitudes; it was all still too raw. Perhaps after a solid day's sleep or so, Wufei would be willing to hear the lip service of might-have-beens and thank-the-ancestors-that-it-wasn'ts that anyone else might have been trying to pawn off on them both now. For now, comments like that would likely earn the offender a snarled litany of the sexual exploits of their ancestors from both Noin and Wufei. Most of which would have been anatomically impossible for anyone but a truly gifted contortionist, and would have had PETA and the NRA up in arms screaming bloody murder.
Noin winced privately as she selfishly gave thanks that Sally had a relatively safe job in the ER instead of something more dangerous like field medic or firefighter. Noin knew that if it had been *her* lover here when the warehouse blew and the radios suddenly went dead, she would have been a basket case until she'd managed to get here.
"I'm assuming that you've got a brain storming session scheduled with the guys later," she said, more a statement than a question.
Wufei grunted an affirmative, adding the final notations to the last evidence bag before adding it to the growing pile of items bound for the ATF experts.
"Need any help?" Noin asked, already knowing what the answer would be but needing to make the offer anyway. She wasn't surprised when Wufei shook his head.
"Go home to your mate. Prove to her that you are still alive. Rest. We'll compare notes when we are both fresh in another day. Neither of us will do anyone any good until then."
Noin winced to herself again. She hadn't heard that dull, almost dead tone of his voice since the last time he spoke of Meiran. She reached out and gently laid her sooty hand upon his forearm, drawing his gaze up to her face for the first time that night.
"He's alive, Wufei. He will not allow himself to die on you," she murmured softly, watching as the familiar fierce spark lit in the depths of his ebony regard. "I have faith in you. Both of you. Justice will be done."
His expression never even flickered, and he remained silent, his eyes locked onto her own for several long moments. She continued to watch him as thoughts played themselves out hidden behind that cool stare. Noin shivered, not used to being totally unable to read the Chinese investigator. It was eerie, as if he were not staring at her, but rather through her, conversing with his ancestors and spirits beyond mortal ken and she was merely a portal to that other world, or maybe less. A wisp of fog, perhaps. Finally, when it seemed that if the moment stretched on for even a single second longer that she would go mad and run screaming back to Sally to dream of dragons and monsters that raged through the night, Wufei nodded curtly once.
He tore his gaze away, standing and offering her a hand up which she gratefully accepted. She had just opened her mouth to thank him when she was interrupted by the shrill tones cutting over the radio indicating yet another general alarm. The harried dispatcher announced the address, a well-known flophouse over on the rougher side of town, and seemed to stutter through the list of rigs going on the call, as if he was having a hard time dredging up enough able bodies and equipment to make the call. With the beating they'd taken that night, he probably was.
Wufei's shoulders slumped and he heaved a sigh of resignation as he gathered up the box of labeled evidence and turned towards his van. Noin stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.
"No, Wufei. Go home. Get some rest. You've already got two cases from tonight. I'll take this one," she offered, though it was more of an order.
Wufei straightened, squaring his shoulders stubbornly as if he were going to fight her, but that faraway look entered his eyes again, making the hairs on the back of Noin's neck stand on end. Wufei's shoulders slumped, not with defeat, but with exhaustion, relief, and oddly, pride that he was able to admit that he frankly didn't want to go to another fire, a third fire, in less than 12 hours. Once again he nodded curtly, once, and then turned towards his van.
"Noin," he intoned gravely, pausing to stare at her over his shoulder. "If it seems... strange," he said, indicating the fire she would be en route to shortly, "forward your notes on to me, please."
She speared him with a searching look. "You got a hunch again?" she asked, feeling a chill steal through her.
Wufei still had that look in his eyes that bespoke a communion with somewhere else, some when else, a place she couldn't even comprehend. He suddenly blinked, coming back to the here and now with a sheepish clearing of his throat. "I'm probably just being paranoid."
Noin nodded anyway, indicating that she would send him any notes she made on this new investigation. As they bid each other farewell and returned to their individual vehicles, Noin couldn't help but shudder again in anticipated dread.
She didn't need to tell him that it only counted as paranoia if his hunches never came true.
