fic: Santa Clarita 6/?
Santa Clarita 6
by Pink Whirlwind
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. I own a bunch of other characters that I don’t spend enough time pitching to the world.
This chapter has a lemon.. kinda two lemons. It's graphic and 1x2x1
Heero’s tears didn’t last long. They never last long.
With Duo unconscious, mission mode came back with a vengeance.
The surroundings presented no obvious threat, no visible signs of war, no fortifications, and the only person in a uniform looked more like a lunch lady than a threat that could push Duo into self-destruct mode. She was heading straight for them though and looks could be deceiving. He hadn’t had time to assess Duo’s injury before his melt down. He’d sworn to Duo that he’d never do any re-training, but if anything ever indicated the need, that sure did. Wearing just jeans and a tee-shirt, not the suit he’d original thought he’d wear, he hoped he’d look like he fit in, even if his chest was now darkened with Duo’s blood.
Shelly sat up on top of the huge backpack he’d dropped a few yards away, looking like he was some 1800’s portrait dog. All he lacked was a fox to run by or some lady in several grand of silk made by Chinese virgins.
The uniformed woman paused between them, staring at the dog, or the boys. The indecision didn’t last long and she was approaching them with some huge and clunky looking weapon that Heero didn’t know if it dealt bludgeoning damage or if it was some kind of plastic covered projectile weapon. The idea that she might have been the one to attack Duo, provoking such a devastating self-destruct program, blossomed into homicidal ideation. Heero smiled.
She came up short, her slightly round face paling a bit. “You okay? What happened to her?”
“She’s my wife,” Heero said, so quick there wasn’t even enough time for him to have thought up a lie. “She’s a hemophiliac and we’re waiting on a friend to bring back some factor 8 from the drugstore. I know it can look shocking, but we’re okay. Thanks for checking in on us.”
“You’re married? You look real young,” she said, doubt a purple haze on her words.
“I’m from Kyoto. Dana’s family was in Japan on business. Our marriage is legal in Japan.” Heero smiled, the kind of entitled rich foreigner smile one might get when being talked down to. “If you want to help, you can bring my backpack. My dog won’t bite. His name is Shelly.”
Shelly bounced up and down at the nice cop lady’s feet until she reached down to pet him. “He sure seems excited. You’re sure everything’s okay, son?”
“Yup, absolutely. Well, aside from my wife needing her medicine. My friend Charlie is coming, but he’s not sure where we are. Maybe you could meet him at the road and show him where we are? That would be a real big help,” Heero said, big blue eyes giving her an angelic pleading look.
“Okay. I can do that. What does he look like?”
“About 5’7”. Blond surfer boy look,” Heero lied as if he’d been best friends with ‘Charlie’ all his life.
“Okay. You two stay right here and I’ll go find him. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“My spouse’s well being is my only concern,” Heero said with a friendly smile.
As soon as she was a few steps away, he grabbed up the backpack, adjusting the straps and linking the waistband, then slung Duo unceremoniously over his shoulder and then he was off at a decent sprinting pace.
They made it to the far side of the little park, onto the sidewalk before Heero slowed to see that Shelly was keeping up. The little scottie was a few yards behind, tongue hanging out of his mouth, ears flopping as he did his best to keep up on short little legs. As soon as he was close enough, Heero hissed. “Do you have a net connection? My connection must have broken in transit. We need a hotel.
“There is no net, no wifi. Did you research this time at all?”
Heero stared at Shelly with confusion in his eyes. The little dog might as well have said there was no oxygen on Earth too. That had been true at one time, but Heero couldn’t really process the idea. “What do you mean there’s no .. internet? We’re only 30 years in the past.”
“The calender was reconfigured after the first wars, which you weren’t born yet for. We’re 70 years in the past. This is 1985 CE, not 125 AC. Follow me.” Shelly trotted off towards the crosswalk, curved tail wagging.
