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Fathoms	By : CeeCee Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2883 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don’t own the Gundam Wing fandom or the Gundam Wing characters contained within this story. I make no money from writing this work of fanfiction, it’s for entertainment purposes only. Probably only my own…

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Summary: A curse. A transformation. A reunion.
Damn your soul, Duo spat, his violet eyes boring into the cruel gray ones of his captor. I don't make deals with putrid, bitter old krakens that reek of ink. What did you do to my mother? Duo heard the old caecelia tutting in his mind, shaking her head slowly.
I gave the one who spawned you her most fervent wish, nephew. I made the unfathomable a reality.
Not without a price, he reminded her.
Nevertheless, nephew, I implore you to think carefully before you make a rash decision.
Rash? Zechs is the sensible one, hag. You haven’t seen rash. I told you, I don't make deals. Duo rolled his eyes and risked a smirk.
I made you an offer, nephew. Not a choice. Une's smile flattened into a thin line. She pushed back from the tank with her tentacles, releasing herself from contact with his filth. So be it. Not blessed, but cursed, is how you will depart from my den. Sanq has lost its prince, and your father has lost his son!
An electric charge suffused the tank, shocking him and burning his insides raw, searing along every nerve, and Duo’s face twisted in agony. Une’s triumphant laughter flooded his mind as she toyed with one of her myriad braids. Let there be blood.
*
Heero knew the inherent risks of a night dive, but the deep was calling him, disturbing his sleep. The <i>Zero</i> was back from repair, and the insurance company had reached a settlement, reimbursing him the costs of his stolen gear. He began to ease himself into his new, dark grey wet suit with neon green piping. Wufei watched him from his perch on one of Heero’s stools in the galley, sipping a cup of green tea.
“I hate this. You know that, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That won’t make any difference? You’re still going through with it?”
“Uh-huh.” Wufei’s sigh was heavy.
“Then I’m hauling out the big guns.” Heero paused in zipping up the suit, glaring over his pale shoulder.
“Like hell.”
“I texted Quat twenty minutes ago.” Heero fumed, feeling angry blotches break out over his skin.
“Bastard. Fucker,” he hissed.
“You pushed my hand.” Wufei held up his hands in a don’t-blame-me gesture. He was instantly contrite. “Heero,” he began, “I hate seeing you like-“
“Like what?”
“Obsessed. Killing yourself over a pipe dream.” Heero’s lips tightened, and he felt his scalp straining itself over his skull. A small vein in his jaw worked itself in a jerky rhythm as he tried to find the right words.
“Fuck you.” He found them. “Wufei, it’s not a dream. I know what I saw down there! I know someone pulled me to the surface after I sent over. I was a goner until someone found me, and there wasn’t a damned boat in sight.”
“You were barely conscious!” Wufei stormed back as he slammed his mug back down on the counter. “Of course you could’ve lost track of time, and by the time you reached the hospital, who knows how many hands were working on you, and you would have lost track of their faces, anyway. There’s no one down there.” ‘Fei stopped Heero’s hands from their task of zipping up the suit once more, and his grip was insistent. Heero glared back, seeing the familiar stubbornness and frustration in his old lover’s almond-shaped, dark eyes. “Heero, there’s no one down there.” Heero blanched at the sharpness in his tone, and he shook him off, jerking back.
“Stay here, then, but I’m going out.” As if the fates were conspiring against him, Heero snarled at the sudden, staccato knock at his front door. Quatre didn’t wait to be let in. The click of the knob and his low, thudding footsteps in his front hall signaled the end of any attempt he could make at reasoning with Wufei. He was outnumbered, and with the arrival of his oldest friend, outgunned. Quatre strode into his living room, fresh and impeccably groomed, but his blonde waves were slightly windblown, and his face was concerned. He scowled at the wet suit.
“Here for my intervention? Pull up a chair. ‘Fei made tea,” he quipped.
“Off. Take that off. You’re not going anywhere.” Heero hated it when Quat used his “reasonable” voice, as though he were cajoling a five-year-old to eat his vegetables.
“I just finished explaining that it isn’t up to ‘Fei. He’s not my keeper. Neither are you.”
“I don’t need you to explain it to me. I’m not standing by while you risk yourself again so soon after we almost lost you.” He approached him, and Heero tried to shrug off his hands as he gripped his shoulders. “We almost <i>lost</i> you. I can’t accept this.”
