Edge of Seventeen
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
23
Views:
2,615
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
23
Views:
2,615
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
chapter 19
Edge of 17- part nineteen
Contents: YAOI, AU, sap, slight fluff, slight angst, mention of drugs, Duo POV, bad language (potty mouth Duo), a few OC'S
Pairings: 2x4
Rating: PG-17/NC-14?
Author: Luna
Notes: felt like going back to my other favorite pairing. The title to this ficcie is a Stevie Nicks song. The lyrics to the song will be presented at the end of this fanfic.
Disclaimer: I don’t own GW or any of its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only. So please don’t sue. Thank you. ^_^
I also don’t own anything else that happens to be in this fic.
#I don’t know what your problem is, but I bet it’s hard to pronounce#
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“All right, you’re on the air, speak your peace.”
“You know, you’re the first intelligent DJ that I’ve heard in a long time on this station?”
I beamed, “Why thank you.” The guy’s voice was harsh and sounded a bit old to me, “and I bet that you drink your prune juice too.”
The other two disc jockeys laughed.
“No, I hate prune juice.” The guy retorted.
“Then you must be pretty blocked up.” I snickered quietly. “When was the last time you had a proper BM?”
“Now see here!”
“Where?” I asked innocently over the radio station’s phone, but I had an evil look in my face, which my two co-workers took a fond notice.
“Never mind!” he hung up.
“Was it something I said?” I asked nonchalantly, yet I had that hint of sarcasm radiating through me.
Chet, one of my co-workers and well-respected disc jockeys of this station, was laughing his ass off and almost choking. The other well-to-do DJ was called Spike. Not a very original handle, but it works well with his looks. Not only was his hair short and spiked, but he also wore a spikey earring and his nose was pierced.
“Next…next caller…” Chet still couldn’t stop laughing. “She wants to know… what you look like. Her name is Sara.”
I pushed the button on the control console, “Heeelloooo, Sara…” I said smoothly.
“Hi, Duo!” she giggled, and kept right on giggling.
“Ah! Sounds like we got ourselves another drug induced call.”
“Hey! I’m not on drugs!”
“Sure you’re not, Sweety. Anyway, you wanna know what I look like?”
“Yeah! You sound so cute! Would you like to send me a picture of yourself?”
“Ha! Send you a picture of moi?”
“Yeah! Could you?” she giggled again.
“No, sorry. My sweetheart would be upset if I did.”
“Aww…”
“But I’m happy to say that I am every woman’s fantasy come true. I have golden brown hair, dark blue eyes, a knock out bod, and my hair is long. So long in fact that I have to wear it in a braid or ponytail.”
“Wow. Sexy! I wish I could see you,” she whined.
“Maybe in some other lifetime, dear. Right now you should just lay off the cocaine and call me when you’re more sober,” I clicked the hang up button. “Ok, is that the last caller?” I asked Spike.
“Nope. There’s one more here. It’s Q and he’s got this problem. He says that you know how to solve it.”
“Okie dokie,” I pushed the button, “Hello there, Q. What’s your problem now?” Q is a normal caller; one who I give a bit more respect to than the other callers. It’s been a week, and he’s already called me nine times.
“I have this… ache in my heart right now.”
“Oh?” my heart skipped a beat at the familiar voice over the phone. “And where are you right now?”
“I’m at the Café across from the College.”
“Could this ache be heartburn of some kind?” I joked. “Maybe you ate one too many tart candies, little boy.”
I heard him scoff, “Yeah, sure. I eat LEMONS all the time, and the CITRUS gives me acid reflux.”
“That will do it.” I laughed.
“But no, it’s not heartburn, really.”
“Oh? What then?” I ask.
“I miss my other half deeply. I wanna be in those familiar arms, held close and kept warm.”
“I see.” I smirk. “Anything you wish to say to your ‘other half’ at all? I’m sure that IT is listening.” I had to cover for us, and I didn’t want to say that his other half was female.
“It! Ha, ha… good one. Well, yes, I have something to say to my honey bunches of golden brown oats.”
I cough in the middle of the endearing name, hoping that no one figures out that it’s me by the description of ‘golden brown’. “Go on.” I tell him.
“I want to say, that, sweetheart: I love you with all my heart, and no matter what others say or what they think, you are more wonderful than words can describe. I hope that we can be together forever, and maybe become parents in the future.”
“Aww,” I mock. Hey, it’s my job! “That was so sweet it gave me and every one of my teeth a cavity.” I snorted, “That’s a mouthful.”
Q laughed at the other end.
“Hey, Romeo! That wasn’t a joke.”
