International Relations

Disclaimer: New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all affiliated characters are property of Shin Kidousenki and Bandai, Setsu Agency

Disclaimer: New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all affiliated characters are property of Shin Kidousenki and Bandai, Setsu Agency.. Don’t sue me, because I’m the proud owner of over two-thousand dollar’s worth of Gundam merchandise.
Title: International Relations
Chapter: V—The Kennedys at Munich
Author: Switchblade003
Pairing(s): Apples and Bananas
Warning(s): If you don’t like YAOI or shonen-ai, this ain’t the place for you.
Rating: A solid, unwavering NC-17 (violence, drugs, statutory rape, naked marshmallows, the usual…)
Archive: www.wuffie.net
Notes: Don’t you just hate ex-boyfriends? This chapter is my favorite so far. It might come across as-bas-bashing, but that isn’t the intention. I love Duo. He’s a very dynamic character, and he’s the main guy in a new alternate universe fic I’m working on. It’ll be a 2x4x2 muti-parter, the first I’ve tried my hand at, and the theme’ll be an interesting fusion of "Trigun," "Cowboy Bebop," and "Pilot Candidate (Candidate for Goddess)."

Review Raves: An author couldn’t ask for better support!

The Fabulous Fabi-chan: Thanks! I vow to never desist in my 3x4 crusade! No censorship shall ever stand between moi and naked TQ! J
Connie: Here’s another chapter!
Rez: Heh. Buddy, your review almost made me piss my pants laughin’. "Animalistic"? It’ll happen. "Punk Quatre"? Hell, yes!
*Special note: To NightDreamer, I appreciate your review of "Rozary." As for the book… It’s in the works.
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Quatre sighed heavily, watching in mild amusement as the silver cloud of smoke from his lips dissipated into the cool autumn air. Silently, he reflected on the night he had spent with his teacher, and that morning. His dark blue eyes slipped closed, head falling back to rest lightly against the exterior brick wall of the school.
He could still fell the firm, sweet pressure of his coach’s lips on his own, the strong, gentle hands on his body. God, I’m going to need a cold shower if I keep this up… Literally… A small s too took his lips as he pondered whether or not he could actually convince the man to shower with him…
"Well, if it isn’t Satan’s little kitty." The blonde’s eyes flew open and he almost snarled as his azure eyes rounded on the owner of that infuriatingly familiar tenor. Standing only inches away from the young Arabian was Duo Maxwell, the school’s varsity quarterback, and oddly, he was alone.
Quatre scoffed. "Where’d your fan-club go, Maxwell? Did someone throw a stick?" The brunette, who towered a good three inches taller than the seventeen year-old, snorted, moving slowly but steadily closer, lean frame clad in plainclothes, and Quatre was on the verge of panicking as he realized that practice had let out, and they were probably the last two students left on campus. It was nearly six—he’d been waiting for Trowa to get out of a department meeting. The other teachers were probably long since gone…
Which leaves Pretty Boy, here, and I completely alone. The blonde sighed softly, looking up at the crafty violet eyes gazing down at him. He’d know Duo since he was a kid, and he’d actually dated the boy for an extended amount of time. The braided teenager was a bit of a genius in his own right, and he was surprisingly compassionate and gentle where most people would expect contempt and scorn. But Quatre knew that he could be an amazingly passionate and vibrant young man; he also knew all the right buttons to push to turn the normally composed and eerily calm blonde into a whimpering bundle of need.
Quatre had lost his virginity to those talented hands, those brutally skilled lips, that charismatic smile. He’d once loved the brunette standing over him now, and he knew for a fact that Duo had and still did harbor matching—if not exceeding—feelings for his former friend. The two boys had parted ways after a fairly hostile argument over Quatre’s dreary lifestyle and drug addictions. He knew that Duo still wanted him back, but he had adopted a philosophy of hatred toward the older boy and all of his friends.
"What are you doing out here, all by yourself, Quat?" The violet-eyed youth asked quietly, all pretense of intimidation gone from his rich voice. The blonde sighed.