“It’s not your decision.”
“Then turn on your radio,” Quatre snapped, chafing at Heero’s dismissive tone. He was tight-lipped as he released him, digging into his pocket for his iPod Touch. He turned on the radio ap and raised the volume with angry clicks of his thumb. “Common sense is going to prevail, no matter what you think you saw, Heero. There’s a storm brewing. Open up your patio. You can smell the rain in the air, and the wind started kicking up before I drove here.” The slightly staticky announcer’s voice droned his broadcast, interrupting the tension in the living room. Wufei grunted and went to the patio door to draw back the curtain. A fine mist glistened and dispersed itself on the quickening wind, slicking the door’s glass surface, dashing Heero’s hopes.
“…storm activity on the radar shows us a squall is moving in over the Bay Area tonight; expect lightning, thunder, and some residual hail from the building tornado blowing over Texas. Locals can anticipate heavy rains through the night, and on into the weekend. Stay dry and stay inside, folks.”
“You heard him,” Quatre said, nodding as he turned off the broadcast and put away his phone. “You can’t go out in that tiny boat.”
“Lightning, Heero. ‘Nuff said. You’re grounded,” Wufei added dryly. Both of his friends watched his jaw work and the brief flare of his nostrils. His fists clenched, and they knew his patience hung on by a fragile, straining thread. The desire – the overwhelming, unspeakable need – to find the face and voice of his dreams warred with reason and common sense.
Heero made a noise of disgust before he pushed past Quatre and retreated to his room. He slammed the door behind him, making Quatre wince.
“That went well.”
“What do you want in your tea?” Nonplussed, Wufei rummaged in the cupboards for two more mugs. It was going to be a long night.
*
Heero ripped off the wet suit, balled it up and flung it, landing with a slap in the corner. They didn’t understand, because they couldn’t, he realized. They weren’t there. They didn’t see what he saw, and it was killing him, because Heero still wasn’t sure himself.
But the dreams were growing more vivid. Heero saw things in his consciousness that he knew he hadn’t experienced himself. He dreamt of the deep, but his perspective had more clarity, enhanced and sharp. The aquatic denizens he was accustomed to weren’t watching him warily and skirting around him.
They communed with him.
Heero heard whale song in his mind, more than his ears, and words formed themselves from the unearthly keening and trumpeting calls. He swam with a pod of dolphins, and they buffeted him playfully, pushing their snouts under his hands and soliciting his caresses. He was swimming, but instead of the even, rhythmic kick of his legs, his entire body seemed to ripple, streamlined and efficient, and he experienced less “drag.” His movements were slick and quick, and he relished the feeling of power over his surroundings, no longer a slave to it or bound by the rules a land dweller heeded below. He tasted a vestige of squid’s ink in the water, and he gagged on its bitterness…
The most recent vision terrified him, and he struggled and gasped for air. A pair of almost reptilian gray eyes mocked him, and he heard taunting laughter in his head. Shocks of electric fire blazed a path over his nerve endings and locked his muscles, ceased, then started again, and the face before him enjoyed his pain, feeding off of it. Something pierced his flesh, and he felt a current of blood withdrawn from his veins.
He woke up, chilled, heart hammering and clammy with sweat. The dreams weren’t natural, and they hadn’t stopped since the night he was hijacked. Whoever – whatever – was responsible for saving him imprinted on him, somehow. Heero knew when he was being haunted.
Heero wriggled into a pair of pajama bottoms and a faded San Jose Sharks tank and sank down onto his bed, back propped against the wall. He closed his eyes, and he heard faint whale song. Great.
Wufei and Quat were right. Going out was a fool’s errand, and he didn’t plan to add getting struck by lightning or capsizing his boat to his list of accomplishments for the year, let alone make them his last.
He heard them moving about in his kitchen, and Heero didn’t feel like playing host in his current mood. He picked up a small racquetball from his bedside table and tossed it at the floor, needing to throw something. It ricocheted and hit the opposite wall, returned to the floor and back to him. He occupied himself with the smooth feel of the rubber and the thumps of its impact. He didn’t give a damn if he was being rude.
