Sunday, February 7, 2016

Fic: Cracked Heart 2/?

Cracked Heart 2/?
by Max


Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing


Warning: This came out with some religious feel to it... no disrespect was meant to anyone.

Note: The whole Santa Clarita story series has been so formative for me. I expect it’s pretty disjointed to anyone who isn’t me, but in many ways, it’s me growing up... somehow. On my birthday, which is what today is, I want to revisit what I think is the best in me and the best in the world.

The world was still rebuilding after the wars. Torn buildings, torn communities, torn hearts - none of them made for a comfortable peace.


Relena had become president of the Earthsphere in the same month that Heero became her husband. The terms were fair. Each hoped for things and each knew the other hoped for something else. She had funded his search for Duo. She had searched for Heero’s heart.  Both were treasures that could be found. While Heero found Duo and rescued him from the virtual reality prison he’d been in, Relena had also found Heero’s heart and it beat in Duo’s chest.


Somewhere along the way, she’d also found her own heart too though and a sense of peace she’d never imagined along the way. Duo had been back a month and living in his own rooms in the presidential palace when she entered her rooms to find Heero laying on her bed, his arm over his eyes.


“Heero,” she asked, stopping at the foot of the bed to peel out of her suit jacket.


“Hn.”


“Right. What are you doing here?”


“Laying on your bed.”


“I see. Where’s Duo?”


“I don’t know.”


She arched an eyebrow, pulled her phone from her slacks pockets, tapped on the custom app her staff had made and it brought up a map of the palace. Duo was in his rooms. “He’s in his rooms.”


“So?”


She was glad his arm was over his eyes because she was rolling hers. “Why aren’t you there?”


He sat half way up, both hands on the bed behind him. “Do you want me to go? Are you unhappy with me because he’s back?”


“Of course not,” she said, sitting down on the foot of her bed and reaching out to lay a hand on his sock covered foot. “I just thought you two might be getting along better since he joined Preventers.”


“He joined Preventers as a Colonel and a medical doctor. He’s a surgeon like no one has ever seen. He KNOWS stuff that no one else knows. I’m 17. He’s ... not.”


“You’re hardly a normal 17 year old, Heero Yuy. He loves you, you know that. Right?”


“What is love? Is that like feeling happy when you look at a picture of someone else’s cat? Some uncontrolled rush of endorphins because we received visual stimulus that triggers  a primitive instinct? Is that what he feels when he looks for me?”


“Heero Yuy,” Relena said giving his foot a squeeze, “No one in the Earthsphere thinks of kittens when they see you. Nothing has really changed. He knows more stuff. His head is full of ideas and impossible things. He is the sun, but you are gravity. You keep him in one piece. You give him being when he’d just fly apart without you. What brought this on?”


“He kept up with me when we ran this morning. His body is... different.”


“I’m going to guess. He does say he’s 600 years old. I’ve never known him to lie, Heero. Why does it matter that he can run as fast as you can now?”


Heero drew his knees up, arms wrapping around them, blue eyes staring at her like she was his best friend and he was only seventeen. “We had balance. He had the wild ideas to go do stuff and I had the strength to protect him and make things work. I had purpose. That’s why I could never stop looking for him, trying to free him. He needed me.”


“Heero, you have inspired a lot of thoughts about love in me,” she said, her hand withdrawing from his foot when he glared at her. “I am not pursuing you romantically, Heero, I’m just saying that I have thought a lot about love. It’s not about need. It’s something else. He’s still your Duo and maybe you don’t love him, but maybe you do. You should spend more time with him and see. I also, can promise you, that his love for you could not have been because you were physically strong. You don’t have to be the best at things to be valuable.”


“So says the princess of the world,” Heero said, unconvinced. “He’s so busy he doesn't have time to look at me, let alone look at me like I’m his hero. Maybe he just thinks of me as a child. Maybe he wants the Heero of the dream world.”


“Maybe he does,” Relena allowed. “You’re the Heero He loved first. He loved you so much that the computer couldn’t retain him unless it added you. This isn’t a problem you can just blow up.”


“Hn.”


There was a sharp knock on her door. She sighed. “Yes.”


The door opened and neatly dressed assistant stepped in. “Madam, the ‘protest’ on the north side has turned violent. The Chief of Staff has requested you to take shelter in the secure work center as there is a very small chance that they may be able to break through perimeter defenses.”


Relena leapt from the bed, hands thrown over her head. “God! I don’t know what these beggars want!”


Heero’s face went pale. He’d gone from a moment of relative safety with a friend to an impending combat situation. Killing simmered just under the color of his blood, like a bad dream that never could be fully woken up from. There were two people he acknowledged that he loved and both of them were in a structure about be buffeted by an armed riot. Of the three of them, he wasn’t the strongest anymore. The feeling squeezed his insides, made it hard to breath. His chest felt fragile as glass, like one more drop of water and he’d shatter into uncountable numbers of shards.


