April 6, 2000
Hey, I've got a new GW story! ^_^ Trowa and Heero are actually one of my favorite pairings, but I've seen very little in the way of fanfiction regarding this pair... so this is my contribution towards remedying that situation! ^_^ I hope I don't really need to warn you that it's both yaoi and a lemon, meaning that it has sexually explicit male/male interaction. If lemon or yaoi offends you, please feel free not to read the fic. ^_^
Just for the sake of pretending like I have a legal leg to stand on, I figured I should mention here that I did not create Gundam Wing, that I have no rights to the series and that I mean no disrespect whatsoever to the creators, nor is this story meant to be taken as a claim to either the characters or the situations which were not created by me. Also, I not only have no money, I'm in debt past my eyeballs, and suing me would be pretty durn pointless since there wouldn't be anything to gain by it.
Gee, I hope that does it. ^_~
"I repeat," Dr. J. stated, his image crackling slightly over the wide-band transmission, "we surrender, but we will not hand the Gundams over."
"Ninmu ryokai,"Heero said in a low voice, his throat tightening with fear, his body pumping with fresh adrenaline that would shortly be unnecessary as the very thought of self-destructing sent his "fight-or-flight" reflexes screaming into action. With total disregard for his own self-preservation, he triggered the device, one brief flash of fearful regret mingling with the satisfaction of dying in battle as the world exploded...
...he hurt. He wasn't dead. He lay painfully sprawled on the cold, hard ground, his own blood pooling beneath him as his wide-open eyes stared unblinking at the sky. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, but he should be. It wasn't right... he shouldn't have to outlive his usefulness, to die broken and helpless, surrounded by the shrapnel that had once been his magnificent Gundam...
Heavyarms leaned over him like a guardian angel, scooping him up gently in its massive hand, and then his body finally gave out, and he knew no more.
Trowa sighed, and bathed the feverish body once again. To see Heero so broken... he looked almost like a little boy, his angelic face framed by bandages. It had been three days, and the pilot of 01 had not wakened, had not stirred so much as an eyelash. Trowa had taken Heero's body from the battlefield even though there had appeared to be no spark of life in it, so that the body of his fallen comrade would be treated with respect.
But Heero wasn't dead. It had shocked him, when he'd finally arrived at the safe house and discovered that the corpse clutched in his Gundam's hand had a pulse. And in feeling that heartbeat, thin and thready though it was, his own heart had kicked back into motion again.
Yes, he could admit it in the privacy of his thoughts. He was obsessed with the stoic, blue-eyed soldier. In some ways, he was even envious of Heero, who clearly knew who he was, and what his purpose was, and what his existence meant. He, Trowa, had no such assurance, no such driving force to direct his life. What was it that made Heero so compelling? He didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't allow Heero to die, not if he had anything to do with it.
He had sleeplessly, anxiously kept watch until it had been safe to move Heero again. Time ground on its steady course, and Trowa had brought Heero to the one person he knew he could rely on to help him. And after three days of absolutely no sleep, he was persistently bathing his patient to bring his fever down.
He dipped the washcloth into the tepid water again, lightly rubbing the cloth across the finely-muscled arms, the bare expanse of Heero's chest over the edge of the bandages. Tenderly he washed away the last traces of blood from the still face, and his heart sped up a little as he wiped the soft lips. He could almost be thankful for Heero's continued unconscious state...
It had been a month. Trowa had allowed Catherine to shove him out of the room, but only under protest. And she was right - he wasn't doing Heero any good by sitting and watching him. Hell, he wasn't doing anybody any good... but he couldn't seem to think of anything else. For a month now, he had done nothing but tend his patient, taking the occasional break to eat a bite or two. When he had slept, it had been in the chair by his patient's bedside, breathlessly hoping, each time he woke, that today would be the day Heero would come to...
And for a month he'd had to face bitter disappointment every day, yet he couldn't seem to stay away. He wanted to be the first thing Heero saw when he woke... if he woke...
Heero was surprised, to say the least, to wake in a soft bed, with the low murmur of a televised news broadcast in the background. The light clicking sound of knitting needles made an oddly comforting counterpoint, the softly homey touch at odds with the news of Oz's latest activities. A girl was sitting in a chair nearby, and for a brief moment, he thought it was Relena, and he furiously blinked his bleary eyes until his vision cleared.
"Relena?" he whispered as the girl turned around, and the image of the blond girl faded as a young woman came into focus, all curly brown hair and cheerful smile.
"Oh! You're awake!" she cried happily, setting aside her knitting. "Wait here, I'll get Trowa right now!"
"Trowa?" Heero repeated, shocked. He had been rescued... by Trowa? But why? He pulled himself almost into a sitting position, and a stabbing pain brought him up short with a gasp.