When he heard the TV come on, he knew they planned to babysit him all night, and Heero resented it. He chucked the ball into his open closet and closed his eyes, rubbing his brows. “Fuck,” he hissed. He couldn’t stand being pent up within four walls, even when the rain outside picked up, large drops slapping the pier and his roof like bullets. He opened his window a crack to allow the scent of fresh petrichor into his room. The first clatter of thunder startled him and left him more on edge. He ignored the sounds of dishes being taken down from the cupboard and the hiss of oil in the pan. Wufei was going to try to feed him again…
He turned off the light and watched the flashes of lightning fill the room with its eerie glow, his eyes tracking the patterns of shadows across the ceiling and floor.
*
Duo thrashed futilely within the tank, jerking at the sensation of long, tiny probes reaching up from the base, extending toward him. There was nowhere to flee, and Une chuckled, shaking her head.
You will forget everything. All that you know will seem but a hazy dream, nephew. No longer will you be the bastard son or the errant brother. Sanq will mourn you, but they will forget you.
Liar! My father will come after me, or Zechs will! They’ll know you had everything to do with it if I don’t return!
You speak of them wanting to find you, Duo, but consider how easily you left. Why didn’t they try harder to keep you? Cry not for the past, nephew. Look to the future. Look for the young man who has captured your imagination and dreams so thoroughly, instead.
The probes pricked his flesh, worming their way into it. Duo felt violated, but this new discomfort paled compared to the shocks Une subjected him to for so long. The transparent probes were shot through with crimson streams; Duo watched fascinated by them, reeling and faint. He realized belatedly that was his ichor being stolen from his veins. His hair hung in lank ropes around his face, and his vision blurred.
Une retreated to her shelves and took down another flash, an infusion whose purpose Duo couldn’t guess. She uncapped one end of it, a tiny spout that appeared sharp and hollow. Une hummed to herself tunelessly at first as she worked, opening the tiny vial she had shown him earlier: Sheila Maxwell’s blood. She drew up a few drops of it into the flask and sealed it up, but not before breathing in the stray stain from the current, relishing its sweetness. Her eyes lowered in a slow blink of contentment. Une bent over the base of the tank, fiddling with it as the probes continued to feed on Duo’s essence. She reached for a small compartment and depressed the lever. Une inserted the end of the flask into the slot, and the tank seemed to come to life. Currents rushed over Duo’s flesh in a current of swirling foam, buffeting him.
Une spun and cranked a large wheel on the side of the tank, and the probes ceased their drain, reversing the flow. Duo felt himself being infused with an eerie flow of warmth and energy. The probes pumped and pulsed Une’s potion into his blood, mingling it with that stolen from his fallen mother, and a change occurred in his physiology and metabolism – his very being – warping it into something else completely. His bones felt heavier, denser and less flexible. His flesh lost its transluscence; his bluish veins were less visible beneath the skin. His blood, usually cool as the water around him, seemed to be on fire.
Walk on land. Breathe air. Feel your flesh cook under the unforgiving sun. Gravity will be your enemy. The sea will forsake you, Duo, and it will nurture you no longer. You sacrifice everything for a stripling who doesn’t even remember your rescue of him from a watery demise. Such a shame for a birthright such as yours to be wasted on you, you pitiful, pretty waste of scales.
Chaos dominated every cell of his body, interrupting and rewriting every function and invading his thoughts, twisting them until he forgot why he was captured. His vision blurred and his surroundings began to melt together and warp. Une’s laughing mouth was a dark, broad recess that threatened to swallow him whole…
She struggled with the large winches and clamps holding the lid fast, and the squeals of the ancient metal were absorbed by the water, but Duo felt it, sharp and chafing his already overstimulated senses. The current shifted with the pressure of the lid being forced open, creating a vacuum that sucked him out! Duo barely processed what was happening in time to feel any relief. His eyes widened and he shook himself weakly to dislodge the probes. Spent, they shriveled up and receded back into the tank’s base, drizzling frissons of his ichor in his wake.
Une’s tentacle uncurled itself with a neat snap and captured him by the tail before he could dart for the corridors of her den. Let’s not be hasty, darling. His muscles protested the jerk and strain of trying to fight her off, and he was weak as a minnow. Une’s touch was odious to him, and it burned. Her appendages wrapped around him, coiling lovingly around his waist and arms, pinning them neatly behind his back. Duo’s face contorted with the strain, and he saw spots dance before his eyes… it was becoming so difficult to breathe…
I leave you with one last gift. She reached for a strange object whose purpose Duo couldn’t guess. It was palm-sized, a clear, smooth dome that reminded him of a clam shell. The tip of her tentacle caressed his cheek, and he winced, shrinking from her touch, tail whipping forcefully, yet futilely. Une crammed the object against his face, even while he attempted to shake it off. The strange thing took on a life of its own, clinging to his face like a sucker.