"What does it look like I’m doing?" he muttered, dropping his cigarette to the ground and putting it out with the toe of his boot. He moved to turn and walk off, but the football player pinned him to the wall by bracing his palms against the brick wall on either side of Quatre’s white-gold head. The younger boy shook his head, even as he looked up to meet Duo’s beautiful violet eyes. "What do you want?"
The taller of the two looked almost hurt by the blonde’s annoyed tone of voice, and he sighed. "You know what I want." He moved forward, covering the boy’s smaller body with his own lithe, angular frame, forearms resting against the wall, gently nuzzling Quatre’s ear. "I want you back, and I want to know that you’re all right." A small sigh from Duo sent a breathe of warm air against Quatre’s ear, and the Arabian shivered slightly, his eyes falling closed. "I love you, Quat."
Duo reached one hand down to cup the boy’s chin gently, and he leaned forward, claiming the blonde’s lips in a soft, undemanding kiss, hands falling to Quatre’s slim hips. God, I forgot how good it felt to do this, the younger teenager sighed, and his arms lifted to encircled Duo’s neck almost instinctively. The braided youth pulled his ex more firmly against his body, and Quatre shivered noticeably, half from the familiar contact of Duo’s body, half from the cold breeze kicking the leaves up outside.
The American pulled back, Quatre panting slightly, and he frowned. "Are you cold?" The blonde looked down at his ROTC uniform and nodded. He was dressed in all-black, long-sleeves, yet he was still freezing without his jacket. Duo smiled to himself, running his fingers over the solid three by five inch block of ribbons that the boy had earned, over the plait that encompassed his left shoulder, over the silver triple bars on his collar lapels… "There were a lot less of these the last time I was this close to you." He shook his head slowly, eyes taking in the handsome youth in his arms. "I almost forgot how sexy you look in that uniform."
Quatre laughed at that; the quarterback had always commented on his uniforms… "Come home with me? Maybe we can talk some of this through?" the American almost pleaded, and as inviting as the offer was, Quatre suddenly remembered with a rush of guilt that he was supposed to be going home with Trowa. As much as he missed the gentle restraint and almost violent passion that Duo had shown him, he had someone else, now. Or do I?
He pulled back a little from his taller counterpart, wrists resting on his shoulders, hands cupping his cheeks, and Quatre gazed into the luminous amaryllis eyes above his. He could recall countless of times when he’d stared up into those same gorgeous eyes in the throes of unbelievable ecstasy, how Duo had shifted from slow and gentle to rough, violent, and amazingly agile at Quatre’s request. When it came to sexual satisfaction, the brunette knew just what to do to get his blonde counterpart at his mercy.
All of these thoughts flew through the Arabian’s mind, and while he knew his feelings for Trowa were real, the ones he still held for Duo were more predominant in his heart. He nodded wordlessly, and a genuine smile took the violet-eyed youth’s full lips. "Really?" he asked, and Quatre had to smile at the boy’s enthusiasm, something so precious that he’d been without for so long. Duo laughed, sweeping the blonde up into a heartfelt, excited embrace. "This is great!"
Duo’s happy smile turned into an almost seductive smirk as he pulled the blonde against him purposefully. Quatre felt his body pressed firmly to the slender frame above him in almost every place imaginable, and the younger teenager gasped softly against Duo’s jawbone. The sound, something he was once so accustomed to hearing, sent a jolt of electricity through the American’s body and he crushed Quatre to him, kissing him with a fierce intensity that made the blonde’s knees weak. He fell back against the wall behind him, crying out as skilled hands ran over his body.
Quatre’s head fell to one side, cheek pressed to the cold stone as Duo ravished the pale, exposed skin of his throat. "Duo!" he exclaimed, pushing feebly at the other boy’s chest. "Don’t!" A sharp nip to his collarbone tore a soft moan from the blonde’s slender throat. "Duo…" his breathless plea went unnoticed as the boy began to unbutton his uniform shirt, alternately tugging the starched, ironed, and other wise impeccable article from the confines of his slacks.