“Heero! Are you listening to me! You have to get up and come with me. This is no time to have a panic attack!”


“What?” He blinked at her.


“You’re having a panic attack.” Now that he was looking at her, she reached out to lay a hand on his hand. “We need to go to a secure location. Everything will be okay.”


“Duo?”


“The staff is looking for him. Come with me. Everything is going to be okay.”


Heero nodded, finding comfort in obedience. “Duo... I need to know he’s safe. I should go find him.”


“Let the staff find him, Heero, and I should also like to point out that Duo Maxwell is perfect able to take care of himself.”


Relena’s assistant’s mouth dropped open as her hand pressed her earpiece deeper into her ear. “Please repeat.”

Relena grabbed her favorite pillow and a bag from her closet to throw a change of clothing into. Heero held his breath.


The assistant’s eyebrows drew down, then one shot up, her lips lemoning and Heero, in his slightly on edge state thought he might have heard a snake’s warning rattle. “MaDAME. Mr. Maxwell has, apparently, exited via the north to provide medical aide to the hooligans.”


“What?” Relena snapped, her own face twisting up.


Heero burst out laughing, slightly insane and more than a little on edge.  As soon as the first burst was gone, he took off at a run, dodging the assistant who had the nerve to reach for him.  He wore tight and practical shorts and a loose gray sweatshirt that he’d casually stolen from Duo because it smelled like him. He took the servant’s corridors and down the stairs four at a time.


The north was the main entrance and had a huge hall filled with antiques and other status items. A couple dozen defense troops had laid in defensive barriers and were looking like they were ready to hold their ground.


They saw him coming though, running at a power sprint in bare legs and yellow sneakers just like the ones he’d worn in the war. He jumped, one foot just touching on the first barrier as he flew over. The commander of the group, who had been by the door, looked utterly terrified and pulled open the door so there was nothing between Heero and his exit. (They’d just barely recovered from when Duo went through them by force. He’d somehow inflicted uncontrollable laughter on them all.)  Heero ran out the door and jumped to be on the outer barrier.


A crowd of nearly two thousand protesters seemed like an endless ocean from where Heero balanced.  Duo  nearly glowed with a golden light. His braid was hastily done, bits of brown going in all directions. He wore a pale blue tee-shirt and rattie jeans that showed off a bit of his right leg. His boots were only partially laced and Heero could see where the leather curled and hung open.  A white strap went over his shoulder and down to a big white box with red crosses on it.  


The people around him had stopped fighting. In all skin shades, different clothes, no unified culture, just a hodgepodge of people that looked more like refugees to Heero than combatants, but they were all focused on Duo as he chatted them up, grinning and handing out patches that he pulled form something that looked like a big square tape dispenser on his shoulder. In the distance though, there were gunshots and screaming, the sudden flare of some car set on fire.


There was a confidence and a strength in his Duo that his fragile little brown hawk had never had.  He’d just walked into a riot and was calming it by just talking to people and handing out stickers. Heero’s heart felt like it would break in two. His identity was strongly bound to Duo and while Duo had been missing and presumed dead, that identity had easily tied itself to the search. He’d really expected to find a mentally unstable, emotionally volatile fifteen year old. Instead he found Jesus Fucking Christ in a braid with blow jobs skills like the buddha had taught him the keys to Nirvanah, and Heero stood there at the top of the stairs, no body armor on, hands in wild brown hair, and wondered if this was what a mental breakdown and the start of psychosis felt like.  


There was a squeak beside him and he about jumped out of his skin, only to find a cute little kitty styled robot offering him a bottle of water. “Hello, Sen! You’re dehydrated and low on electrolytes. Please accept this custom made water which will help you feel much better. Please don’t commit acts of violence, but respect the light in all beings.”


“Hn,” he said accepting the water, knowing the little kitty robot was something Duo had obviously made. Only then did he realize that like a hundred of them were running into the crowd.  They were like ice cubes flowing into boiling soup, he thought, cooling the tempers and soon this ripple effect of laughter and peace. Soon the little kitty robots were handing out lunches and waters and playing music.  


Another little kitty, this one with a calico paint job stopped with him a moment, handed him another water, and when it smiled, Heero really considered that he might really be experiencing a bit of psychosis. After all, who brings a hundred snack giving kitty robots to an armed riot?  He sat down on the stairs, opened the water and drank while watching Duo bounce from one person to another.