He did have to admit that if he ever had to do time travel again, he was going to need to spend time studying history. He couldn’t imagine why someone would change to a new calendar and not keep the same basic numbering system. He definitely felt old. He’d trusted way more of the computer programming of this mission to Voltaire, while he worked on the hardware, before they got too far away from the time Duo had gone to. Trusting Duo’s dogs had just felt so much like trusting Duo and trusting Duo had come to be his safe place, his grounding, so he couldn’t really find a strength in second guessing himself. Following after Shelly, he felt that same peace. The little dog could keep up a good pace too, even if not as fast as Heero could. Ten minutes later they had let themselves into the back yard of a nice little baby blue cottage style house in residential area filled with neat little houses and spring green yards.
“Well,” Shelly said, staring up at Heero.
They stood at the back door.
“Do you know the people who live here,” Heero asked.
“No.. oh .. the newspaper says this house is robbed three days from now, but no one was hurt because the family had been on vacation for a week. There’s no one home. Pick the lock and lets get off the streets.”
“I didn’t pack lock picks.”
“Duo’s braid,” Shelly tilted his head, one ear standing up in irritation.
“Duo hasn’t carried lock picks in his braid since the war!”
Whatever the emotion Shelly’s face was trying to express, it came out as a toothy snarl. “Yes, he does. Always. They’re very flexible until exposed to light.”
“And just how do you know about this?”
Shelly’s shoulders went down to the floor, his butt up and wiggling. “We made a scanner and scanned him. We were just playing. We didn’t know what they unidentified objects in his braid were. He said they were lockpicks. I would do the door, but I don’t have opposable thumbs or any mechanics here!”
“Fine, fine,” Heero growled, ready to show his fangs back. He set Duo down gently, then tenderly ruffled through his braid, until he found exactly what Shelly said would be there. They’d never talked about Duo actually stopping. He’d just assumed.
A couple of moments later, they were inside the place. Heero spread a cover out over a small bed, making sure they’d not leave any evidence. If there was no internet, then there probably wasn’t anyway off planet right then either. Which, honestly, did for Heero’s ultimate plan, to get Duo get a ship, get far enough away from Earth so they could just carry on with thier lives like normal until they’d gotten back to their own time, then make a grand and heroic entrance. Duo would have been in his element, beaming triumphantly. In all the confusion, he wasn’t even sure how many years they were going to be stuck … in.. in America, without internet, looking like minors.
Duo groaned, a hand going to his shoulder. “Oh fuck me,” he growled, his accent more L2 street than Heero had heard in a very long time.
“If you think that’s a good idea,” Heero said, a small playful smile softening his whole face. “Duo, you’ve been shot and we are stuck 70 years in the past with no data access, no contacts, and we are likely to be mistaken for children. I also believe you may be having a very bad reaction to your wound and the trip through time. Modifications you made to your nanites may be causing an extreme reaction psychologically and physically. In the previous time stream, you blew up a whole city block. Shelly medicated you with an update to your nanites, but it’s going to take a little time to counteract the reaction.”
“Q, you talk too fucking much, man. Where’s Ro? I gotta know if I blew that bitch right!”
Heero’s face went slack, lips parting slowly. He knew those words. Those exact words, the timber, the timing, the edge of pain in Duo’s voice, the volume, every last detail was like listening to recording. Those were the words Duo had said after a mission they’d run together in the war, before they’d made love the first time. Duo had been shot in the same shoulder, bleeding, only half coherent. Heero’s heart sped up. He knew what came next in the memory, though he couldn’t explain why it had happened.
Laying on the bed, his lips parted, eyes only half open, Duo reached out to Heero. His hand shook and for a moment, Heero felt like he was in two moments at once. That he was in this home he’d broken into, decades before he was due to be born and he was in some other house they’d broken into, Quatre in the kitchen fretting about Duo bleeding out if someone didn’t manage to treat his wound.