“Whatever.” He hung up before I could get the last word in. That little brat! When I get home, I’m giving him a piece of my mind!
“He beat you to it this time.” Chet chuckled. “Strange how he’s the only one that seems to get the better of you.”
“Yeah,” I chortled. “Real strange. He must have some kind of Maxwell gene in him. Anyway, that’s the last caller?”
“Yup. It’s time for the favorite part of the show now. Your music.”
“Hot damn!” I howl in the mic and then pop in one of my favorite songs. “This little number always riles me up! It’s Pantara and Cowboys from Hell! God damn, I love this song!”
~**~
“Why can’t you ever play those nice rock ballads?” Quatre asked me as we walked into our apartment.
“Because!” I twirl my set of keys around one finger, “Duo the DJ doesn’t play wussy music!”
“Some ballads aren’t that wussy.” He argued, then plopped himself onto the recliner. “And besides playing No Man’s Land and Kittie all the time, why don’t you ever play Pat Benatar or Blondie?”
“You know you CAN call in and request a song.” I tell him.
“And you know damn well that I was calling on my lunch break and I don’t have time to call you that much! I’m lucky that I even get to eat all my food in time plus call you!”
“Ok, ok… point well taken! But next time when you call, request something and I’ll play it right away.”
“Sweet! Thanks!” He flipped the TV on and turned it to the news. It was talking about some new bill that got passed by the president, which I tuned out. I walked into the kitchen and got myself something to drink.
But when I re-entered the living room, the reporter guy mentioned a familiar name and I almost choked on my Pepsi.
**18-year-old Shawn McDonald was rushed to the hospital this afternoon to be treated for a drug overdose. Medics say that it was a suicide attempt, but those who knew him well say that he’d never consider killing himself. We tried to get an interview with the victim’s mother, but she was too emotionally detached to even speak. More later on the 11 o’clock news as it develops. Similar news, a girl was found in the alley… **
I turned it off and wandered back into the kitchen.
“Wow.” I hear Quatre state finally. “That is a real shocker. I never thought that Shawn was that depressed! Hey, Duo! We haven’t seen him since he got suspended, have we?”
“No, Quatre.” I finally say. “Do you think that… that we helped with his depression thing?” I finally emerge from the kitchen. “I mean… we could have been one of the reasons why he even took those drugs.”
“Oh, Duo! Don’t be silly! I’m sure he just brought it on himself. I mean you’d have to not be in your right mind to want to try to kill yourself, right? It’s not healthy thinking.”
“Yeah. But still…” I leaned against the recliner. I was silent for a while, wondering if I should mention something about myself to him.
“Don’t blame yourself, ok love? It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I wandered over to the sofa that was right next to the recliner, “it’s just, well… I have thought about killing myself once. But that was before I lived with my foster parents.”
“Oh Duo,” he got up and embraced me, “I’m so glad that you didn’t go along with it! Why in the world would you ever want to in the first place?”
I sighed and looked away. I don’t want to remember. I don’t.
Quatre’s voice shook me back to reality. “Oh, I’ll be fine, Quat. I just don’t want to think about it, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t have to feel that way anymore.” He hugged me harder. “I’m here for you, you know.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I don’t plan on snuffing myself out at all! I’d rather live until my dying day with you.”
“Oh, Duo…”
“Unless, of course, you don’t want to…” I backed away just enough to look at him straight in the face. He smiled sweetly, and then leaned his forehead to mine.
“I want to! I’m going to…”
The phone rang. Quatre, being sweet little Quatre that he is, excused himself from our embrace and went to answer it. I wanted to tell him, I so badly wanted to tell him about what I was planning on doing. But I bit my tongue and decided to keep it a secret.
I have opened myself a savings account. So far I have two hundred dollars saved up. It’s for an engagement ring that I saw at the jewelry store the other day on my way from work. I stopped off at the convenience store for some milk and sugar, which we were out of, and I happened to pass by the jewelry store’s window.
There, gleaming in the sun, was the nicest looking male engagement ring I’ve ever seen. But when I saw the price on it, my jaw dropped. But I figured, hell, I can do it. I can take a bit out of my check every pay period and stick it in a savings account. So, when I got my first check today, I immediately went to the bank and started the said savings. I stuck two hundred out of my 489$ check. Next one I’m only sticking in a hundred; we need the money to live off of first.
Our phone was hanging on the wall that connected the living room and the kitchen. So, it wasn’t too far as I did a little hop off of the couch to see who was on the phone. I just caught the last part of the conversation as I approached my beloved, who was leaning on the kitchen counter.
“Mom, I’m not ready to settle down just yet, please don’t make such a fuss.”