About half way through the water bottle, Heero felt calmer, more grounded, more self worth, a nearly complete lack of what now seemed like completely irrational fear and self doubt. He lifted the seemingly innocent bottle up, eyeing the stuff that looked and tasted just like filtered water. That’s when the laughter hit, bright and shiney, bubbling up in him like he was reborn. He took another long drink of the water. One hand on the steps behind him, he leaned back a little and just watched the change ripple through what had been a murderous mob.  Dr. Duo Maxwell was drugging an armed mob into a hippy rave.


All righty then.


Flowers were showing up in people’s hair. The music was louder now. People had started dancing and Duo danced with them, still passing out those little patches.  A group pushed through the crowd and people actually seemed to move and let them like the water inspired civil behavior in people. They carried a woman between them, blood splattering the ground like a busted fuel line.


Heero busted open the other bottle of water, leaned forward, blue eyes narrowing as Duo motioned for them to set her down on the ground. She was frantic and sobbing. A chill went through the crowd around Duo and Heero’s heart seized up a bit. If they turned on him, Duo was too far away for Heero to reach him in time to do much good. Only then did he remember he didn’t have a gun or any other weapon and the idea of going back inside and asking if he could please have a machine gun seemed like a poor choice.


Duo knelt by her opened his case and Heero wasn’t sure if Duo was a doctor or a mother fucking wizard. Either way he became focused, his brows drawing down, tongue between his teeth, and there was just a bit of the broken little hawk that Heero longed for.  Several of the little kitty robots came around him, forming both a defensive line and a surgical support team.  Heero covered his mouth with a hand, lips pursing up, face lengthening. If he could go back in time and tell his Duo, say the last day they were in Rio together, what he was going to be doing in two years, desperate trauma surgery on the ground in front of the presidential palace, surrounded by kitty robots that gave out flowers and drugged water... medicinal water... yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over good.


Somewhere deeper in his mind he had a conversation with himself... about what he thought was possible for himself and about how he was clearly wrong. It was impossible to know what his own limitations were because he’d been too busy being afraid of everything, everything from Duo not wanting him, people’s expectations of him and failing them, and he realized he’d been - for as long as he could remember - been afraid of the failed mission. Any mission failure... and he just wasn’t afraid anymore, not in that moment.


Leaving his half done bottle of water on the stairs, he ran down towards where the crowd surrounded Duo. It  had been minutes; it couldn’t have been more than minutes.  Duo was helping the woman to her feet, hugging her warmly.  


Heero was close enough to hear Duo’s words then, the still squeaky voice of a body that had had its puberty delayed with cryo preservation. To see how actually small his brilliant brown hawk still was, and yet to see a glow of love in him that Heero didn’t even know how to understand.  When Duo let her go, hands on her shoulders, a brilliant grin on his face, Heero could see where she’d taken a bullet to her abdomen, the blood that ruined her clothes. There was an angelic glow on her face now.


For a moment there was a silence that seemed to fall over the whole crowd. The sounds of gunfire had stopped. The dawn was coming up at the horizon, and Heero realized it must have been more time than he’d thought.  A cheer went through the crowd, rippling like some organic thing.


Duo turned and saw him then and his grin was beyond bright.  Heero’s mouth dropped open as Duo ran towards him. Duo jumped and Heero managed to catch him out of some instinct that still linked them. Duo wrapped his legs around Heero’s waist, arms around his neck, grinning like an incarnation of the sun. “Baby! You’re here! I love you so much!”


Duo kissed him then and Heero’s entire being turned to melted frosting butterflies. He held onto his force of nature, kissed him back, letting Duo’s tongue own his mouth, because frankly, Duo had enough energy for two and Heero just was happy to be along for the ride.   He wrapped his arms around Duo holding him close like hadn’t done since he’d pulled him out of the computer system, since he’d gotten him back. For the first time since Rio, since maybe ever, they were both okay and there was nothing other than love and acceptance between them.
Wet lips against Duo’s, Heero said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so afraid. I love you and there’s nothing we can’t make right.”


“Damn straight,” Duo said, slipping down from where he’d been clinging to Heero. “I got a bit of work to do though. “Hang out with me for a while.”


“Yeah,” Heero agreed.


<><>

Inside the presidential palace, the commander and chief of staff, both fully armored, peered over the top of their interior barricade. They looked at each other, back at the dancing crowd.  It was a different world.

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Minerva’s Ink 1/?

Minerva’s Ink 1/?
by Max

copyright 2016
all rights reserved

Notes: This is a casually historical story. Please don’t hope for super historical accuracy, but it’s likely to be more accurate than not. Also, this is a supernatural story. It might get scary.