Trowa shifted, just surfacing from sleep like a fish that had jumped too far from a stream before falling back clumsily to the safer depths. As he rolled over, his arm encountered the now cool spot in the sheets that Quatre's body should have occupied. That startled him from semi-consciousness to full wakefulness and he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His breath hissed from his lungs as the cool floor rudely met his warm feet, killing any chance that he may have had for drifting back to sleep. After a few moments fumbling in the darkness of the pre-dawn gloom, Trowa finally located his boxers from where Quatre had flung them a mere few hours ago. His robe was still hung haphazardly on the bedpost, and he shrugged it on to guard against the gooseflesh rising along his arms as he stood up.
With a yawn, Trowa slowly padded out to the kitchen, expecting to find his lover seated at the table nursing a comforting cup of tea. He palmed the living room light on as he passed, unwilling to face the garish glare of the fluorescent kitchen lights. In the soft, warm glow, he picked out the expected cup sitting at Quatre's normal place at the table, but instead of the blonde paramedic, there was only a folded scrap of paper.
The Earl Grey was already cold when Trowa sipped at it as he picked up the note. It was also brewed about twice as strong as Quatre normally liked his tea, bitter enough to make Trowa gag on the first sip. He absently turned and dumped the rest into the sink as he scanned the note from Quatre.
"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. I should be back before you wake up, but if not, don't worry; I just went out for a walk to clear my head. I didn't want to bother you. I'll be careful, I promise.
"Cathy called sometime last night before we got home. There are several messages for you on the answering machine. She heard about It on the news and is upset. You should call her if you wake up before I get back.
"Love you."
Trowa sighed as he glanced at the answering machine. Sure enough, the message light was blinking, and the LCD was lit up with the number "6". He set the note down and hit the playback button, only half paying attention to his sister's frantic voice demanding him to call her as soon as he got the messages. All six of them.
The rest of his attention was taken up by Quatre. His sensitive little lover was considerate to a fault, but just this once, Trowa wished that Quatre had been "rude" enough to wake him up. He would have liked to join him on that walk, to talk out his anger and frustration with the other paramedic. To commiserate, comfort, and be comforted. To be thankful.
Trowa would never explain to Yuy just how close they had all come to losing not only Quatre, but Duo as well. If Duo had not stepped away from Engine 8 when he had to yell for Trowa and Quatre to go chase Otto down, if Quatre had not ducked back behind Medic 6 when he had to grab his bunker coat to run after the mad/magnificent Investigator... The explosion would have thrown both firefighter and paramedic into their respective rigs, most likely killing each of them on impact. A chill raced down Trowa's spine at that thought. He wasn't sure what he would do without his lover, and the thought of depriving Heero of Duo sent a dread stab of terror down Trowa's spine from his throat to his balls. Whoever this mad arsonist was would have a very limited lifespan in that event.
And so would half the city.
There was something feral and barely contained within the Japanese firefighter's eyes when he first saw Duo's crumpled form lying on the cracked blacktop. Thankfully, while Quatre was fully aware of how close a thing it had been, Duo's head injury seemed to have shielded him from that knowledge. Trowa shook his head; he would not be the one to tell Yuy just how close it had been. He had no desire to have that malevolent, draconic gaze turned on him.
With a sigh, Trowa turned towards the phone. Cathy was likely to flay him alive for waiting this long to call her, but he'd been more intent on verifying that Quatre was gloriously alive in every way when they first tumbled through the door to worry about anything as trivial as making sure his sister knew he was safe. Unbidden, a faint smile flitted across Trowa's lips; he'd best wear a turtleneck to Duo's later. Quatre, the little minx, had apparently needed a blood sample or three to make sure Trowa was fine as well.
He was just picking the cordless phone up from the cradle when a pair of headlights turned into the driveway and distracted him. He dropped the phone again as the familiar purr of the Stingray rumbled into the garage. Trowa let out the breath he hadn't even realized that he was holding, and turned to put the kettle back on the stove. He was just getting out a fresh pair of cups when the door into the garage opened and Quatre slipped through, blinking a little as the warm yellow light from the living room fell across him. A sack from Trowa's favorite bakery rustled in Quatre's hands as he closed the door behind him.
