Children of the Revolution A Gundam Wing Fanfiction by Amet February 7, 2002: Sing hallelujah to the heavens, for it is a momentous occasion. I finally turned 21 and I finally finished this happy little ficlet. Yay me. I’m working on no less than three – count ‘em – three fics right now. This is not one of them. ^_~ I got smacked by this a couple of weeks ago when I took a break from reading case studies for my class in Psychotherapy, and it would not leave me alone until it was finished. This is my very first endeavor into citrusy territory, which feels really pathetic to say, but I feel the need to mark the occasion. I am perversely proud of this fic. Thank Yous: I actually started this to cheer Sephy up when her beloved computer decided to crash, so technically this is dedicated to her. (Shocking, huh?) It kind of ballooned from there, so you all have her to thank for this lovely piece of literature. *cackles* And of course to Anne, evil beta extraordinaire, who actually sat with me while I pasted bits of this to her on MSN and told me what she thought. I can think of no more annoying way of reading a story, and it was much appreciated. ------------------------------------------- Pallid moonlight filtered in through flimsy curtains, silhouetting Heero’s sleeping form with a nearly ethereal glow as he lay enmeshed in a tangle of wiry limbs and chestnut hair. A preternatural stillness blanketed the room, disturbed only by the steady rise and fall of the Japanese boy’s chest and the occasional shifting of his lover’s body as he burrowed further into the warmth of Heero’s embrace. Amethyst eyes glittered weakly in the moonlight as Duo absently ran a thumb over the finely muscled forearm wrapped around his waist, stilling his movements as best he could and concentrating on the comforting palpitation of Heero’s heart as the other boy slept on, completely ignorant of his distress. There was strength in that heart, its ceaseless steady rhythm strong, vital, and so very alive. A strange warmth roiled within him, tightening against the walls of his stomach and threatening to consume him, to spill over and burst from his body with the sheer intensity of his emotions. It frightened him like nothing he had ever known. He had prayed for this, privately begged a God he had long since abandoned to restore some semblance of hope to his life, the last desperate plea of a fractured soul before it shattered under the weight of an existence without Heero Yuy. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment when Heero had become a necessity, but somewhere in the months since he’d met the taciturn Wing pilot their fates had been inexorably entwined, ruthlessly bound to each other through whatever strife the war saw fit to throw at them. He had lost himself somewhere in the heat of their embraces, in the hard glint of September eyes, and he was powerless to stop his descent. He was in love with the suicidal idiot, and nearly lost him forever before he’d even begun to realize it. Duo took a deep breath and held it, leaning up to press his lips to Heero’s jaw, attempting to banish his rising panic with the immediacy of Heero’s presence. Unaware of Duo’s own erratic heart rate, the Japanese boy’s heart pattered steadily on with the same ruthless efficiency that characterized the boy himself, and Duo felt some of his trepidation dissipate. This was Heero after all. The boy had survived the self-destruction mechanism of a Gundam for crying out loud, the odds were in his favor. Duo did not fear death, not his own, but the very thought of letting go of Heero terrified him more than he thought was strictly rational. They were in the middle of a war, forging the front lines day in and day out, and Heero took risks that made even Duo cringe. It had earned him the respect of the other pilots, and a reputation for infallibility that made him essential to the war effort. But Duo could not help but wonder if the assumption would hold had they seen the vulnerability in Heero’s eyes when they made love. The somber boy whose gentle caress belied the inscrutable soldier, whose childlike wonder at the rhythm of normal life forced a frighteningly fierce protective instinct in Duo to surface. Heero needed him, as much if not more than he needed Heero. Whether or not the Wing pilot was aware of it remained to be seen. Duo absently brought a hand to Heero’s stomach, kneading the firm flesh with the flat of his palm, relaxing into the play of muscle beneath his lover’s skin. Even in sleep the other boy responded, shifting slightly and wrapping his arm more tightly around Duo’s waist. A tiny smile crept upon his beautiful face, and Duo matched it, taking a moment to memorize the fleetingly peaceful features before sighing softly and laying his head back against Heero’s chest, allowing the rhythm beneath his ear to lull him to sleep. He awoke an indeterminate time later, suddenly careening into consciousness, momentarily disoriented and clinging tightly to Heero as sapphire eyes flew open, giving him a quick once