When a man’s heart has gone dark, it isn’t like the dead of winter and one must just tide over the lean months until spring comes again, warming the ground and bringing ready smiles. No. When a man’s heart darkens the hope of returning light is often in vain. Felix Barbatius stared at the approaching shore, elbows on the railing of the ship, and saw no beauty in anything.

Around his neck hung a cylinder that protected a letter from the Emperor Vespasian, which at least was honor, if not light.  An edge of military service still imprinted his posture, his movements, even though his hair had grown out a bit and now danced on the breeze as the ship rushed towards the town. The ocean and his eyes were a deep Mediterranean blue. A whip of a man, there was a touch of rabbit to him too, a wariness that took to open places rarely, that found home in the underbrush and back ways of the world.  

His mother was a true daughter of Rome who had risked her life and honor to save his father.  The width of her courage and resolve were shown both in his father’s saved life and in the fact that Felix had blue eyes. Neither had ever looked at him as anything less than proof of the gods’ approval. At ten he’d followed his father back to the army. At twelve he was an army scout, using those blue eyes, raven hair, and disarming smile to pass among the Gauls.

At twenty-two, he was sent to serve the Emperor Vespasian. It mattered not  to Felix. The love his parents had had could not bloom in a winter heart such as his. Emperors do not truly love letter carriers, not outside the curtains of the bed.  As the chill had grown in Vespasian’s fingers, a matching chill had grown in Felix’s being, such that he could never remember something other than soul winter.

“Felix!” Albius called, head sticking up from below. “We’re going to dice. Join us?”

He turned his back to Pompeii and the emperor’s blue eyed letter carrier felt the sharp nails of fate dance up the back of his neck. “Not now,” he said, smiling, friendly, casual. He’d known the men on this ship for several years. In the recent years, there had been more and more letters, less spring. “Thanks though.”

“As you will,” Albius said with a shrug. “Cook’s got food,  if you want some.”

“Thanks,” Felix said, turning back to the growing town on the horizon. He told himself the cold chill down his back was just the ocean air, not the death of the emperor. Elbows on the railing, he knew that was coming though and no wishing it off would hold back that wind. He also told himself that the wet on his cheek was ocean water and nothing more.

The sun was higher in the sky and the ocean more domesticated by the time the ship was tied off and he strode down to the dock.  Traveling light, he had only the emperor’s letter and a small sack over one shoulder, his sword, and enough coin to be comfortable.

In a moment of irritation, Vespasian had once said that Felix could be warmed enough by the amount of coin he’d been given. If coin warmed a man’s heart, then he should have been in an endless summer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something blue, blue as the ocean, but sharper. It took his eyes a moment to focus on the source. A man, slender and pale like a Gaul in the winter, with hair like a raven and eyes of startling blue stood there staring at him. It took the man a moment to realize he was being started at in return. Felix grinned at the look of surprise, the parting of soft pink lips.

On the most unexpected whim, Felix winked at him.

Color splashed on the man’s face.

Someone else getting off the ship jostled into Felix and he looked over, stepping out of the way. When he looked back, Blue Eyes was gone.

He smirked, reached up to his chin, stroking his goatee, smirking.

There was a moment of guilt. Less than a candle mark before he’d been crying over the lover he had, but there was a spring in his step as he went in search of some decent food to eat.  Just as he was about to turn up the street, enticed by some delicious smelling seafood, he turned to look back out at the bay and unlike on his way in, now it seemed brilliantly beautiful. Maybe he would stay a week in Pompeii, see if that did not raise his spirits. If his own were raised, maybe that might lift Vespasian too.

He ducked into a shop whose sign promised bread and crab. The place wasn’t fancy. The cement counter had four different hot options, bubbling and thick, crab and garum, and it was enough to make his mouth water. He smiled at the woman behind the counter. Her one dark eye glared at him. “What’d’ya want?”

His smile faltered, but only because he was trying to be more polite and less unconventional. He pointed at the two he wanted and the warming thick bread, then hastily pulled out his bowl from his sack and held it out. She filled it up and held onto it while her hand was out for the coin.  He dropped the right coin into her hand and she held out his bowl.

As he was pulling his bowl back, a smooth hand  came from beside him and dropped a red poppy onto his bread.  His eyes followed that arm up to the man with blue eyes.  “What’s your name,” he asked.

Blue Eyes blinked back, smiling almost shyly.

The woman behind the counter’s breath caught and she smacked her ladle down on the counter, drawing Felix’s attention back. “You get out of my shop!  You’re cursed, you hear me! You’ll be dead in a week and ain’t noone gonna find yer body ta bury ya. Get outta mah shop an’don’t come back!”

“You have a nice day too,” he said.  When he looked back, the other man was gone, but the red poppy remained.  He felt about as far from cursed as he’d ever felt.