"Don't! You can't get out of bed yet," the young woman said, her hands spread as if to ward off any further attempt on his part to get up. Behind her, a door opened, and Heero looked up to see Trowa step into the trailer.
"Trowa!" the woman said. "Your friend woke up!" Green eyes met blue, for a long, long moment.
"Hey," the young woman said to Heero, breaking the silence. "Are you hungry? I'll get you some soup, Ok?"
"Why did you save my life?" Heero asked, after the young woman had left the room. "I had to die there."
"You are already dead," Trowa replied calmly, turning to face the vidscreen as it droned on about the rebels and the acts of sabotage they continued to perpetrate, in spite of Oz's efforts to bring peace.
"It's been a month since then," Trowa said casually. "All Oz has been doing so far is putting the remaining nations of Earth under its control."
"I've been unconscious for one month?" Heero asked, appalled.
"You're already history, as far as Oz is concerned," Trowa said. "So you are no longer bound to duty for the colonies. I wish I could say the same."
"Are you under pressure?
""No. I've received no orders since then, as a matter of fact," Trowa answered.
"I see," Heero said.
"I couldn't possibly be as decisive as you were," Trowa commented. "If Oz challenged us again, using the colonies as hostages, I have absolutely no idea what I'd do," he added, crossing to the window and gazing out moodily. "Should I follow in your footsteps?"
"I'll give you fair warning," Heero answered solemnly. "Dying hurts like hell."
Trowa threw his head back and laughed, really laughed. Heero had a little smirk on his face, but the edges of the tiny smile were dimmed by pain, and his too-old eyes were weary as he drew another shallow breath. It was then that he asked Trowa to tell him everything that had happened while he'd been unconscious.
"Of course," Trowa said, his laughter gone as suddenly as it had come. He crossed the room to seat himself in the chair next to the bed as Heero relaxed back against the pillows with a wince. "You Ok?"
"Ah."
"I have some pain-killers-"
"No," Heero interrupted flatly. "I don't need any."
"Why?"
"I don't need anything that will have a detrimental effect on my reaction speed."
Trowa nodded silently. Heero's jaw was stubbornly set, and there was no point in arguing with him. Instead, Trowa concisely summed up everything that had occurred during Heero's convalescence, at least to the best of his knowledge. The telling took the better part of two hours, and both boys were exhausted by the time it was done. Trowa quietly padded over to the kitchen, where Catherine was stirring a pot of soup. She smiled as she ladled out two steaming mugs full, and handed him a tray loaded with the soup, crackers and some napkins. Trowa nodded his thanks, and quickly measured some drops into one of the mugs before carrying the tray to Heero.
"Lunch," he said in his quiet voice, tactfully pretending not to notice that Heero had dozed off and was startled by his reappearance. He gently helped the injured boy to sit, propping him up with pillows before handing him the drugged soup.
Heero nodded gratefully, relieved that he wouldn't be expected to let anyone spoon-feed him. Trowa was awfully considerate to be sure he could do this small thing by himself... he was... the soup was...
Trowa caught the empty mug as it rolled out of Heero's suddenly limp hand. Heero would sleep easily for a while now, but he'd have to think of something different next time. He doubted that the obstinate pilot would meekly swallow drugged soup a second time.
Heero's eyes slowly dragged open, and by force of will he turned his head and focused his bleary eyes on Trowa's impassive face.
"Not fair," he croaked.
"You needed the rest," Trowa replied simply.
"Hn."
"Do you want anything to eat?"
"Not soup," Heero said, offering the unapologetic boy a drowsy cobalt glare. Trowa shook off the injured boy's gaze, which smoldered in a no-doubt unintentionally sexy way.
"Cereal?"
"Plain cereal. With plain milk. And nothing else," Heero agreed grudgingly. The corner of Trowa's mouth quirked in an almost-smile, then he left to get the food.
Heero glared suspiciously at the cereal when Trowa brought it.
"Did you put any drugs in there?" he asked.
"No."
"Hn." Heero grimaced as Trowa helped him sit and balanced the tray on his lap.
"Thanks," he mumbled self-consciously. It wasn't often that he had to make use of the social graces, but then again, it wasn't very often at all that Heero actually found himself indebted to anyone.
"Any time," Trowa answered, barely resisting the urge to press his lips against Heero's dark, soft hair as he leaned over him. He wondered if the blue-eyed boy had any idea what an alluring person he was... Was he doing it on purpose? He seemed to draw people to him so effortlessly, all while trying to keep his distance.