over before the Japanese boy abruptly sat up, pulling them both into a sitting position. Heero’s hand immediately delved beneath their pillow, fumbling for the weapon he had hidden there the moment they arrived. They waited, eyes darting about the stillness of the latest in an endless succession of dorm rooms, and after a few moments Duo began to relax into his lover’s embrace again. Explosions shattered the silence, crashing like quiet thunder in the distance. Heero stood immediately, dropping the gun on the mattress and stalking to the window, pushing the feeble fabric of the curtains aside in time to see orange light bloom on the horizon. The battle was a considerable distance away, the explosions too small to be attributed to any of their comrades, probably the Treize faction acting up on the OZraelites again. Contemplating Heero’s unashamedly nude form poised before the window, Duo seriously considered sending them a fruit basket for their trouble. Another crash, still farther from their falsely idyllic school, and Heero was suddenly illuminated. Weak light caught in his eyes and held, accenting the hard glint of resignation within, and Duo’s good humor evaporated. He knew that look, saw it in Heero’s eyes in all its morbid glory whenever they went into battle. The soldier had returned, instinctively drawn towards that distant battlefield, orders or no, and the boy he loved would follow. The panic returned tenfold, and Duo bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut beneath a concealing curtain of unruly hair. He fisted his hands in the sheets tangled about his legs, concentrating on each slow, shaky breath that left his body, reminding himself fiercely that boys did not cry. He always told people his mother had told him that. He had an idea that she would have, if he could remember her. So much lost, so much destroyed, and all in the first fifteen years of his life. Not that he really expected there to be many more. He had come into the war, admittedly, to die. To end his monotonous existence on a good note, doing something that would have made Father Maxwell proud. Well maybe not the killing, but saving the world had to gain him some brownie points somewhere. He hadn’t intended to find a reason to live. Hadn’t intended to find himself partnered with a soul more lost and alone than even he was. He had intended to die, and Heero had fucked up his plans. “No.” The whisper pierced the silence of the room, barely audible even in the lull between explosions. The soldier turned, his cold, hated eyes throwing Duo a peripheral glance before pivoting smoothly when another blast roared in the distance. There was longing in those eyes, not the affirming, gentle ache he saw in Heero as he leaned in for a kiss, but the frigid, baseless hunger that drove the nameless soldier to untold destruction. It was everything his lover despaired. The freedom inherent in every battle bore the guilt that chained him to the campaign in a desperate search for meaning, that in the end some good would rise from the ashes of the slaughtered and absolve his tattered soul. So the dance continued, and Duo had always known his part, better to lie beside the boy when allowed than to stand in the soldier’s way. Until now. This battle was pointless, as Duo was beginning to suspect they all were. The enemy – the Alliance, OZ, the Treize faction – changed faces a thousand times, with each metamorphosis resolution seemed farther and farther away, and along with it, any meaning in their battles. What the hell were they fighting for? What cause was so infallible that it warranted Heero’s self-destruction? Heero, who was Duo’s hope. His single reason for living, fighting. What was more valuable than that? Fuck that, all of it. Duo stood in perfect sync with the next volley of fire on the horizon, untangling himself from the sheets and sauntering to the soldier’s side with a stealth that only he was capable of. Heero heard him anyway, back stiffening almost imperceptively, and Duo stopped just short of touching him, glaring at the back of Heero’s head as if to return his humanity through sheer force of will. “No,” he repeated, a little more forcefully. His hand hovered over the bunched muscles of Heero’s shoulders, watching, waiting for something, some sign of acquiescence to continue. He heard Heero expel a long, substantial breath, head dipping slightly as he continued to study the horizon. Duo’s hand fell, kneading the tense flesh between his lover’s shoulder blades, gratified when Heero leaned slightly into the touch. He added his other hand, trailing both across the Japanese boy’s shoulders, attempting to break whatever hold the soldier had over Heero by tactile stimulation alone. Heero’s head bowed further, but he made no move to turn, and after a few minutes Duo sighed and leaned his forehead against the other’s back, hands stilling on Heero’s shoulders. “Please,” he whispered, each word pressed against his partner’s skin. “Please Heero. Don’t go tonight. Stay with me.” I love you. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the nearest ridge of Heero’s spine and gasped when the Japanese boy slowly turned in his arms, mournful sapphire eyes glinting from beneath a shroud of heavy bangs. With infinite gentleness, Heero’s fingers reached out to touch him, ghosting tenderly along his jaw and coming to rest on his cheek, cupping the soft flesh and tracing a thumb along his bottom lip. They regarded each other silently for a moment before Heero leaned in to kiss him. Duo opened his mouth almost without thinking and Heero’s tongue slipped inside, moving languidly against his own as he melted into the embrace. Solid arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer and a familiar hardness pressed against his thigh. He was tired, worn out and damn near dead on his feet, but he didn’t care. Heero could fuck him three ways from Sunday if it kept him here. He was always surprised how easy Heero’s movements became when they were together, as if in touching Duo he removed some of the weight he carried. Deft fingers traced the length of his back, dipping just beneath the line of his boxers and gently pressing the base of his spine. He groaned lowly and pressed his mouth more firmly against Heero’s, tightening his arms around the Japanese boy’s shoulders and brushing his fingers through the fine hair at the nape of Heero’s neck. This was the boy he loved. Not the soldier or the sins he carried into battle or the fears that plagued him in his quieter moments. Just the boy, stripped of his accoutrements, as sweet and gentle as Relena continually insisted he had the potential to be. The boy who only existed in Duo’s bed. Heero moved slowly, maneuvering them both back toward the bed with smooth, graceful precision, even as Duo made it considerably more difficult by refusing to relinquish his hold on Heero’s lips. He fell back as his legs bumped the mattress, using his momentum to pull Heero’s weight down with him, gasping as his erection rubbed against Heero’s stomach. Heero chuckled, prying Duo’s arms from around his neck, and Duo raised his hips to help as his boxers were peeled from his body. There was nothing separating them now, not the battle still raging outside, not the copious amounts of guilt they each cultivated as motivation, not the Pepto Bismol princess. Nothing as dire as death or as simple as a layer of cloth. There was freedom in this, an incredibly intimacy in their clandestine lovemaking. No one had ever seen this side of Heero, no one but Duo would ever know it existed, and even then, no one would suspect that he had known enough of the Japanese boy to learn of it. It lent the act a surreal edge, as if their actions could be banished in the light of day. It made him all the more desperate for the feel of the body moving above him, and his hands moved across the planes of Heero’s torso with a will unto their own. Heero’s hands were not idle, his mouth trailing urgent, open-mouthed kisses on the proffered flesh of Duo’s neck as palms traced along his sides. He was still moving slowly, but more forcefully, mouth closing over a particularly sensitive spot on Duo’s neck and sucking hard enough to mark. He continued downward, licking across a collarbone, and Duo keened as he paused, breath warming an already erect nipple, blinking momentarily in consideration before leaning in to take it into his mouth. Anything resembling rational thought went to hell in a hand basket the instant those absurdly talented lips closed over his flesh. He vaguely sensed the movement as one of Heero’s hands left his body, fumbling on the floor for the lube they’d thrown aside during their earlier activities, too absorbed in tangling his hands in Heero’s hair to do anything but squirm beneath his lover and attempt to keep his mewling to an acceptable level. He was pretty certain that the fine learning establishment they were hiding out in did not condone homosexual relationships, and he was in no mood to clean up the mess when Heero shot their residential advisor for trying to break it up. He gasped when the first finger entered him, arching against Heero and forcing heavy lidded eyes to focus on the bleary Prussian gaze hovering above him. Heero smirked, and after a few moments he added another finger, leaning down against an awkward angle to stifle Duo’s not inconsiderable moan against his lips. A third finger, and Duo paused in his exploration of Heero’s mouth to let loose a strangled howl, bucking up against him, fairly begging the other boy to just get on with it already. Then the fingers were gone, and he was neatly flipped onto his knees, raising himself into an almost sitting position as Heero’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back against the straining muscle of Heero’s chest. He cried out as he was filled, vaguely wondering if the neighbors had figured out what the new kids were up to yet, way past giving a damn about anything beyond the push of hardness inside him and the supple body pressed against his back through a curtain of hair. He reached an