His world turned itself inside-out. Disoriented, Duo lost any semblance of equilibrium as the water pressure reversed itself, squeezing every drop of it from his lungs. He gasped and clamored for a sustaining breath, and his head felt like it would burst, ear drums throbbing in concert with his heart.
Breathe, Une commanded him. Breathe! Her voice boomed into his mind, and through some miracle – or misfortune – he obeyed. The nourishing, mineral-rich fluid receded from the mask, replaced by free-flowing oxygen, exotic and frightening.
Go to him. And forget. As a final insult, Une snatched off his scale, ripping apart the fragile links that anchored it around his neck. She would find a use for it, eventually…
Go, she bade him again, and Une finally let him wriggle free. He jerked and darted away, colliding with various shelves and her work table, all sense of direction lost. His muscles felt limp, and it took more effort than he had to swim… he was so tired… his tail barely propelled him, and his strokes were graceless as he navigated the corridor. The mask took away the bitterness of the inky murk that characterized Une’s home, but it still stung his eyes.
He sobbed at the first sight of the reef, and the banter of a nearby pod of dolphins caught his attention. Duo!
Help, he cried out, but he was too weak to maintain his link, and their thoughts faded in and out of his consciousness. Help me. Can’t swim. Can’t… stay down here.
Ridiculous, the leader argued as they approached. They were fine specimens, gleaming in the darkness. Where is your scale? We need to take you to the dome!
No. Not the dome. Up. Take me up. Take me to the surface, or I’m done, he pleaded. He heard their odd squeals and banter, and it sounded muddled and gibbering, not the fluent, beautiful dialect he was accustomed to, and it unsettled him. Take me up, he insisted. I’ll be done for if you don’t.
Your will be done, Highness. They seemed to smile at him, and Duo grasped the supple, sinewy fin and clung to it, knowing his life depended on it. They dolphins buoyed and guided him up, up toward salvation, uncertain to their thinking. There was no choice. Their keen senses told them something was wrong with their young master and favorite playmate. He lacked his usual strength, speed and grace. His efforts at propelling himself were weak and uneven, his tail’s kicks a halfhearted and ineffectual flutter.
Heero. The name echoed through his consciousness, even as his awareness of his surroundings began to dissolve. Mournful pangs squeezed his chest when he realized the very dark, real possibility that he might never see Zechs again. Duo was comforted by only one thing.
Une was out of her ink-addled mind if she truly thought Sanq had lost its prince just because he was out of her way. Zechs would give that old bitch hell, surely. He smirked bitterly behind the strange mask as the foreign, arid oxygen burned down his airway, making him lightheaded.
The chattering of dolphins mingled with the guttural shrieks of a flock of gulls; Duo could barely distinguish between them as they erupted through the surface. The air was frigid, and his teeth chattered. His exposed, slick flesh felt too tightly drawn over his bones, and he held fast to the young podling. The sky was a maelstrom of lashing rains and winds, howling in his ears. The waves were choppy and thrashed him senseless, powerless. His eyes tingled and burned, an uncommon reaction to the saline-rich water, and Duo moaned.
We need to get you to shore, Highness. He sensed the creature’s distress, but he didn’t know how to respond to him. His voice sounded faraway and vague, even though they were pressed flush against each other as his finned savior swam east toward the horizon. In the distance, Duo saw an array of strange lights, brighter than the stars, if he could actually see the stars. Inky, black and gray clouds blocked them out, obscuring the moon. It was a disappointment to him; Duo adored the moon when it was full, ringed with a glowing, pearly halo, one of his favorite sights on those rare nights when he breached.
He must have dozed. He no longer felt as though he was kicking on his own, and his tail felt strange, creating more drag, no longer streamlined. He lost his instinctive ability to propel himself, and his muscles screamed with fatigue. The lights from the shore came closer, and he made out strange, exotic shapes in the darkness. He distinguished the lapping of the waves hitting solid surfaces, piers, jetties, skiffs and docks. The pod guided them neatly around orange safety buoys, and the clamor of the tide rolling in assailed his ears. The scent of petrichor held an odd tang; his mind didn’t register that it was fresh water, only that the pelting drops stung.
Oblivion beckoned to him, and this time, he welcomed its sweet caress.