Monday, January 18, 2016

Comic: Perfect 2/2


So here's the comic!
I think this version of Heero and Duo need more story, but I haven't found it yet.
Here is the first chapter of this story.
http://www.faithinthemoon.com/2016/01/fic-perfect-1.html

One chapter is prose; the other comic. 








Friday, January 15, 2016

fic: Venice Beach 1/1

Venice Beach
by Max
www.faithinthemoon.com


Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing.
Notes: It’s 1x2x1, but in this case it’s 2x1.
Warning: Not safe for work.


Blue and yellow walls, amber beer bottles, a metal Corona Light sign still held to the wall by three screws, and screaming Dutch haus music that was still only a substrate to the animated banter in the mixed group of travelers, all dripped past Heero’s headphones like almost too much chili in the salad. Outside the single paned windows, held in their arched no longer really white frames, the night was not quite dark and not really empty, but it was far away from the little metal cafe table that he owned in the corner of the hostel’s public room.

Duo’s playlist played on Duo’s headphones in his ears and he typed at a steady pace on a novel he hoped to turn into medical tuition for the. Some five pages into the new story, a restlessness jittered on his nerves and he was pretty sure everything he’d written was a piece of shit. In a few hours, when Duo would read it, he’d scratch his head, probably shedding a bit more pale sand and ask if maybe they didn’t really just want to rob a fucking bank.  Heero stuck his hand back in the bag of Cheerios he eatting, took a deep breath and let the whisper of new headache float away.

The numbers all worked out. How hard could it be to write a really popular love story.

So he’d have a knight in some sci-fi world, a powerful man with blue eyes and some lovely and disreputable prince with violet eyes... and they’d... do stuff.  They’d do fantastic stuff.

He shifted his weight on the small little metal chair that went with small little metal cafe table and willed away the whisper of hardon, sending it off with the unwelcome headache.  The noisy haze of other humans attempting to group bond and, for all he knew, group fuck faded a little farther away.

So maybe not a violet eyed prince, but a violet eyed card player, in a battered black leather jacket, a crooked grin, and super proper knight... and he didn’t know how they met, but he could feel the love the knight would feel for that violet eyed mage, illiciet mage, hiding from the law. There was a dark ally in his mind, cobble stones, glowing orbs casting light, and his mage looking back over his shoulder, violet eyes bright in the dim light, dark lips that parted slightly and a hand reached out, a glowing ball of light in it, “Follow me.”

In that alley all the banging Dutch haus was gone and all he heard was his own heart beat, his desire to follow that mage down the alley to god only knows where.

Duo actually watching him, that crooked smile on his face, dark bangs, wet clinging to his face, caught Heero by surprise, restarting his heart after a moment. For the time of that caught breath, he wasn’t sure that those violet eyes watching him were real or just another wild hare of possible story.  It was his Duo that propped his chin in his hand, ocean water pooling on the thick arm of a black leather couch that had clearly been faded by many years of shared beers and the loud music of travelers. Duo’s grin grew as their eyes locked, affection and a kind of protective proprietary ownership glowing in him.

His body was pale, so his wet hair was darker against that skin. He shifted, one wet leg thrown over the thick arm of the couch. He’d brought a little of the Pacific Ocean back with him, baked into his soul, clinging to his skin. It was more clothing than tight black swim trunks he wore. Bare toes wiggled at Heero, forcing Heero to suppress the giggle that tried to rise in his chest, suppressing it more urgently either headache or hardon had been suppressed.

Duo rolled again, shifting so his elbows were on the arm of the couch like it was a wall, his chin resting at the border of his palms. One dark eyebrow bounced suggestively, violet eyes dancing with meaning and the language that existed only between them.

Heero closed his laptop with a little more vigor than he intended. His gut felt like the empty beach and Duo the ocean as it pulls out before really slamming in.

When Duo bounced up, long limbs graceful like some wild thing, not like a civilized man, his braid swung, even heavy with the kiss of the ocean. It made Heero want the power in those hands, that form, that wild being to slam against him. Slouched on the couch, the lines of his abdomen hadn’t showed, the thickness of his thighs, the pinker jagged scars against his skin painted across his being like a warning of danger, a warning that this one wasn’t easy to swallow, and just as as Heero’s mind lost contact with the screaming haus again, lost to the poetry he found in Duo’s from, said poetry leaned over, hands on his knees and grinned like an idiot.  Whatever water was left on the beach of Heero’s soul sank deep and he welcomed the tsunami what was his lover.

Duo cocked his head to the side, wrinkled his nose and he he was off, running up the pre-colony stairs, over foot worn carpet, towards the room they were sharing with two strangers. Heero grabbed his backpack and went after. He didn’t mean to run. He liked seeming civilized. He liked seeming nonthreatening. He liked being mistaken for some random college guy in a beach hostel, harmless and maybe hoarding a stash of good music.  He went up the stairs four at a time, catching up to Duo just as he was slipping the key into the door.