arm behind him to awkwardly wrap around Heero’s neck, pulling his lover closer to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. They stilled for a moment as Heero allowed his body to adjust to the intrusion, and Duo smiled, lolling his head back against the shoulder behind him and allowing the fleeting calmness to soothe him. This was Heero at his most eloquent, hands stroking across the soft skin of Duo’s thighs, careful to balance whatever discomfort his partner might be feeling with as much pleasure as he could manage short of bringing him to climax. He downright refused to move – and Duo knew this for a certainty, he had tried to wait him out once – until Duo gave him some small sign that he was ready. It was a small thing, but not inconsequential, and any show of deference or affection from Heero outside of ninmu mode spoke volumes of Duo’s place in his world. Duo reached back, drawing a single finger reverently across Heero’s cheek, and craned his neck back to lick at Heero’s lips. Heero’s hands transferred themselves from his lap to his hips, steadying his body as Duo raised himself on his knees. Heero hissed and his grip tightened on Duo’s hips, pulling them back even as he thrust upward, groaning low in his throat and pressing his lips fleetingly to Duo’s shoulder. They moved easily against one another, hands straying across sweat dampened flesh, lips pressed to every available inch of skin, and Duo was mildly annoyed at how little of his lover was available to his position. Heero’s caress proved enough of a distraction, and his handicap was forgotten as a warm hand wrapped firmly around his erection, stroking lightly in time with the Japanese boy’s thrusts. He would give anything, he decided, to feel his partner this way. The decision warmed him in ways he had yet to understand, and he threw his head back, abandoning the world to sensation. Heero’s soft cries were panting breaths against his ear, his strokes smooth and soft, his thrusts deep and solid, reminding Duo that this was not one of the many fantasies of the taciturn Wing pilot that played across his mind when they were separated, a firm reminder that the reality of his presence was so much more. Heero’s lips once again fastened on his neck, detaching long enough to moan Duo’s name as his body shuddered into release with one final upward thrust. It was the voice that pushed Duo over, the depth of passion in Heero’s normal monotone overwhelming everything else, and he was only dimly aware of the sticky warmth spreading across his thighs and Heero’s hand. He collapsed back against his lover’s heaving chest, gasping for air himself, and felt Heero’s arms tighten around his waist. He opened his eyes a moment later to find Heero threading fingers through the viscous fluid in his lap, nearly laughing at the strangely innocent gesture. “Ne, Heero, that’s one of the drawbacks of our relationship. Cleanup’s a bitch.” Heero replied with an absent ‘hn’ and lowered his head to kiss Duo’s cheek with an unnatural tenderness, still tracing patterns along Duo’s thigh. “Get any more of that on the sheets, Hee-chan, and you get to sleep in the wet spot.” Heero merely quirked an eyebrow at the neatly made bed standing forlornly against the far wall, the one Duo sometimes read manga on when their door was open to the other students in a half assed attempt to keep up appearances. He was about to favor Heero with a suitably petulant response when a familiar rumble sounded in the distance, drawing his attention and stealing his breath. He stiffened, and instantly Heero’s embrace tightened, pulling one arm to secure around his shoulders and rubbing his arm soothingly before pulling out and away with a final kiss to Duo’s temple. He left the bed and crossed gracefully to the window, pulling the curtain back slightly and tracking the distance to the explosion in an eerily familiar motion, sending chills down Duo’s spine. But his posture was different, unreadable this time, and Duo took a deep breath to venture into the silence. “Jesus, they still at it? Either you’re losing your edge, or they deserve serious props for going this long.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to smile, and one glance at his somber face had Heero drawing the shade and closing the curtains with an abruptness that bordered on violence. Leveling a final glare at the hapless drapery, he stalked to the bathroom, and Duo faintly acknowledged the sound of water running in the background as he squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the inevitable. He hadn’t moved from his position on their bed, and he wouldn’t until Heero was gone and he could trust his composure not to collapse. Breaking down was one thing, hell, given where he was it was practically expected, but breaking down in front of Heero was not an option. He couldn’t trust his legs not to shake, his voice not to waver, and there was no way in hell the traditional Maxwell grin was making a comeback tonight, but if he could just keep it vaguely together until his lover