Clamping down on his impulsive desire with tight control, Trowa moved away from the bed and seated himself in the nearby chair where he had practically lived this past month. Heero sniffed suspiciously at the cereal and then began eating it with rapid efficiency. Trowa kept his expression impassive only through long practice as Heero finished the last bite and turned to gape at him dumbfounded, the spoon slipping from his nerveless fingers.
Heero dragged himself out of his drugged stupor and glared at the boy who sat watching him silently.
"You said there weren't any drugs in that cereal," he rasped accusingly.
"No, I said I didn't put any drugs in there. You didn't ask whether Catherine had drugged the cereal."
"Hn."
"Hungry?"
"No." Heero's stomach grumbled, giving the lie to his terse statement, and he glowered in frustration as Trowa wordlessly headed for the kitchen. The slender boy returned a few minutes later with a sliced apple and some crackers with cheese.
"What if I won't eat it?" Heero asked.
"You should at least eat the crackers," Trowa answered, once again propping Heero's heavily-bandaged body up with pillows and placing the tray in his lap. As solidly-muscled as Heero was, he had already lost a good deal of weight he could ill afford. His battered body was far easier to lift than it should have been, and Trowa hid a frown of concern at Heero's apparent frailty. Yet as delicate as he seemed... Trowa had the perverse urge to throw caution to the wind and take him roughly and thoroughly.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" Trowa thought. Heero was depending on him, trusting him, and his own secret desire was to betray that trust, to caress the smooth skin, to see the bright blue eyes grow cloudy and heavy-lidded with passion...
Trowa sat in his chair, his blank expression hiding the internal struggle that was daily becoming more and more difficult. Heero ate the apple slices and cheese, leaving the crackers in a neat pile on the plate. Trowa couldn't help but smile at the frustrated glare Heero cast at him before unconsciousness claimed him once again.
Since Heero had obligingly eaten the drugged apple and cheese slices, Trowa picked up one of the perfectly harmless crackers and began to nibble on it.
Heero awoke to the soft slosh of water in a shallow pan, and he gazed up blearily as Trowa approached.
"What is it?" he asked huskily, then cleared his throat.
"Bed bath," Trowa answered matter-of-factly.
"I can do it," Heero said, and winced as he sat up. Trowa hurriedly set the pan down and propped the invalid up with pillows.
"You probably can, but it would be a lot easier to let me help you," Trowa said.
"Ah."
Trowa's mouth went dry as he placed a towel against Heero's side, carefully pushing it underneath him to keep the bed from getting wet. He slowly dipped the washcloth into the water and wrung it out, noticed that his hands were shaking, and willed them into stillness. This had been so easy to do, when Heero was unconscious, but to have that penetrating blue gaze fastened on him...
"Close your eyes," he whispered, and gently washed Heero's face. If he lingered over the fragile closed eyelids or delicately-formed lips, Heero appeared not to notice. Trowa struggled to keep his expression impassive as the intense blue eyes opened again and focused on him hazily. It was unnerving, being observed with such fierce concentration. Trowa's carefully neutral expression held as he gently washed and rinsed first one arm, then the other, and then moved on to the vulnerable throat and the slight expanse of chest visible above the bandages. He paused as he considered what to do next. Out of a sense of propriety, he had dressed Heero in his spandex shorts... he couldn't have Catherine watching over Heero without them. But it certainly made his current task more difficult.
"... I'll need to take these off," Trowa said after a long silence.
"Ah." And that was all there was to it. Trowa stifled a sigh of relief - thankfully, Heero didn't seem to have any undue modesty, or any sense of clothing as emotional protection. A dark eyebrow quirked as Trowa tugged the shorts down, but Heero didn't react otherwise. Trowa felt his face heating, and hoped that Heero wouldn't notice he was blushing. This had been so much easier when Heero was unconscious!
After arranging the towel again, Trowa washed Heero's legs, one at a time. And then... he swallowed hard, and dipped the cloth into the water again, wrung it out carefully, and began gently washing Heero's flaccid manhood and the dark curls surrounding it. He risked a glance at Heero's face and noted that the blue eyes were drowsily at half-mast, then Trowa ducked his head slightly, hiding behind his long bangs as he continued sliding the wet cloth over sensitive flesh. Heero flinched slightly, and Trowa stifled a gasp as the organ twitched in his hand, a natural reaction to stimulation. Green eyes widened in surprise as Trowa felt the pulse of a growing erection through the rough texture of the washcloth. After all the long days of yearning... he couldn't help himself. Almost without volition, his fingers curled around the rapidly hardening shaft, naturally, as if they had been made for just this purpose. This was all so different from... so different from anything he'd ever experienced before. Trowa's breath quickened as he slid his fingers lightly along the hot length of Heero's manhood, then he pulled the washcloth out of the way and dipped his head down to taste the hardened flesh.