Trowa silently crossed the room and took Quatre into his arms, resting his chin on top of the tussled golden locks of Quatre's hair. They stood there in silence for a while, long enough for the kettle to start steaming, before Trowa finally spoke.
"Feel better?"
"I am now," Quatre said with a sigh, tightening his arms around his lover. "I picked up some of your favorite scones."
Trowa couldn't quite contain the foolish little smile that welled up from within him. Considerate to a fault. "I've water on the stove for tea," he finally replied, tucking his chin to drop a kiss on the top of Quatre's head. "We can have tea and scones for breakfast before we go take a shower." He inhaled deeply, his arms tightening around Quatre a fraction more. "We both still smell of fire."
"And then maybe a blanket on the couch?" Quatre said hopefully, turning his seemingly innocent gaze up towards Trowa.
Trowa's smile widened into a wry grin. Quatre, as Trowa was quite intimately acquainted with, was no more innocent than Duo was, but the pair of them could give a performance to yank the heartstrings with those wide, expressive eyes of theirs. "You brew the tea," Trowa replied with a feigned sigh, "I'll go put the music in the stereo."
Quatre smiled, one that finally seemed to reach all the way to his eyes, as he kissed Trowa quickly and then slipped out of his arms to go get the tea ready.
That was more like it, Trowa thought to himself. The world may be going mad, but as long as they all had each other, hope was not lost.
Wufei swore he could feel his own joints creaking as he slowly slid from the driver's seat of his Jeep. The Investigations van was now once again parked in the lot by the Arson offices, all boxes, vials, bags, and tagged evidence safely repackaged and delivered to a courier service downtown. The ATF labs should receive everything by this afternoon, and his contact there had assured him that everything would be expedited through the lab itself for a quick turnaround. Hopefully they could find him something useful, something that would help he and Noin put this sociopath away, and soon.
Before any more Brothers were killed.
The metal edge of his keys dug into his hand as he balled up his fists. Wufei could feel the muscles of his shoulders and back yet again turning into tight steel bands even as he tried vainly to invoke some of the old meditation techniques his Masters had once taught him to control his anger.
Gods above, it had been too damned close.
Hilde and a couple of the other survivors had briefly returned to the scene to update those still working on the prognosis of Mueller, Alex, and Walker. It had given Wufei a chance to interview a few of them before potentially vital but insignificant seeming details had been lost. Remembering the look of shock and horror in the eyes of the survivors as they recounted watching the very gates of hell open up before them all... sent cold waves of terror down Wufei's spine. Hilde wouldn't even describe what she'd seen. She'd been staring right at Zechs and Heero at the instant everything exploded, and all she would say was that God had abandoned them. Investigation or no, Wufei hadn't had the heart to press for further details. Or rather, if he were being honest, he hadn't the courage. She was still too raw.
The muffled tolling of the clock inside interrupted his introspection, and he found himself standing on the porch, forehead pressing into the wood of the door he was leaning on.
Too damned close.
He shifted his grip on his keys and unlocked the door, slipping inside before any of the too curious neighbors could catch him standing on his front porch, closer to dissolving into a shaking, hyperventilating, cold sweat than he ever remembered being. The door latched quietly behind him, and he threw the bolt home, locking out the world.
If only locking out his inner demons was so easy.
He sighed and tossed his keys onto the small table just beside the door, ignoring how the last fading echoes of the clock's chimes seemed to make the silence rattle around in his skull that much more. Why Zechs insisted on dragging that damned familial relic around was beyond the Chinese investigator, but if it made him happy, Wufei wasn't about to insist that he leave it behind.
Even if it was an ugly bit of antique monstrosity.
He kicked off his shoes at the door, leaving them on the mat, and then padded soft footed towards the back of the house and their shared bedroom. His eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness of starless pre-dawn, so the digital display on the coffee pot in the kitchen seemed almost garish as he passed the doorway. O-fucking-dark-hundred hours, as Duo would say. Too god damned late.
Too damned late.