left he could get past this, he was sure. Duo Maxwell. He runs, he hides, but he does not lie. Except to himself. Denial was a funny thing, and like everything else, given time and adequate pressure it crumbled, leaving shadowed remains and the familiar sting of reality in its stead. Reality sucked in the worst way possible, indiscriminately shattering hopes and nightmares, savage in its indifference to the lives it held in its icy hand. Reality, who rallied the soldier with depressing predictability, when the sun rose and the post coital murmurs subsided, locking whatever humanity was left in Heero behind shuttered eyes and pointed glares. Something in Duo shattered bearing witness to the transformation, no amount of expectation prepared him for the grim dismissal each time he was taken to his lover’s side and shoved so savagely away. Part of him insisted that he should have steeled himself against this, that his weakness alone tore him apart each time Heero reverted, his own inability to recognize their relationship for what it was. Sex. Fucking. Mind blowing and completely meaningless, a mutual release between two comrades in an uncertain time, when both of them were desperate to forget themselves. Anything beyond that was lost against a backdrop of death and betrayal, a general pattern of unpredictability and bloodshed that seemed to escalate with each new progression of war. The rest of him was bone deep, dead dog tired, nearly catatonic with obsessing over it, shutting down whatever defense he might have launched against the pain in deference to what sanity he had left. No one went up against the soldier and won, he was learning, and he was tired of fighting against an immovable force. It left him bare, wide open and vulnerable, twice as receptive and twice as damaged. He needed comfort more than he had ever needed it in his life and that was saying something. Needed to be reminded that there was a point to all this pain, that somewhere in the maelstrom of shifting allegiances and perpetual violence there was an end to justify the suffering. He needed Heero to hold him, he needed the gentleness back, he needed to be something other than completely alone for the first time in his life, and nothing seemed further from his grasp. Something cold and wet ran across the inside of his thigh, drawing the veil of reality around him again, and his eyes snapped open to find Heero, face screwed up in almost comical concentration, wiping what was left of the fluid on his lap away with a washcloth. He blinked once, twice for good measure and reached out to grasp Heero’s wrist, stilling his hand. “Nani?” the other boy demanded, confused Prussian eyes cutting in their intensity. “What are you doing?” he murmured, absurdly proud that he’d managed not to stammer. Heero’s brows shot up beneath his bangs, snorting in annoyance as he jerked his wrist away. “I’m cleaning up the mess you were complaining about. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Duo swallowed hard and shut his eyes, turning his head away and dropping Heero’s hand. He didn’t have the energy for confrontation, he was beginning to shake in earnest, and why wouldn’t Heero stop playing and just /leave/ already while Duo was too weak to stop him? Seconds passed like hours, and he was painfully aware of the other’s gaze still trained on him as he struggled to control his breathing. He shifted uneasily, nearly bolting from his seat as a hand reached out to run tenderly along his upper arm in a measure of desperately needed comfort. “Duo,” Heero’s voice was a broken whisper as his fingers transferred themselves to stroke across Duo’s cheek. “You’re shaking.” Duo couldn’t swallow the laugh at the near wonder in Heero’s voice, choking out a sound somewhere between a giggle and a sob. He forced himself to open his eyes, turning to meet Heero’s as his lover’s hand grew bolder, moving to cup his cheek. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Another half sob, another broken whisper, and Duo was registering the utter horror twisting his lover’s features. Lips thinned and frowning, eyebrows knit together, and eyes – dear God, those beautiful eyes were impossibly wide, shining with shame and not a little fear. “Duo,” he repeated, carefully pushing bangs back from Duo’s eyes, trembling himself and obviously unsure how to proceed. “I’m tired, Baby, I’m so damn tired.” He expelled a shaky breath as Heero’s hand moved back to stroking his arm. “And it hurts.” That seemed to be the breaking point for Heero, whose grip tightened on Duo’s arm, pulling him forward into a fierce embrace. Heero’s face was buried in his hair, arms wrapped tightly around him and hands kneading the tensed muscles in his back as he hid his face in the crook of Heero’s neck, fingers digging painfully into his lover’s sides. Heero only drew him closer, and Duo sagged against him, clenching his eyes shut against another wave of panic. His weakness galled him, but the mask had fallen and he didn’t have the energy pick it up this time. He wanted to