My heart seems to be stinging for some reason.
~TBC~
Contents: YAOI, AU, sap, slight fluff, slight angst, mention of drugs, Duo POV, bad language (potty mouth Duo), a few OC'S
Pairings: 2x4
Rating: PG-17/NC-14?
Author: Luna
Notes: felt like going back to my other favorite pairing. The title to this ficcie is a Stevie Nicks song. The lyrics to the song will be presented at the end of this fanfic.
Disclaimer: I don’t own GW or any of its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only. So please don’t sue. Thank you. ^_^
I also don’t own anything else that happens to be in this fic.
#I don’t know what your problem is, but I bet it’s hard to pronounce#
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“All right, you’re on the air, speak your peace.”
“You know, you’re the first intelligent DJ that I’ve heard in a long time on this station?”
I beamed, “Why thank you.” The guy’s voice was harsh and sounded a bit old to me, “and I bet that you drink your prune juice too.”
The other two disc jockeys laughed.
“No, I hate prune juice.” The guy retorted.
“Then you must be pretty blocked up.” I snickered quietly. “When was the last time you had a proper BM?”
“Now see here!”
“Where?” I asked innocently over the radio station’s phone, but I had an evil look in my face, which my two co-workers took a fond notice.
“Never mind!” he hung up.
“Was it something I said?” I asked nonchalantly, yet I had that hint of sarcasm radiating through me.
Chet, one of my co-workers and well-respected disc jockeys of this station, was laughing his ass off and almost choking. The other well-to-do DJ was called Spike. Not a very original handle, but it works well with his looks. Not only was his hair short and spiked, but he also wore a spikey earring and his nose was pierced.
“Next…next caller…” Chet still couldn’t stop laughing. “She wants to know… what you look like. Her name is Sara.”
I pushed the button on the control console, “Heeelloooo, Sara…” I said smoothly.
“Hi, Duo!” she giggled, and kept right on giggling.
“Ah! Sounds like we got ourselves another drug induced call.”
“Hey! I’m not on drugs!”
“Sure you’re not, Sweety. Anyway, you wanna know what I look like?”
“Yeah! You sound so cute! Would you like to send me a picture of yourself?”
“Ha! Send you a picture of moi?”
“Yeah! Could you?” she giggled again.
“No, sorry. My sweetheart would be upset if I did.”
“Aww…”
“But I’m happy to say that I am every woman’s fantasy come true. I have golden brown hair, dark blue eyes, a knock out bod, and my hair is long. So long in fact that I have to wear it in a braid or ponytail.”
“Wow. Sexy! I wish I could see you,” she whined.
“Maybe in some other lifetime, dear. Right now you should just lay off the cocaine and call me when you’re more sober,” I clicked the hang up button. “Ok, is that the last caller?” I asked Spike.
“Nope. There’s one more here. It’s Q and he’s got this problem. He says that you know how to solve it.”
“Okie dokie,” I pushed the button, “Hello there, Q. What’s your problem now?” Q is a normal caller; one who I give a bit more respect to than the other callers. It’s been a week, and he’s already called me nine times.
“I have this… ache in my heart right now.”
“Oh?” my heart skipped a beat at the familiar voice over the phone. “And where are you right now?”
“I’m at the Café across from the College.”
“Could this ache be heartburn of some kind?” I joked. “Maybe you ate one too many tart candies, little boy.”
I heard him scoff, “Yeah, sure. I eat LEMONS all the time, and the CITRUS gives me acid reflux.”
“That will do it.” I laughed.
“But no, it’s not heartburn, really.”
“Oh? What then?” I ask.
“I miss my other half deeply. I wanna be in those familiar arms, held close and kept warm.”
“I see.” I smirk. “Anything you wish to say to your ‘other half’ at all? I’m sure that IT is listening.” I had to cover for us, and I didn’t want to say that his other half was female.
“It! Ha, ha… good one. Well, yes, I have something to say to my honey bunches of golden brown oats.”
I cough in the middle of the endearing name, hoping that no one figures out that it’s me by the description of ‘golden brown’. “Go on.” I tell him.
“I want to say, that, sweetheart: I love you with all my heart, and no matter what others say or what they think, you are more wonderful than words can describe. I hope that we can be together forever, and maybe become parents in the future.”
“Aww,” I mock. Hey, it’s my job! “That was so sweet it gave me and every one of my teeth a cavity.” I snorted, “That’s a mouthful.”
Q laughed at the other end.
“Hey, Romeo! That wasn’t a joke.”
“Whatever.” He hung up before I could get the last word in. That little brat! When I get home, I’m giving him a piece of my mind!