He would not allow himself to fail. He would not allow himself to be late again. No more Brothers would die. Or Sisters. A momentary flash of Hilde, all light and inner fire extinguished, flashed through his brain, calling forth a thick growl from the pit of his stomach. He would not fail them.
His toes encountered a soft lump in the middle of the hallway just in front of the open bedroom door. Pausing, Wufei stooped and picked it up. In the soft glow of a small nightlight, Wufei examined Zechs' jacket as it hung limply in his fingers, and, despite the dourness of his mood, a fractional smile flitted across his features. Just beyond the doorway lay a crumpled shirt, and beyond that, the tangled knot of his lover's pants. There were a couple of smaller, less distinct lumps between the slacks and the bed where Zechs lay curled on his uninjured side under the burgundy comforter.
Wufei tiptoed silently across the room to the bed, sitting on the edge carefully to avoid waking his lover. For several long minutes, all he could do was stare down at Zechs' slumbering form, dark eyes traveling from one bandaged shoulder to the spill of platinum hair across the pillow, and finally resting on the pinched features, drinking his presence in as a blind man, newly healed, would drink in his first sunrise. He reached out, one fingertip just barely ghosting along a dark patch of bruise staining his lover's cheek. Ice blue eyes slid open, unerringly homing in on Wufei's gaze. Words without sound or substance passed between them, an eternity flashing through that instant. Wufei slid over, settling down on the bed, still fully clothed. The satin of the duvet felt cool under his fingers as he tucked himself against Zechs. Even through the bedding and his own clothes, Wufei could feel the heat of his lover's body against his back as he fitted himself to the curve of Zechs' body like a key to a lock. Zechs' uninjured arm under him came up across his chest and held him firmly in place. Wufei folded his arms around it, the faintest echo of a contented smile curving his lips. A dark bird fluttered up from the pit of his soul where it had been hiding in the ashes, a faint light flickering to life in its breast. He wondered at it for a few moments, at the feeling of bitter sweet power, as it cradled them both in its wings. It was only when he felt the secure darkness of sleep pulling him down that he could finally put a name to it-
Hope.
The streetlights rose and fell over Duo's form in the passenger seat like a slow pulse. The heartbeat of the city could be counted in the harsh glare of weathered gold and ghoulish white lights lining the streets. Heero glanced at his partner from the corner of his eye once each breath, as if to convince himself that Duo was here, with him, whole and alive in the sleek black muscle car. The engine rumbled, singing through the night in a stark counterpoint to the tension which filled the cabin of the car. Like the rumble of thunder accompanying the piquant piping of a soloist flute serenading the storm, there was a current between the two men that was nearly electric.
Duo rested with his head cushioned against his headrest, eyes closed and stark white bandage making his face seem even paler as the streetlights flashed over him. He kept his hands scrupulously folded in his lap, fingers twisted together as if he didn't trust even a single digit a moment of freedom. His braid lay over his shoulder, draped across his chest like a bandolier, accentuating the rise and fall of his breath enough that Heero could easily pick out each exhale from his stolen glances.
Heero gripped the wheel tightly, his attention split, mostly on Duo, just enough on his driving to keep them both on the road and thank god there was no other traffic to compete with, and the rest on his thoughts, circling around in his brain disjointedly. Too close. Too close. Too god damned close. It was like someone out there was trying to send him a warning: "See? This is what happens when you dare to let someone in."
Heero growled to himself, the sound a sub-audible rumble that was thankfully lost in the purr of the 350 Chevy big block. *I don't CARE!* he screamed into the blankness within him defiantly, daring the Soldier to raise his ugly head and speak. *I'm taking this chance! I want to be HAPPY for once, god damn it! No one is going to fucking take that away from me!* Silence answered him as the Soldier wisely kept his mouth shut.
Heero had gone past caring that relationships were a weakness, caring a liability. A little corner of his brain still occupied by the Soldier commented tonelessly that he would pay for that decision later and that he'd better be prepared to face the cost, but Heero was done listening to that corner for the night. He was tired of looking over his shoulder, of living his life for some other entity that may or may not share brainspace with what he was coming to know as the *real* Heero. He was tired of still living his life for those asses at the Foundation, for the rest of the damned world. Tonight, at least, he was going to live his life for him and him alone. And Duo.