laugh at the surrealism of the situation, at the memory of Heero’s impassive face finally animated – in horror of all things, at the soft hands tracing up and down his spine. Heero, who knew nothing of comfort or love but what Duo had taught him, had learned his lessons well. Too well, in fact, as Duo found himself relaxing into the embrace, sighing as the Japanese boy drew back slightly to press fleeting kisses across his neck and shoulder. Then he moved, folding his legs more comfortably beneath him and pulling Duo into his lap, cradling Duo against him and threading fingers through his hair. “What hurts, Duo?” The words were quiet, reverent, almost fearful, and Duo burrowed further into the warmth of Heero’s shoulder. He wrapped a cautious hand around the forearm at his waist, and Heero’s embrace tightened protectively. “Duo?” “Everything,” he sighed, “Everything hurts, Heero.” He angled his head back to look up at Heero’s face, dredging up a small smile as the other boy continued stroking his hair, lips twitching slightly in response. “The bad guys have changed faces so many times I lost track of who the enemy was about a mile back. I sold my soul to this movement and the people I’m destroying myself to protect cheered when I was captured. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, and I can’t tell anyone because they’d either happily turn me over to the OZraelites for terrorism or demand to know where I’d stashed the real Duo. I have to rely on chance encounters to see the few people I can trust, and I see you for a day, if that, before you go waltzing off onto the battlefield and one step closer to self-destruction.” He held his breath, stilling himself enough to finish. “It hurts so much when you leave, Heero, when I have to wonder if it’s the last time we say goodbye.” He blinked up into unreadable midnight eyes, smiling wistfully and leaning into Heero’s caress. “And you probably don’t care about any of this. Gomen, Heero, you know my mouth operates independently of my brain.” Duo closed his eyes against Heero’s response, sighing into the hand still stroking his hair, allowing himself a moment of respite before Heero’s inevitable flinch away. He couldn’t fathom what had fueled the rush of breath, the damning words of weakness he knew would detract from his worth in Heero’s eyes. Heero was perfect, solid, flawless in his execution of any plan and disdainful of anything that stood in his way. Duo’s weakness only made him an obstruction in the path to real peace, and admitting to it had just cost him his only support. The sudden insistence of lips against his surprised him and he promptly forgot to breathe. Heero took advantage of his inaction and pressed inward, slipping his tongue past loosely parted lips and running it teasingly across Duo’s teeth before pulling away, a curiously determined look molding his features. “Would I do that,” he insisted, “If I didn’t care?” Duo reacted after the fact, snapping his gaping mouth shut with an audible snap and blinking wide-eyed confusion at his lover’s dogged expression. Heero had kissed him. Heero, who was still sitting cross-legged on the bed with Duo himself pressed firmly into his lap, even after that little outburst of true confessions. He had missed something that was for damn sure, because the data he was working with and the outcome he was getting just did not compute. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly, “Would you?” He finished with a sigh, aware that walking the high wire of Heero’s untenable emotions was flirting with disaster. He expected the soldier to return, to turn away or raise an eyebrow in sick amusement, to shatter the illusion of caring that made his heart ache for something he knew could not be real. Heero only sighed in answer, running a shaking hand through his messy hair and successfully mussing it even further. He stroked an awkward path across Duo’s chest before turning impossibly soulful eyes on his partner. “You thought I was going to leave you.” Duo raised an incredulous brow at his lover and pulled out of the Japanese boy’s embrace, fumbling on the floor for his discarded boxers and pulling them up over his hips before seating himself across from Heero, crossing his legs. This was not a conversation he was willing to have naked and half-reclined, given that the other boy was so insistent on chatting. Heero looked almost… hurt, and Duo couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward to brush his lips briefly in apology before settling back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Does it matter?” Heero’s eyes widened fractionally, his hands fisting in the sheets beneath them before he reigned in his composure and hissed, “Of course it matters.” “Why?” Duo challenged, “Didn’t used to.” Heero’s eyes narrowed, knuckles white as he twisted the hapless comforter beneath him. “Well it does.” Duo sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, rolling his eyes in annoyance and a little anger. “Look, Heero, I’m not big on the true confessions