"Stop, please—" Quatre’s increasingly frantic petitions were finally rewarded with a sharp slap, and Duo growled at him, a low, menacing sound. He took the boy by the wrists and slammed him violently into the bricks behind them, knowing that every move he made was calculated, and that the brutality that he was demonstrating was only serving to arouse the smaller boy even more. It was a twisted game they’d discovered quite a while ago, and while it had disturbed the brunette at first, he realized that it was something huge that his lover was entrusting him with, and he had finally admitted to himself that he enjoyed it, as well.
"Shut up!" he shouted, pinning the Arabian to the wall and lowering his lips to the abused column of Quatre’s neck. The boy struggled against his captor, still murmuring incoherent pleas for release, and Duo ignored him, continuing his assault of the wonderfully pliant form under him. In fact, both boys were so engrossed in their actions that neither noticed as another male joined them behind the school, and Quatre’s eyes shot open as Duo gasped suddenly, crying out in pain.
The American was wrenched away from his friend by the crushing grip of a hand around the base of his neck, and he fought back, slamming his elbow back into his attacker’s stomach, and his violet eyes grew wide when he felt a strong hand catch his blow and throw him forward. Duo hit the ground with bruising force, and then Quatre could see who it was that had assailed the brunette.
The blonde looked up and found furious olive-green eyes gazing at him, and they softened somewhat upon sight of the Arabian. Duo came up swinging, however, and Trowa growled angrily, a threatening sound that Quatre had never imagined capable of emerging from that slender throat. With a sickening crack, his fist connected with the star quarterback’s jaw, and Duo fell to his knees, clutching the side of his face in agony. "You bastard!" he screamed. "You broke my goddamned jaw!"
Incensed amethyst met enraged emerald, and Duo froze. "Mr. Barton?!" The professor ignored the athlete entirely, moving towards Quatre, and the blonde froze in his spot, fear running icy-cold through his veins. He had never imagined his guardian exhibiting that much anger, rage, destruction… Trowa Barton truly was a force to be reckoned with, and that frightened Quatre more than words could express. The man was supposed to be his protector—kind, gentle, compassionate Mr. Barton, not the furious almost spitting image of his abusive father…
"Are you all right," he asked softly, all pretense of anger completely erased from his familiar tenor, and the blonde shook his head in horror, backing away from the man. He only took a few steps before the cold solid of the bricks hit his back, and he watched in terror as the man approached.
"Stay away!" he cried, running from Trowa’s embrace. Quatre fell to his knees at Duo’s side, touching his shoulder gently. The American hissed and slapped his hand away, turning furious violet eyes on his blonde counterpart.
"Don’t touch me," he snarled, and stumbled to his feet shakily. He turned to glare at the teacher and Quatre, running the back of one fist over his injured jaw, glancing down at the blood that stained his shirt sleeve. He spat out a considerable amount of the copper-tasting liquid, then shook his head gravely. "You," he said, leveling his piercing stare at the man. He laughed, a twisted sound. "You’ll be lucky if my parents don’t have your fucking job for this."
Trowa remained stoic and silent, arms crossed over his chest. Duo turned to Quatre, swallowing hard. "And you, Quatre… I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you and Mr. Bodyguard, here, but you’d better tighten his leash," he snapped, spitting again before turning to walk to the student parking lot. "Before I do it for you."
The blonde sighed in exasperation. "Duo, don’t! It was a misunderstanding," he said, more realizing it as he stated it. "Please, don’t walk off angry—"
"Look, you little whore!" he shouted, and the raw torment and betrayal in his words and eyes shook Quatre to his core. "I don’t care what you do anymore! Go back to your alcoholic, child-molester father, your pathetic dependency on any drug you can get your hands on, and your goddamned razor blades! Why don’t you just shoot yourself now and quit bothering the rest of us with your fucked up problems?"
His next words broke something inside of the blonde that all three of the males present knew would never heal, and even as he spoke the words that he knew would finally drive Quatre from him and probably over the deep end, Duo couldn’t stop himself. He’d harbored his feelings for the boy for too long, and they had bee unrequited for so many years that all of his pain and misery manifested itself into words that he had never before had the courage or apathy to voice.