Duo's block loomed up ahead, and with what was becoming practiced ease, he turned into Duo's drive and slowly edged the Camaro into the garage. The engine gently coughed itself to silence as Heero turned the car off and removed the key. He turned to check on Duo, intending to offer to help the braided man out when he suddenly found his face gripped in preternaturally strong hands and his lips seized in a fierce, possessive kiss. Instinct overrode reason and he responded to that kiss, the growl rising from his loins once again, but without the benefit of the engine's rumble to drown it out. The deep pitched noise seemed to drive Duo on, and Heero found himself pressed back into his seat as Duo surged forward.
Duo's mobile hands worked their way into Heero's hair, using the dark locks as an anchor to hold his lover in place, though it was hardly necessary. One hand slipped away, reaching back absently to tilt the wheel up as far as it would go, then returned, working its way back into Heero's hair.
Heero dropped the keys, not caring where they landed, if they landed, or if the world opened up and swallowed them all, keys, car, garage, everything, as long as neither he nor Duo were ever separated. His hands wormed up under the loose shirt Duo had worn home from the hospital, and a distracted little corner of Heero's brain was surprised to note that somehow, Duo had managed to climb into his lap, straddling him. Heero groaned softly as his fractured ribs complained at the tight, cramped quarters, but he quickly shut out the pain, ignoring everything but the feel of Duo writhing against him, Duo's lips devouring his own, Duo's hands doing their level best to possess every inch of him, will he, nil he. One of those hands was suddenly at the snap of his jeans, working it free.
The world seemed to drop out from under Heero for a moment. Then his brain registered that it wasn't the world dropping away, but merely the seat back, which had fallen back under their combined weight when Duo had apparently tripped the recline lever on the side.
Duo's lips left his mouth and there was a sudden ripping sound before a searing wetness fastened itself hungrily upon Heero's left nipple and sucked. Hard. He gasped, fingers digging into the yielding flesh of Duo's abdomen. Teeth nipped at the nubbin of flesh in response, and Heero had to make a real effort to loosen his grip, to keep his hands relaxed as they ghosted over the flesh of Duo's stomach, chest, arms, shoulders under the shirt. The bandages felt rough under his fingertips, and Heero almost pulled away, suddenly remembering Duo's injuries.
Duo, however, had other ideas. Heero distantly heard another snarling sound, and his thin t-shirt suddenly slipped down his arms in two pieces, ripped neck to hem in both front and back. Duo, as if sensing Heero's ambivalence redoubled his efforts, switching to Heero's right nipple, teeth and lips and tongue painting a picture of exquisite pain across the Japanese man's nerves. Duo's back arched, grinding his pelvis down into Heero's trapped below him.
Heero's breath ripped from him, carrying away any half-formed ideas of slowing down to spare Duo any further injuries. He could feel Duo teething at the edges of his own bandages, the ones binding his splinted ribs, as if debating tearing them off as well to expose more delicious flesh to his oral demands. After a moment, however, Duo suckled his way up Heero's chest to his throat, leaving a half dozen small red marks in his wake. Vaguely, in the back of his mind where one sliver tried to cling to rational thought, Heero wondered why he wasn't seizing the initiative back, why he wasn't going on the offensive as well. When Duo's teeth fastened upon one of his earlobes, however, and those hands reached down past the now open zipper of his jeans and possessed the flesh there, that sliver of calm dissolved into a wisp of mist, blown away by the force that was Duo Maxwell.
Heero wasn't so much a passenger in his own head as he was a captive of the sensations that Duo was conquering him with. The braided man gave him no time for either thought or retaliation, possessing such a single-minded determination to have Heero that the Japanese firefighter scarcely found the strength the breathe, let alone do little more than feel. There was no force of nature powerful enough to compare Duo to at that moment, for even a hurricane contains an eye, a central focus of perfect calm. The closest thing Heero could think of was, perhaps, a supernova, but the heat was too intense even to be called heat anymore.