Heero leaned against him, the beach reaching out for the wild of the ocean, longing for that wet that belonged to it. Duo’s still damp body pushed back against Heero’s cotton tee-shirt, thin summer slacks, soaking through the cloth at his center.

Silent as if they were robbing a bank, the door opened for them and they crossed the three steps to the bathroom. Heero pushed the door closed, as silent as possible in a pre-colony building they were paying thirty-two bucks a night to share with two other strangers, one of whom was not the same as when they’d first went to bed. It was a bunk near the beach and Duo wanted the ocean and Heero wanted Duo like he was. He flipped the light on.

Duo’s hands, large and able, slipped under the tight back second skin of his swim trunks and pushed down. That was the rush back of the ocean and Heero could hear the roar of his heart in his ears.

He locked the bathroom door with one hand as he set his laptop on the shelf in the empty closet.  Duo stepped out of the wet black and somehow to Heero’s overwrought mind, that was like the shedding of past sins, of the pretense of civilization, of inhibition.  Duo’s hand caught his face, strong thumbs moving over his cheekbones, and Heero was just like the beach, owned as the tsunami roared back over him.

Duo was a little taller and he tipped Heero’s head back just slightly as their lips caressed over each other. No sound, no sharing with the world outside of themselves and Heero caught Duo as he crashed back over him. His mouth opened and Duo was in him, in him deep as his soul.  Heero let himself being pivoted around, the most controlled spinning of debris in the torrent ever. He reached out behind him to turn on the shower, pulling the knob, twisting it to where he expected the water would be okay for both of them, but not really sure of some kind of objective measure as Duo’s nible fingers slipped under his tee-shirt, over his skin, washing away reason and logic as they painted warmth over Heero’s skin.

How Duo could come out of swimming in the the early morning ocean and be warm as the tropics, Heero didn’t know and as Duo bit his lip, he forgot wanting to understand. As soon as the water was running, his hands went to his slacks, unbuttoning them, letting the gray cloth drop. Duo dropped as well, going to one knee as he tugged Heero’s clean white briefs down. They were silence, maybe the kind of silence one has underwater, spinning in the rush.  Duo knew the map of Heero’s being though and as his mouth took Heero’s cock in, Heero’s mouth was open, his being swirling into the center of Duo’s warmth.

The hardon that happened then couldn’t have been willed away for anything. Tee-shirt off of one shoulder, both of his hands went over Duo’s wet hair, caressing, learning, knowing, re-being with Duo, refinding his humanity that he hadn’t known he’d even mislaid as that mouth wrapped around him. Duo sucked, ran his teeth over sensitive skin. His tongue circled the head, under the edge, then he kissed the very tip. He was up, carrying them both into the shower as they were, Heero with his shirt still on, socks still on. Strong hands turned Heero around.  Heart beating, warm water running down his back, soaking into his hair, his tee-shirt, Heero spread his legs, arched his back, offering his smooth honey colored ass.

Duo reached up to the ledge above the shower for the small tube of lube they’d left there and pulled the glass shower door closed behind them. He quickly coated his hard cock, doing his best to keep it out of the stream of the shower.

On the floor below them haus music roared back to life, in a different and harder language.  Duo pushed slick fingers into Heero’s relaxed anus, into the warmth that was them shared, fingers and soft inner skin. Duo leaned close, body long and sheltering over Heero’s as they leaned against the shower wall. His whisper was well below the volume of the main room’s music, hidden by it, shared only with Heero. “Love you,” Duo whispered, the deepest truth of his soul, then in a more playful and menacing tone, “I’m gonna fuck that pretty ass. Don’t cry out, Baby.”

Duo’s arm was around his chest as his breath caught, holding him tight, lips pressing to Heero’s neck, wet bangs trailing water onto Heero’s soaked tee-shirt. He slid into him, the ocean rejoining the beach, familiar and home. Duo hid his groan against Heero’s shoulder. Heero found his freedom as Duo’s hand covered his mouth. Their movements were a faster tide cycle, pushing and pulling towards each other. It was a familiar and cherished song that suited them both. The semi public nature of the hostel bathroom made it a short song and they came. Duo in Heero’s body; Heero in Duo’s arms.

The shower washed over them and they were content there, holding to each other. There was no money for medical school. They had three months of funds to live on. The ocean was still vast.

Duo kissed Heero’s ear and whispered, “I don’t need to rob that bank, Baby. You’re a great writer.”