"Trowa..." Heero mumbled, his eyes sliding shut.
"Just lie still," Trowa murmured, his lips brushing ever so lightly against the sensitive flesh as he spoke. Heero tossed his head against the pillows with a breathless groan, and Trowa slowly drew just the head into his mouth, flickering his tongue along the tender flesh at its base before drawing as much of the shaft in as he could. Slowly he began to move, surrounding Heero's manhood in wet warmth and suckling eagerly. It was so much better than he'd imagined, Heero squirming under him, the musky heaviness in his mouth like steel wrapped in wet silk... He moaned softly, and pulled away with reluctance, using his own saliva to wet a finger. He'd been thinking of this for so long...
Heero groaned a little as that hot mouth left him bereft, and he tensed when he felt Trowa's finger probing him. A frown creased his brow, and his eyes slitted open for a moment before Trowa resumed pleasuring him with lips and tongue. With the barest whisper of a moan, Heero lay back again, and his body opened to Trowa's questing finger with a slight tremor of acceptance.
"Trowa..." he whispered softly, and then Trowa found it, the spot he was looking for, and he caressed it gently as he drew Heero's shaft into his mouth once again. It was what he'd been wanting for so long... beautiful Heero, whimpering softly with the pleasure only he could give, squirming under him in growing need...
"Trowa..." Heero whispered once more, warningly, and Trowa only increased the pace, drawing Heero's manhood as far back in his throat as possible and swallowing as Heero finally surrendered to the relentless pleasure. When the spasms stopped, Trowa eased away from Heero gently, using the washcloth to wipe away the slight remaining traces of what had happened. Heero's eyes opened once, foggily, and then closed again, and the Perfect Soldier sighed quietly, and then slept.
Trowa sat in the chair for a long time, watching Heero's bandaged chest rise and fall with his breathing, his fingers occasionally straying to brush over his lips as he remembered the feel of the hot flesh in his mouth. It had been such a heady experience... he felt almost drugged with it, almost possessed with the desire to strip the covers away and do it again...
The ringmaster's voice snapped him out of his silent reflections, and Trowa quietly padded out of the trailer to see what all the fuss was about. His expression remained impassive as he realized the circus troupe had been invited to perform for an Oz base... but his heart was hammering rapidly as he quickly formulated a plan, one which might even be worthy of a Perfect Soldier. He was immensely gratified when Catherine spoke up in agreement, and relieved when nobody asked him about the details of his plan. He didn't want to have to lie to them, if it could be avoided. But he was certain this was one night's entertainment that Oz would not soon forget.
"I'll leave food and the car keys," he told Heero, after explaining a part of what was happening. "You have to stay here to recuperate first."
"What are you going to do?" Heero asked, and Trowa didn't answer him directly. Instead, the green-eyed pilot gazed out the door as he spoke, avoiding Heero's gaze.
"The idea of waging war with the Gundam was not based on the unanimous will of my Colony," Trowa said, plainly avoiding any mention of the details of his plan. "The operation was only planned by a handful of extremists who held a grudge against the Federation."
"I don't disagree with being driven according to one's emotions," Heero said solemnly, gazing at Trowa with breathtaking directness. Did he even remember what had happened just a few hours ago? Did he think it a feverish dream? Or was it simply that he didn't mind? Trowa didn't know, and couldn't find the nerve to broach the subject. As it was, he was grateful to have a topic worth talking about, grateful to have something to distract him from his too-rapid heartbeat and the flush that surely stained his cheeks. "That's at least how I was told," Heero continued.
"But we can't give Oz another reason to justify an attack on the colonies. And this is my own decision," Trowa answered. "Besides that, I'm just the same as you," he said, turning to face Heero with a frozen mask on his face and burning hunger in his eyes. Somehow, some day, if he survived, he would ask Heero how much he remembered... but for now he had the memory to cling to, to carry him through this present danger, and a goal worth struggling for... a compelling force to direct at least this part of his life "A man driven by emotion."
And with that he squared his shoulders, and left on his new mission. Heero stared at the empty doorway for a long time, surrounded by unbroken silence, wondering if he'd ever see Trowa again, and wondering what it must be like to be so certain of who he was, and what his purpose was, and what his existence meant.
"Driven by emotion," he whispered, but the only answer was silence.
Ano... *^__^* You know, it's kind of weird, posting a fic after all this time. I never expected to get my GW muse back... but this little story grabbed hold and wouldn't let go. Please feel free to give constructive comments or criticism - I'd really like to know what you think. ^_^v Also, please don't forward or archive this story anywhere without my permission... not that I think anyone would! <:) I hope you liked the story. ^_^
^_^
Yoiko
Please send comments to: Yoiko