With a start, Heero suddenly felt the cool leather of the driver's seat upon his bare ass, and felt Duo's feet, suddenly as mobile and coordinated as his hands, working the legs of his jeans down past his ankles. Where the hell had his shoes gone? Fuck, it didn't even matter anymore. Duo was back, feasting on his mouth, and for a moment, Heero even tasted his own blood in the fierceness of that kiss. Absently, distantly, he felt his own hands working Duo's shirt up over his body, easing it past the bandages before flinging it into the back seat. Searing heat mated to his thighs as Duo shifted and wriggled out of his own pants, kicking them aside, never once breaking that kiss that was threatening to devour him from the inside out.
Duo broke away suddenly, leaning back over the passenger seat to open the glove box. Heero had almost enough time to draw a single cool breath into his lungs before Duo settled back over him again, an evil, unholy light in those amethyst eyes and a familiar tube clutched greedily in one hand. Heero was clearheaded enough to wonder just how long Duo had been dreaming of having his way with someone in his Camaro before he felt himself being manhandled into position and cool, slick fingers probing him. Despite the frenzied pace of it, those fingers were gentle, opening him slowly, stroking that breathless place within him higher and higher like a skydiver without the benefit of a chute. Heero thought his heart would burst of the tension singing through him. Duo's free hand fastened itself around the base of his cock, squeezing hard, and Heero could feel his breath stutter and skip as his seed settled once again, just long enough for Duo to finish stretching him.
Heero's heart hammered against his fractured ribs, slamming against the walls of his chest like a jackhammer as he was once again shifted and moved about. The steering wheel felt curiously cold against his bare toes, in direct contrast to the burning heat rolling off of Duo's thighs under him. With a guttural cry that was part growl and part bane sidhe wail, Duo sheathed his cock in Heero's tight heat, the sensation as much pain as pleasure, and oddly all the more enormous and wonderful because of that. Heero could feel Duo trembling, soft sobs shaking the braided driver as he fought to control himself long enough to remember how to breathe again. Heero's eyes fluttered open and registered a faint scarlet stain seeping through Duo's bandage on his shoulder, though when his lover shifted below him, seating himself even deeper into Heero, he gave up trying to hold on, and simply let go. All he could do now was try not to burn up on reentry and tend Duo's reopened wounds when they tumbled back to Earth together.
Duo's hand around his shaft slowly loosened as he set a rhythmic pace and picked up speed. Soft grunts slowly resolved themselves into a nearly indecipherable litany of, "mine... mine... mine... " which Heero echoed silently, unable to even voice them aloud. The hand around his cock joined the dance, matching the rhythm, increasing the tempo to match the thunder of Heero's pulse in his ears. It was all he could stand.
With a burst like the implosion of a star, Heero came, his seed spilling between them, a choked cry ripping from his lips. He felt his body go rigid, gripping Duo like a lifeline as the climax ripped through him, dropping him into the heart of the sun, filling him from the inside like ambrosia. Hard on the heels of his cry, he felt Duo stiffen against him, felt Duo's cock within him jump and writhe against its imprisonment within Heero's demanding body. A cry, nearly identical to the one which Heero had uttered, ripped from Duo's lips as well, and Heero felt the warm flood of his lover's seed spill deep within him.
Many long minutes later when he could breathe and start to think again, Heero realized that Duo had collapsed against him, as spent and weak as a day old kitten. Not that Heero, himself, felt much more capable at that moment. He knew that he should move, that he should get them both out of the car and bundled into the house where they could at least stretch out comfortable together in a bed. Better yet, he should get Duo out and get his bandages checked and most likely replaced, and *then* they could curl up together, stretched out in bed where they wouldn't stiffen up from being twisted into awkward positions. He just didn't have the strength to put said plans into motion at the moment. And as Duo snuggled up against him, Heero found that he really didn't care that much after all, as long as Duo was this near.
"If you ever die on me, Yuy," Duo murmured wearily, "I'll fucking kill you. Got it?"
All Heero could do was nod and hit the garage door button. Belatedly, he wondered how many of the neighbors might have gotten a show. Then he quit caring again as Duo's breath evened out above him and darkness swooped in to claim his waking mind as well.
End Part 26
RavynFyre