Heero’s hand shook as he reached up and took Duo’s hand. For a moment, he saw his mage in the alley and smiled. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Duo bit his ear gently. “Damn straight.”  He pushed the water off, ran his hand over Heero’s ass and as he pulled away, he left a coolness where his body had been, but to Heero it felt like the chill of spring, where life restarts. He smiled stupidly and accepted the only towel that Duo was handing him with a questioning brow.

“I don’t need it. I’m gonna go swimming again. I’ll bring breakfast back in a couple hours, ‘kay?”

“Yeah,” Heero said, as he peeled his wet shirt off.  Then he was standing there in the wet shower, in wet black socks and a stupid in love smile as his wild mage ran back out the door. He wondered if ‘Fucked by a Tsunami’ would be a successful book title.

Friday, January 8, 2016

Fic: Perfect 1/?

Perfect
by Max

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing, nor do I own One Direction’s Perfect


Note: Happy New Year



The hospital was clean. It wasn’t much else, but it was clean. The floors were worn thin, patched with thick paint over where the concrete showed through. The walls had art, but it was mostly stuff done by patients, doctors. There were ten floors of concrete and steel centered in an area of town long stewed in intergroup conflict and poverty.

Duo imagined the area centuries before as the home of Jazz and people who hadn’t yet breached the sky. He wondered if they could see the stars then. Sitting in his office window, one foot propped against the far side, he leaned his head against the heavily painted blue wall and stared at a sky, trying to imagine where all the stars were on the other side of a wall of light.  His braid hung down the wall, fluttering for a moment as a breeze blew through. One arm rested on a bent knee, his left hand, large and strong hung relaxed, a non-toxic and only slightly stimulating vaporizer hung from those strong fingers.

Sirens cut into the night and only then did he realize he’d closed his eyes. He took a drag of his vape, stared at the endlessly not really dark sky and for a moment wasn’t sure if he were looking at buildings or light violated clouds. Either way, the siren didn’t cut through light. Earth was claustrophobic most nights. Pinned like a bug in a bowl. He snickered at his own thought, because it didn’t really make sense, but the sense of claustrophobia still made his skin crawl.

He took his time blowing blueberry mist slowly back over his lower lip. He could leave, of course. Pretty much any colony and a bunch of larger research ships had offered him a post. He didn’t have to be here like a fucking bug trapped in a bowl that never got fucking dark.

It’s just.

Heero was working with the UN. He was a policy diplomate-social-talker-make-nice-with-the -fucking-insane-people guy and being near him, even if they didn’t go near each other anymore, was too big of a prize for Duo to let go.  Heero.  Fucking Heero Yuy.  Duo ran his thumb over the aging and disreputable concrete of his building, his window, his hospital. Heero was the darkness, the calm, the blue ocean of peace, and excitement of spring. How Heero had become everything to Duo and they hadn’t even spoken in five years or kissed or well, really spoken, not since they were boys in a war, well, Duo really did not fucking know the answer to that either.

He wondered if he was going to weather down like this building, just being ground away by air, by the toil of just being that someday he’d stop dreaming about Heero, because he would just stop dreaming all together.

He pushed a slide on his vape and set it to calming. Even if ... well, even if he did go talk to Heero. He was just a fucking dirt rat now. He didn’t draw a salary from, but the hospital paid his school loans, gave him an office/room, and he got to eat in the cafeteria.  He saw thirty patients a day, on average, and pulled four or five bullets a week.  He had painted two floors of the place himself, a nice soothing blue.

Heero did stuff.  He’d gone to the Academy Awards.  The gossip rags thought he was going to marry Relena Peacecraft.  There was strong speculation that he would take her name and be Heero Peacecraft... the power couple of humanity. Heero was beautiful.  Heero was brave. Heero was splendid beyond all things that were splendid. Heero was the stars.

He heard the breath draw, her scream coming soon enough that he turned his head and saw her shadow before he saw her in his door way. Dr. Angela grabbed both sides of his door and the scream she’d been building for got swallowed in her inability to fully draw a breath.

Duo arched his eyebrow, drew on his vape, ran a thumb over his eyebrow, waiting on her to get her breath.

“He’s got a gun! He shot Ryan! Oh god! Duo!” Angela broke down in tears, ran into his room, slammed the door, after a moment, locked it.

Duo took a slow breath. He bet this shit didn’t happen at Heero’s office.

He dropped his vape in his pants’ pocket. “Who, Angie?”

“The ex-cop! We have his wife in the ICU still!”

“Shit,” Duo said, sighing.

He could hear the more acrid scream of police sirens now.  He did not want them in his hospital. He did fucking not. Half the bullets he pulled came from their guns.  Fucking cops. Even Heero was tainted with that, law enforcement. Fucking. Hate. Them.