thing, okay? That was a weak moment that I never should have had, and I got a little freaked out. I was perfectly willing to let it drop, but you insisted on talking about it, so cut the cryptic shit and start making sense before I get really pissed off.” He paused, willing himself to calm. “Now why are you pushing this?” Heero visibly deflated, catching Duo’s gaze reluctantly and murmuring, “Because.” His tongue darted out to nervously wet his lips, and he looked away. “It matters, Duo. You matter.” The world froze, icy fingers stilling Duo’s heart, leeching anger from his bones and coherent thought ceased with the recitation of those five simple words. Heero looked vulnerable, childlike, posture slightly slouching as he picked at a stray thread in the comforter. His angular features had softened somehow, and his eyes looked – pleading, almost, but something in Duo refused to reconcile the notion with the familiar visage of the perfect soldier. He shook it off, eying Heero cautiously. “Keep talking.” “Duo, I’d be lying if I told you that I’d never leave your side.” Heero’s eyes shone with sorrow, and he reached out to tuck an errant lock of Duo’s hair behind his ear. “But I swear to you, no matter what happens, I will always come back to you.” The enormity of those words slammed into Duo even before Heero completed his sentence, balking at the unreal tenderness in his lover’s tone, forcing himself to remain still and remember one of the few constants in his otherwise chaotic existence. Heero never did anything capriciously. When so inclined to speak, the Wing pilot uttered nothing but stark, unadorned truth. The Japanese boy hadn’t yet declared his undying love, but Duo had never asked for or expected that. ‘I love you’ was a deathbed confession, something uttered when there was no longer hope of illustrating one’s feelings in other, more tangible ways. And while the thought of his pathologically stoic lover attempting to articulate something so genteel was hilarious in its own right, it would have been absurd. No, Heero had offered him something else, something more practical, and he was more grateful for that small concession than his lover could possibly know. Neither of them was suited to the cloying entrenchment of love, and to speak of it was to drag the clandestine into the harsh light of reality. What they had was certainly less romantic, but Duo wasn’t a Peacecraft. He was a soldier; worn out, beaten down and too damn tired to cling to fleeting notions of passing devotion. He needed something solid enough to conjure something of his fleeting faith in. Heero was offering him security. From anyone else the promise of life in the middle of a war zone would have been terribly naïve, if not faintly delusional, but this was vintage Heero. The Japanese boy assumed that the world would remold itself to suit him simply because he proclaimed it so, and God help whatever element dared to disagree. The sick thing was, the bastard was just crazy enough to pull it off. It was a strange feeling for Duo, realizing that he had somehow made it onto that proverbial list of mission parameters, enough to wring a decent amount of emotion out of his partner and bring the boy he might have been in more fortunate circumstances to the surface for more than the time it took them to jump each other. Shocked laugher bubbled up inside of him, and he let it loose, doubling over onto Heero’s lap and shaking with the weight of his relief. He looked up, and cerulean eyes widened at the manic gleam he was sure had returned to his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” “I thought you knew,” Heero shrugged, “It was obvious.” He snorted. “Yeah, well, the sex is great, Baby, but sometimes a guy needs to hear this shit.” “Hn.” Heero cocked an eyebrow, allowing Duo the comfort of their normal banter. “It amazes me that you Americans refer to things of which you are fond as ‘shit’.” “Okay, I get it, you did your good deed for the week, and now you think it’s open season. I don’t think so, buddy, you keep that up and I’m moving to the manga bed.” He pointed at the other wall, grin growing to shit eating proportions, absently wondering if Heero noticed the irony there as he watched his lover allow himself a small chuckle. With a shake of his shaggy head and a fond smile, Heero pulled Duo against him, settling back against the sheets and shifting until Duo was once again tucked in his embrace, head pillowed on his chest. Duo leaned up for one last, lingering kiss before further draping himself over Heero’s body, allowing the unbroken cadence beneath his ear to pull him towards oblivion. Heero’s steady strength flooded his senses, his world narrowing to the measured rise and fall of Heero’s chest and the soft whisper of his lover’s breath against the top of his head. “Hee-chan?” He whispered, staving off sleep for a moment as Heero’s arms tightened around him. “What is it Duo?” “You matter too, you know.” A heartbeat, and then, “I know Duo. You showed me that a long time ago.” return to splash page