*
Heero woke tangled in the covers, uncertain what roused him. He listened for sounds from the front of his house and was greeted by near-silence. The storm still raged on outside, but the thunder ceased its rolls. Another flash of lightning illuminated his room and he blinked groggily at his clock’s digital display. One A.M. Fuck. Heero rubbed his eyes and stretched, rolling upright and dangling his legs over the side of the bed.
He padded out to his living room and saw ‘Fei sleeping on the couch. Quatre appeared to have given up and headed home, which Heero wouldn’t cry over. He knew he meant well, but he didn’t need him playing Mother Hen. Heero hovered over ‘Fei quietly, not wanting to disturb him. He’d kicked off his blankets, and the room was chilly. Heero slowly drew them over the crest of his exposed shoulder, and ‘Fei grunted in his sleep and sighed. Heero’s heart went out to him. The tender feelings hadn’t died, nor had all of the old hurts. He couldn’t give him what he wanted from their relationship, and Heero couldn’t put his finger on why. He refused to let Wufei settle for less than he deserved, or let him wait on Heero to make any meaningful changes, so they’d ended it. On those nights where they stayed together for the sake of contact, not necessarily intimate, it almost felt right again, feeling his even breaths misting over his nape and the strong clamp of his arm around his waist. Heero slept better with Wufei’s scent infusing his bed linens and wrapped up in his heat, but he wasn’t doing his ex any favors in the long run.
He deserved more. Continuing what they had, lingering in this limbo, created a road block to finding someone else. The lightning flared again, throwing preternatural, bluish light over his ex’s face, illuminating its angular beauty.
Before Heero could contemplate what he was doing, he slipped from the room in search of his shoes. He changed clothes silently, eschewing the wet suit for a zippered windbreaker and lightweight sweats. He tugged on a ball cap, not worrying about how his hair looked, and Heero grabbed his keys from the wall hook in the kitchen. He crept out the door, letting it click shut as quietly as he could.
He couldn’t say what urged him to go for a drive at that hour. His feet were itchy, and he was too restless to go back to sleep. Heero pulled his gray Jeep out of the driveway, grateful that his street was deserted, and his wipers chuffed and hissed over the windshield, barely two scrapes ahead of the sluicing shimmer of silver drops. The storm sang in his blood, resetting the pace of his heartbeat. He drove a little too fast, enjoying the purr of the engine and vibrations of the gas pedal beneath his foot.
Duo. The sound was a feeling, unshakable and constant. He needed to see the shoreline, if the storm wouldn’t let up enough for him to head out on the Zero. He was drawn to the pounding surf. The asphalt of the beach parking lot was awash in slick, scattered wet sand that crunched beneath his sneakers after he parked. He crept down the wooden stairs to the beach and breathed in the salty tang in the air, hearing a lecture from Quatre in his head, about making himself sick haring off in the dark dampness. His eyes adjusted to the rain, blindingly bright beneath the glare from the parking lot’s lights and the beacon over the beach house. He slogged over the rise in the dunes toward the shore, feeling bits of dried seaweed and drifts of sand invade his shoes.
He watched the waves ebb and roll in a choppy rhythm and crammed his hands into his jacket pockets, shaking off the chill. He watched the buoys rise and fall, bobbing like children’s toys in a bathtub nearly a mile out. The rain slowed; he shivered at the drops still pelting him and trickling down his nape, sneaking beneath his jacket collar.
His eyes played tricks on him. Something was pulling itself through the surf toward the shore…
*
He was floating, no companion guiding him or carrying him through the surf, and Duo woke up in a groggy panic. “Unnngh… *kaffkaffkaff*” He moaned and choked, flailing among the waves as they pushed him toward the shore. His legs knew enough to kick for him, even though they felt leaden and stiff. He fought to keep his head above the foaming soup as it rushed at his back. He fought to pull himself through it, unsure of his goal. He focused on the lights and the shadowy silhouettes of the structures up ahead. His memory was blurred and held no answers for him, nor any names to call anything that he saw. The waves toyed with him, and he fought to swim to steady himself, stunned by the strength of the undertow.