Younger Heero had gone into that room because of the noise Duo had been making while fending Quatre’s medical attempts off. His first attempt was to end the struggle permanently, but then, Duo had reached out to him and some shard of humanity that had buried itself deep in him woke. Everything had changed in that moment.
When he grabbed Duo’s hand, his fingers sliding between Duo’s hotter, feverish fingers, then and now, his heart hurt, his being expanding to make room for all the feeling, the hunger, the need. Humans don’t make sense. He’d read about sex and love and it was white lace and gentle caresses, the penis sliding tenderly into either a vagina or an anus, always mindful of the other person’s pleasure. He’d had training. He knew when to slide his hand under his lover’s head and stare into their eyes, to whisper that they were everything he’d ever wanted. The exercises had been nothing more than one more chance to excel.
Holding Duo’s bloody hand, getting unknown pathogens all over his own hand, that first time, he’d become deeply aware of Duo’s breathing, of the rise and fall of his chest, pale lips, parted, wet from being licked, a bit of blood matting sun goldened lashes. The scent of blood called to him and he growled, straddling his braided co-conspirator. It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t reasonable. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t soft.
One of Duo’s legs came up to push against Heero’s ass. The first time he’d been wearing spandex, tight and thin and he’d felt the heat of Duo’s fevered body through the worn jeans, the strength in the other man’s body that had never been tender or delicate. Hours before, they’d torn an Oz base apart, left it torn metal and settling dust. The man under him had done as much as he had, had run as fast, as far, as hard, had calculated odds, had saved his life, had killed for him, with him, and in that battle, he’d done something else he’d never done before that day. He’d depended on Duo without a real logical reason to do it.
Then there had been little medical tech, no cover on the bed, no nanites. Duo had been fevered from some biological agent he’d passed through on the mission, a hole in his shoulder that was still bleeding, despite Quatre’s efforts at getting bleed stop into it. There was a bullet still in him. Heero knew he was going to die. Dying wasn’t something to be feared. It just was. They were all going to die. They were weapons and weapons killed and died.
But Duo was holding his hand.
Heero held hands just as tight, strong thighs pinning Duo’s narrow hips between them. The material of his shorts not muting at all the erection that Duo had. Dying people sometimes got them. The body didn’t want to die, but if it was going to, maybe, Heero guessed, it was some last evolutionary effort to reproduce. Osiris and Isis, and fucking the dead, and god, staring down at the man under him, those violet eyes, and all the flippant things that came off that too fast tongue and Heero desperately didn’t want all that life to end. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he’d growled then and the same words came out of his mouth now.
Duo then had had no shirt on and Heero in the present could see the red angry hole as if the moment were right then and now. Still holding Duo’s hand, hard enough to bruise, to bring a cry from most other people, but Duo held just as strong back, Heero groaned, aware that his own body had given him a matching erection. It wasn’t like any erection he’d ever gotten before.. not just a willing that part of his body to harden, thinking about how good release felt and using it as a means to manipulate his partner, no this was blood and life and he wanted to possess Duo, to own and keep him, to join with him, to rush, to feel the life around him, to give over some of his life, and with a growl he leaned down and kissed Duo, then and now, deep, possessive, his tongue forcing, violating, angry and starving.
If it had been anyone other than Duo receiving that kiss, the story would have been different.
The kiss was pushed back, Duo’s tongue into Heero’s mouth, copper and gunpowder, sweat, hard tongues, touching caressing, fighting, and need, such a need like they’d fallen into each other’s orbit, twin stars, moving towards imploding against each other. Younger Duo’s other bloody hand combed into Heero’s hair, taking a firm hold, pulling almost, until younger Heero grabbed both wrists and pinned them with one hand above his head. “I’m going to grab those forceps and I’m going to pull the bullet out of your shoulder, Maxwell. Don’t scream and don’t fight me.”
“Asshole,” younger Duo spat, but didn’t try to free his hands. “Kiss me again, while you do it.”
“I don’t want my tongue bitten off.”