“He beat you to it this time.” Chet chuckled. “Strange how he’s the only one that seems to get the better of you.”
“Yeah,” I chortled. “Real strange. He must have some kind of Maxwell gene in him. Anyway, that’s the last caller?”
“Yup. It’s time for the favorite part of the show now. Your music.”
“Hot damn!” I howl in the mic and then pop in one of my favorite songs. “This little number always riles me up! It’s Pantara and Cowboys from Hell! God damn, I love this song!”
~**~
“Why can’t you ever play those nice rock ballads?” Quatre asked me as we walked into our apartment.
“Because!” I twirl my set of keys around one finger, “Duo the DJ doesn’t play wussy music!”
“Some ballads aren’t that wussy.” He argued, then plopped himself onto the recliner. “And besides playing No Man’s Land and Kittie all the time, why don’t you ever play Pat Benatar or Blondie?”
“You know you CAN call in and request a song.” I tell him.
“And you know damn well that I was calling on my lunch break and I don’t have time to call you that much! I’m lucky that I even get to eat all my food in time plus call you!”
“Ok, ok… point well taken! But next time when you call, request something and I’ll play it right away.”
“Sweet! Thanks!” He flipped the TV on and turned it to the news. It was talking about some new bill that got passed by the president, which I tuned out. I walked into the kitchen and got myself something to drink.
But when I re-entered the living room, the reporter guy mentioned a familiar name and I almost choked on my Pepsi.
**18-year-old Shawn McDonald was rushed to the hospital this afternoon to be treated for a drug overdose. Medics say that it was a suicide attempt, but those who knew him well say that he’d never consider killing himself. We tried to get an interview with the victim’s mother, but she was too emotionally detached to even speak. More later on the 11 o’clock news as it develops. Similar news, a girl was found in the alley… **
I turned it off and wandered back into the kitchen.
“Wow.” I hear Quatre state finally. “That is a real shocker. I never thought that Shawn was that depressed! Hey, Duo! We haven’t seen him since he got suspended, have we?”
“No, Quatre.” I finally say. “Do you think that… that we helped with his depression thing?” I finally emerge from the kitchen. “I mean… we could have been one of the reasons why he even took those drugs.”
“Oh, Duo! Don’t be silly! I’m sure he just brought it on himself. I mean you’d have to not be in your right mind to want to try to kill yourself, right? It’s not healthy thinking.”
“Yeah. But still…” I leaned against the recliner. I was silent for a while, wondering if I should mention something about myself to him.
“Don’t blame yourself, ok love? It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I wandered over to the sofa that was right next to the recliner, “it’s just, well… I have thought about killing myself once. But that was before I lived with my foster parents.”
“Oh Duo,” he got up and embraced me, “I’m so glad that you didn’t go along with it! Why in the world would you ever want to in the first place?”
I sighed and looked away. I don’t want to remember. I don’t.
Quatre’s voice shook me back to reality. “Oh, I’ll be fine, Quat. I just don’t want to think about it, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t have to feel that way anymore.” He hugged me harder. “I’m here for you, you know.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I don’t plan on snuffing myself out at all! I’d rather live until my dying day with you.”
“Oh, Duo…”
“Unless, of course, you don’t want to…” I backed away just enough to look at him straight in the face. He smiled sweetly, and then leaned his forehead to mine.
“I want to! I’m going to…”
The phone rang. Quatre, being sweet little Quatre that he is, excused himself from our embrace and went to answer it. I wanted to tell him, I so badly wanted to tell him about what I was planning on doing. But I bit my tongue and decided to keep it a secret.
I have opened myself a savings account. So far I have two hundred dollars saved up. It’s for an engagement ring that I saw at the jewelry store the other day on my way from work. I stopped off at the convenience store for some milk and sugar, which we were out of, and I happened to pass by the jewelry store’s window.
There, gleaming in the sun, was the nicest looking male engagement ring I’ve ever seen. But when I saw the price on it, my jaw dropped. But I figured, hell, I can do it. I can take a bit out of my check every pay period and stick it in a savings account. So, when I got my first check today, I immediately went to the bank and started the said savings. I stuck two hundred out of my 489$ check. Next one I’m only sticking in a hundred; we need the money to live off of first.
Our phone was hanging on the wall that connected the living room and the kitchen. So, it wasn’t too far as I did a little hop off of the couch to see who was on the phone. I just caught the last part of the conversation as I approached my beloved, who was leaning on the kitchen counter.
“Mom, I’m not ready to settle down just yet, please don’t make such a fuss.”
My heart seems to be stinging for some reason.
~TBC~