He kicked until his legs burned, and he seemed to run out of water; his feet were scraping along the floor of sand and rocks, feet tangling in coarse seaweed. Duo cried out in surprise and horror, and the waves knocked him forward and off-balance. He fell face-first into the surf before he could right himself, and his hair hung down into his eyes in cold, messy runnels. He plodded forward slowly, desperately, shivering as he emerged from the water, a battered, naked Venus. Duo’s teeth chattered behind the air mask, and his fingers clawed at the straps that chafed his cheeks. He fell again, landing on all fours, and the ebb of the waves nearly pulled him backward. The damp sand sucked at his hands, and he struggled, slow as a sea turtle.
That was how Heero found him.
*
It’s a man. Heero reeled with this knowledge, and panic spurred him to action. He ran without thinking toward the surf, crying out to the stranger. “Hey! HEY! Are you all right?” He saw him stumble forward, and he wasn’t regaining his footing. As he closed in on him, it hit Heero that the man was stark naked.
“Shit,” he hissed. He had on a diving mask, or what passed for one, and he looked like he’d lost his wet suit. Heero mentally shook his head at Quat for being concerned about him. He’d have a field day with this poor wretch… “Buddy, you all right? What are you doing out here.” The man was crawling weakly on all fours toward the sound of his voice, and he craned his face up to him, eyes bleary and haunted. Heero froze.
Violet. The rich, deep tones of a sunset in transition, right before the first star of the night appeared. His long, dark hair hung in a lank, half-unraveled braid; much of it hung down into his face, plastered to that strange, insubstantial breathing mask. Heero’s mind swarmed with questions, not least of which was how was he breathing in that thing without an air tank? Shock kept his eyes glued to him, processing every detail of his appearance, unable to comprehend how he’d arrived there. It was surreal.
Heero knelt down and reached for him, ignoring the cold spray that soaked his pants legs and sneakers. His skin was ice-cold, and Heero hissed at how jerky his movements were, limbs no doubt stiff from his immersion for who knew how long. “Did you lose your boat?” he demanded. “C’mon. I have you.” He caught the stranger’s arms and wrapped them around his own shoulders, carefully pulling him up and supporting him. The young man’s grip convulsed and tightened around him, and he heard his low, croaky gasps. He needed Heero’s strength. And that mask had to go. Together they staggered a few yards toward the boardwalk, but the stranger’s legs wouldn’t support his weight anymore. Heero caught him as he tumbled down to the grainy, damp sand, and he took the opportunity to examine the mask. He pried at it, loosening it from his jawline, and he heard the suction give way with a loud pop. The strap snapped, and the mask fell away from his face.
Patrician features contorted as he struggled for breath and choked, unaccustomed to breathing in the cold, salty air and harsh wind. Concern and worry gripped Heero. He was shivering so violently, and his teeth were chattering audibly, clacking together. Heero made soothing, shushing sounds, murmuring to him as he unzipped his jacket. He whipped it off and gathered the stranger close, draping it around him and tugging him against him. Heero cradled him against his heat, feeling the slender, chilled body shudder. He was hypothermic and overexposed, and Heero had to warm him up and find him shelter.
“It’s okay.” He hissed in surprise as one of the stranger’s cold hands tangled in his thin shirt, inadvertently brushing against his flesh. Heero decided that was the correct tactic and raised up his shirt, pulling him flush against his bared skin. He covered them both with his windbreaker and rubbed his back and arms briskly, trying to massage some circulation back into them. The sand beneath them was wet, cold and itchy, but he didn’t care at the moment. “What’s your name?” The young man shook his head, and his voice was a brief, unintelligible garble, no doubt an effect of his chattering teeth. His voice was a hoarse tenor. “I’m Heero,” he offered encouragingly.
The effect was immediate. The man’s head rose from where he’d buried it in the crook of Heero’s neck, and he stared down at him in surprise… and recognition. His hand shook as he lifted it, and to Heero’s consternation, touched his face. His mouth worked, but there were no words. Those brilliant violet eyes focused on his face, no longer bleary, and Heero felt as though he was drowning in their depths.
“Heero,” he whispered, and his face softened. He shook his head in disbelief, a jerky gesture, and he was still shivering. Heero nodded.
“Heero,” he repeated. “Heero Yuy.”
The hand reached for his hair, catching a lock of his bangs between his finger and thumb, testing its slick, soft texture. It trembled reverently, cradling his cheek. Heero lay unflinching and shocked, wondering why he wasn’t having a stronger reaction to a naked man huddled against him, out in the open, touching him intimately.
“D…Duo,” he rasped shakily, and his eyes rolled shut as he collapsed against him.
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Fathoms