“Did I do it? Did I blow it up?”
“Duo, that was a long time ago,” Heero said softly, still straddling Duo’s hips, a pair of scissors in his hand as he cut the ruined tee-shirt from his lover. “I want to take the bullet out.”
“Again,” Duo said, “Just like old times.” He arched his hips up, pressing his erection against Heero’s crotch. “How much like old times?”
“Very much,” Heero said, blue eyes full of life. “This time, you should try really hard not to scream. We’re in a house without permission.”
“Oh baby,” Duo said, toeing a shoe off and letting it fall to the floor with a thump. “Did I do it? Did I save the lab?”
“Yes,” Heero said, pride and love, kindness and reproach all in one. He exchanged the scissors for a packaged sterile forceps from the medical kit in his pack. “You saved everyone. Now stop being so fucking sexy for a minute while I pull this bullet out of you.”
Duo reached to the thick blood at his wound, trailed his fingertips through it, then across his chest. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Hn,” Heero said, finding it almost painful to do this task before that. “Duo.”
Duo turned his head away, looking at a little girl’s desk, teddy bears, a pink tutu hanging on the back of a white chair. He wanted to save the girl he’d been sent back to save. He want to have kids of his own. “We gonna have kids, ‘Ro.”
Heero pressed a hand down on Duo’s shoulder and inserted the narrow medical tool, seeking the bullet that was still too deep in Duo’s body.
Younger Duo howled as the bullet was pulled free, a ragged young scream, natural and feral. Heero’s hand clamped over his mouth, holding tight, as burning pain shattered through his shoulder, cracks splintering across his being as if he were made of glass, thick angry black glass. He blinked and then Heero was laying stretched out on him, a hand pressed against his shoulder, the smart of bleed stop working deep, pressure held tight. The sun had gone down, and raging pain had faded, leaving only raging hunger. There was just enough light left in the room to make his eyes dark, deep twilight, to sharpen the lines of his face, to outline the edges of Heero’s thick Japanese hair, and their eyes locked, both of them knowing everything - absolutely everything - had changed.
There had been gel lubricant in the medical kit then and Heero had opened it, coated his cock and Duo’s belly, because he refused to let up the pressure he had, to move, as if Duo would float away, drift up to heaven if he let up even a little. Duo had shimmied out of his jeans, using one hand and an innovation fueled by a desperate hunger.
In complete darkness, Duo had wrapped a bare, fever hot leg around Heero’s still dressed body, just the front of his shorts pushed down. Heero hadn’t asked if was Duo’s first time. He hadn’t thought it was, but then, there was something in it for both of them that made it different, first time, permanent. Death surrounded them, clung to them, ate at them and they ate back, kissing and growling, Duo’s cry muffled into a kiss as Heero’s cock touched the unseen asshole and fell into him, pushing into tight heat as if he’d falling from the top floor and only joining would get him on solid ground.
Duo had fisted bloody, filthy hands in Heero’s shirt, clinging to him, moving with him, biting his shoulder, and cumming almost as soon as Heero completely took him. The heat and convulsion of Duo’s release was like seeing colors for the first time and Heero’s cry was loud, primal, a wolf claiming the night. He came, but it was long and hard, Osiris giving all he’d ever had, for all the moments he’d said nothing, for the moments he’d dreamed nothing, he wanted to live and he wanted to live with Duo, wanted Duo to live. There is something primitive and vital in cum, in seed, the heated key to new life and Heero kept thrusting, both arms around his love, clinging to him, pressure on the wound, terrified by the soft relaxation in Duo’s hard body.
It was the first time he could remember crying then, as there was no more thrust, no more small spasms of one more pulse of cum, no more not dying while fucking, not that anyone had made that promise, but he cried, face pressed against Duo’s uninjured shoulder. Duo’s body was not as hot and for the darkest moment of Heero’s life to that point, he was afraid that death had taken them, until weak fingers landed clumsy in his hair, combing, comforting. “It’ll be okay, baby. I’m okay.”