There was a darkness to him sometimes, a thread that went back to the first night of sleep lost to hunger, the first infected abrasion because dirt is like that. “Move. Stay here.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What it takes,” he said, voice black razors, his smile death.

“Oh god, Duo, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Move.”

And then he was out in the hall and running. The power that had been in the boy was a flicker of the power  in the man. In his peaceful moments he might dream of Heero, but these had become his people.  

The main waiting room felt like it was tense with Ryan still laying on the floor in a spreading pool of blood and a large man slowly turning round like a broken hour hand, glaring at the patients and staff. Duo came at him from behind, running silent on soft soled shoes, coming down on him with the black soul of Shinigami. Duo landed on his back, an arm going around his throat, elbow going into his neck and then reaching around to grab the short barrelled rifle with one strong hand, all in one fluid motion. The man’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open. Duo kicked him hard in the kidneys, driving him to his knees, as he sort of ran up his back and over his shoulder, taking the gun with him.

The sirens screamed outside and Duo’s mind fuzzed, the past and the present blurring.  Two guys dressed in tactical gear busted through the main doors, their own weapons raised.  Duo blinked. His ears rang. His mouth was dry. In a split second he raised the short barreled rifle, but against his shoulder.

One of the officers touched the communication gear in his ear.

Angela screamed, “No! That’s our chief surgeon!”

The beanbag hit Duo right in the face. His vision went black and his thoughts distant. He was falling. That was really funny. They hit him with a beanbag, like a sleepover, like they were all gonna have cocoa and hand jobs. He kept hold of the gun, managing to thumb the safety on as he went down.

The next thing he knew he was looking up at Angela as she hovered protectively over him. “Oh my god! Duo!”

He smiled crooked, so fucking glad to be waking up. His mouth hurt like a bitch and coppery blood trickled into his mouth. He licked his tongue over his lip, over the swollen fat lip, and then right into the missing tooth. “Where’s ma toof?”

“I think you swallowed it,” Angela said, slightly horrified.  She glared at the now half a dozen tactical geared officers. “You could have killed the best surgeon in New York! What is wrong with you!?”

“We answered a call about a white man holding hostages at the hospital. He pointed the gun at us. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Another of them nodded. “Don’t point guns at the police, son. Are you sure he’s a doctor?”

“This is Dr. Duo Maxwell! HE’s a war  hero and maybe the best trauma surgeon on Earth!”

“Maxwell?” One of them said, leaning over, brown eyes narrowing. “Are you really a doctor?”

“Fuc yow,” Duo said, giving his former colleague the finger.

“You idiots took down Duo Maxwell!” He snorted, smirking at his team.

“Can we get a picture together,” one of the younger ones asked.

“No!” Angela growled. “Go fill out paperwork or something. We’ll be fucking fine without you.”

“I’m not sure this part of town pays enough money to get police coverage,” another of them said. “So are we arresting this or that one over there?”

“No.” Duo growled, getting to his feet, letting Angela  help him. “I’ve got stuff I gotta do and that asshole,” Duo said, pointing to the unconscious shooter, “is going to the psych ward where he belongs. I have room for you fuckers, if you wanna start learning to act like human beings.”  

“Maxwell, you have always been an ungrateful bitch.”

“Well, with a partner like you,” Duo said, his self righteous ire mostly wrecked from a swollen mouth and sore jaw, “I didn’t have much to be grateful for! Thanks for your help. We’ll take it from here.”

A few hours later, Duo’s face felt better. His tooth was still lost. Ryan was in the ICU. The shooter was in a padded room. All was right with the world.

But when Duo looked in the mirror, he knew... he had to tell Heero, at least. Life was rough. Maybe he wouldn’t get another chance.  He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts and clicked. “Q!”

“Duo?”

“Yeah? You forget about me man?”

“No... you sound... odd.”

“I got hit in the face with a tactical beanbag. My face is sore. Sorry.”

“Do you need bail money?”

“No.” Duo said, his courage failing. Maybe some things were better left unsaid.

“Duo, I’m so sorry. Did you get the invitation to our wedding? You are coming, right?”

Well, he didn’t really know how he was going to pay for a ticket to L4. “I’d love to. I have a lot of work.”

“We’ll work it out. Heero is escorting Relena to a social function tonight. I’ll send you an invitation to the event.”

Duo sank down to the floor. “How did you know?”

“Really?”

“Sorry. I don’t have anything good to wear.”

“I’ll open a line of credit for you at a men’s wear shop. He needs to see you. Don’t worry. You do more than enough good for the world.”

“Thanks, Q. You’ll be there.”

“We will. See you tonight, Dr. Maxwell. Call me more often.”

“Will do.”

Note: There’s comic :) I’ll post it when I get home.