"You were a good fuck, and that’s all you were to me!" He shot Trowa a dark look, and his voice was laced with a deadly calm that scared Quatre. "He’s yours, okay? I don’t want him. I never did! I’m sure he can show you a good time if sadomasochism and virtual rape do anything for you." He turned with a disgusted groan and shook his head. "You’re a real sick kid, Quatre. Real sick…"
The blonde fell to his knees on the grass, the cold night air whipping around his slender form, and he hung his head, wrapping his thin arms around himself. He felt completely rejected, humiliated, and used. He felt violated in almost every way imaginable. He felt exposed, vulnerable, entirely alone. With a choked sob, he took a deep breath, then threw his head back and screamed in agony, pouring his whole being into the action, concentrating on the sound and the fury tearing itself from his throat, and when he could scream no more he collapsed into a miserable pile of limbs on the grass, clawing at the topsoil and gritting his teeth against the tears.
He couldn’t break down and cry in front of Trowa; he wouldn’t. No matter how badly, how desperately he wanted to crawl into the man’s arms, so full of warmth, love, and security, he felt too vulnerable, right now.
But the man knew how degraded he must have felt—Of course, he knew everything… Trowa came slowly towards him, kneeling down in front of him and reaching out a tentative hand—remembering the blonde’s violent reaction when he had tried to comfort him earlier—and lifted his chin, meeting the boy’s tortured blue eyes. Even strong, sophisticated Trowa couldn’t handle the pure anguish in those beautiful eyes. With a soft curse he pulled the boy into his arms, crushing him to his chest and burying his face in soft white-gold locks. "Quatre…" he sighed, holding the child as closely as he could.
The feeling of those firm arms around him in the face of everything that had just been laid to ground by Duo’s words was enough to drag the tears out of the blonde. He clutched Trowa’s shirt, sobbing openly, his thin, compact frame wracked with his grief. Quatre hadn’t cried like this in years, and he finally took hold of the opportunity to purge his heart of all the pent-up pain, anger, and loneliness he’d harbored for so long.
Secure in the impregnable fortress of Trowa’s arms, the blonde cried himself sick, shedding every tear he had in him. And when the sobs subsided, the tears abated, and Quatre was too exhausted to even move, the brunette hoisted the Arabian’s slight frame into his arms almost effortlessly and stood to his full height. Slender arms twined around his neck and he pressed a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead, then started towards the car.
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TBC.
After Adolf Hitler’s rise to near godlike fame in Germany, he dedicated the energy quelled in his self-proclaimed ‘Third Reich’ to military might and weapons production expressly prohibited in the 1919 Treaty of Versailles. According to the document, Germany was to admit all guilt for the Great War, pay exponential reparations to the allied nations, and the country was forbidden from maintaining a standing army. This proved to fuel Hitler’s drive for militant power, however, and as a nationalist fervor swept the Deutchland the newly-appointed Fuhrer built up his infantry and marched on the Rhineland in 1936. This thirty-mile wide, fertile strip of land had once belonged to Germany, but after the first World War, France took it as payback for the casualties inflicted upon its citizens, using it as a demilitarized buffer zone. Hitler made an incredibly brash move by parading his illegal army through the Rhineland, but surprisingly, no action was taken to counter his lawlessness. Then, Hitler turned his sights towards retaking more lands lost at the end of WWI. He marched on Austria, though his advances there were much welcomed, though the Treaty of Versailles also outlawed any union between Austria and Germany (Anschluss). Again, no action was taken to reprimand the leader. In 1938, the Nazis marched on Czechoslovakia, taking what the Germans called the Sudetenland, a heavily Austrian-populated area loyal to the Third Reich. While the European allies were finally preparing for combat against Germany, Italy’s fascist dictator and ally of Hitler Benito Mussolini proposed a talk. The Munich Conference was held on September 29, 1938, and Germany got every demand fulfilled that it asked for. The practice of German appeasement would ultimately lead to the Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939.
Did you know that Hitler’s actual surname was "Shukkelbarger"? -Jack Switchblade
Suggested Flicks:
"Thirteen Days": Kevin Costner’s atrocious Massachusetts ac kin kinda takes the fun out of it, but this movie is great! It’s a look into what actually happened during the Cuban Missile Crisis of the John Fitzgerald Kennedy Administration, a few decades after Munich. Good stuff, though I wouldn’t swear by the historical accuracy.