It hadn’t been true, but then it had in the end.
“Yes, Duo, we will have kids, if you want,” Heero said.
Duo opened his eyes to find them both in the dark, Heero stretched out on him, a hand on his shoulder applying pressure.
“You don’t have to now,” Duo whispered, lifting his head to kiss Heero’s lips tenderly, familiar, the echo of thousands of kisses since that first one.
“No, I mean, I’d like to.. you know when we get home.”
“I mean the pressure, baby. My shoulder is healed. Woulda been nice ta have that in the wars, ne?”
“Yeah,” Heero said softly. He sat up, still straddling Duo.
There was just enough light in the room make Heero’s eyes a dark blue, deeper than the ocean. Duo reached up with both hands, only a little dirty this time, more mature hands, hands that knew Heero’s face, knew that the space just under Heero’s lip made him shiver. “I’m going to fuck you,” Duo said, voice low and deep.
This was more civilized, more patterned, more like a dance and less like the boiling volcanism of the early Earth. It was no less hungry, no less intimate because each touch was intimate rather than raging.
Heero peeled his tee-shirt off over his head and Duo curled up to take a tight little nipple between his teeth. Heero’s groan sent goosebumps over both of them. A first time is more fearless, with so many easy excuses, so much possibility to just deny and forget. The thousandth time is more accountable, a proof of concept much more refined and toned. Duo’s tongue swirled around Heero’s nipple, then the other, knowing exactly what that would do to him, knowing that the scent of blood made Heero excited and that even if his body was healed, the scent of blood and memory was splattered obscenely around this stolen room.
Strong, Duo rolled them, pulled Heero under him and kissed him, a building kiss, touching known and familiar, need and promise, like renewed vows. Heero pressed up into the kiss, his tongue and dance more fragile than the first, but still a kind the same echo of vulnerability and hunger for life. Duo broke the kiss slowly, their wet lips clinging and drawing back together, until he pulled all the way back and rolled off the bed to push his jeans and boxers off, toe the remaining shoe off. Gawky, angry teenager had grown into a dark elegance, a confident man in a lean and youthful body.
To Heero, who was working his own jeans off as Duo bent to get a capsule of lube from the med kit. Thick braid fell onto the bed and Heero grabbed it, pulling hand over hand, drawing Duo back to him. Naked, healed, whole now that Heero was with him, Duo snuggled up next to him, hooking a leg over Heero’s hips and leaning into another kiss.
Facing each other, on their sides, Heero hooked a leg over Duo’s hip and Duo slipped an arm under Heero’s shoulder, the other reaching down between Heero’s legs to finger him, to slick things up, circling his fingers around tight puckered flesh, so intimate, so private, fragile human form and yet, somehow magically the key to a kind of immortality that went back as long as humans had been fucking.. as if knowing someone else and them knowing you could give each a part to carry so that Death’s so common touch was a little farther away. Heero snuggled closer, arching his hips, sliding down onto Duo’s fingers, and then Duo had both arms around him, and they both moved to slide Heero around Duo, Duo into Heero, primal back of data, shared life, shared soul. Clinging to each other, they moved, Duo’s hand stroking Heero’s cock, Heero’s body stroking Duo’s and it was slower, longer, more trusting, because now life wasn’t ending in a minute, now there was as long as they could manage and when they came, the cries were muted, muffled in their kiss, their release planned, held back or pushed, balanced between them. The stars weren’t about to implode into each other anymore, but in a stable and harmonious orbit.
They slept then, legs entwined, arms around each other, Duo’s braid in Heero’s hand. The days without much sleep putting Heero deep now that he had Duo in his arms and the energy needed to heal taking Duo down too.
The sun was up when they woke, frozen in each other’s arms. Blue and violet staring into each other’s eyes.
“What is that sound,” Duo mouthed.
“Modem,” Heero whispered back.
Oh yeah. They weren’t alone.