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Unto the Pure Are All Things Pure	By : Robofetus Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1444 -:- Recommendations : 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 List
- 1-Unto the Pure Are All Things Pure
- 1
I do not own Gundam Wing and earn no money from this.

Unto the Pure Are All Things Pure

I find you sitting there, just sitting there next to the countertop in your little kitchen, with your hand next to your drink, but not really holding it. I know you've only just moved in here; I can't imagine why you did. It smells like an ashtray. You always seemed to vaguely disapprove of cigarette smoke, but I guess you never came out and voiced an opinion one way or another�it was just there, or it wasn't. I don't knock because I know you know someone's here and that it's me, and that even if it isn't me, it's some other noisy person who's going to try and bother you. You don't have to worry about intruders, really. You have nothing worth stealing now, nothing to hide. And even if someone tried, no one could possibly harm you, 'cos you're fucking Superman or whatever. I know you pretty well, I think.
"Duo."
Yeah.
"Yeah."
You don't even say, "What." You just look up at me, almost blankly. I smile, in greeting. No. I smile because I'm genuinely fucking happy, although I can't really say why. Maybe it's the rain outdoors. I guess I've always kind of liked the rain.
"How are you?" I ask, and I really want to know. I know you'll say something like 'satisfactory.' Or 'acceptable.' But I want to know, and even if you brush it off, I still want to hear what you say.
"I am well."
I don't know why those words make me smile, but I can't help it. I'm not faking it, either.
Who would've thought peacetime could feel so good? There are a lot of things I've always wanted to do, that I can allow myself to do now. I feel like a little kid that just got let out of school for the summer. I was a prisoner of war, in a certain sense�couldn't do anything at all until the damn thing was over.
But now? Now I can do fucking cartwheels or whatever if I want to. I don't. But I could. That's the point�I can do things now, of my own will. Like make friends.
"Mind if I come in?" I ask, already sitting down on the countertop next to you, since there's only one stool. You look at me, but don't answer. I wonder for a second if you want me to leave you alone, but you're not showing any real signs of disapproval. And anyway, if you really wanted me to leave, you'd have found a way to eject me by now.
"Did you need something?"
Your apartment looks old, but it's clean, and all the furniture is new. You probably bought it all without looking at it; just handed out money and had people furnish you an apartment. You probably chose the location just as indiscriminately. You're not poor; but I can't imagine you living rich, or even middle-class. There's an asceticism that comes with your nature; you don't need much, and you decide not to want anything.
"No, I'm good. Just came by to see you."
"To see me?"
"Well, yeah, you big dope. Nobody else here."

I slide off the counter and go to root around in your fridge. There seems to be nothing but generic V8, milk, and purified water. And other than beverages, there's nothing in here but a loaf of bread and some butter. Margarine, actually.
Asceticism in spades. You could be a monk, Heero.
I smile a little more at the mental image of you dressed up like a Franciscan, with the circle shaved in the top of your head and everything, and I open one of the cabinets. There are two identical white coffee mugs inside, and I take one and pour some milk into it. Skim, of course. I put the carton back in the fridge and lean against the counter, facing you. It's really not a counter per se, it's one of those 'islands'�freestanding counters that they put in the middle of kitchens�usually useless unless you're serving food to guests. You don't have a table so you just use the island. You'll probably never get a table.
You're staring at me. I take a big gulp of milk, which reminds you that you also have a drink, and you sip at it modestly. Then you just look at me again, puzzled.
"What is it that you want, Duo?"
I'm leaning on one of my hands. The top of the island is white, but the countertop in the rest of the kitchen is more of an off-white that once was supposed to be white, so this island must be pretty new. There's a clock on the wall next to the fridge. I don't look at it.
"Like I said. Just came by to see you."
"Why?"
"'Cos I wanted to." You shut up again and just look me. I take another swig of my drink, a smaller one this time. "So what're you doing tonight, Heero?"
"I don't have anything scheduled for tonight. Why?"
I put my mug down.
"Well, there was a time when I had to have most of the topography in this area memorized. I've still got it pretty clear in my head. And I know of a place that would be great to go fishing. If you're interested. You like fishing?"
"I have never fished."
I finish my milk.
"Me neither. That's no excuse."
I get up to the sink and wait for the water to get hot. I hear you say, "Although I have never done such a thing, I have some knowledge about how it is accomplished. But I am concerned that the fish in this area might be unsuitable for eating, because of the pollution."
I rinse my mug out, smiling again, and shake it out once before replacing it in the cabinet. "When I said 'this area', Heero, I was referring to a larger area. Not just the city. We'd be kind of going out in the sticks. I have a truck." I walk back to the island and lean against it, facing you, in the same place as before. "Well? What d'ya say? I'll eat the fish, if you won't. I'll even clean them."
"Ah." It's your turn to finish your drink. I can't smell anything, so it must just be water. I think it's kind of silly to drink water out of a coffee mug, but you probably don't know and you definitely don't care. "When will we leave?"
Well. I'm surprised. You didn't even mention that it's raining. But that's natural�you're an all-weather man. Rustproof. Bulletproof. Fire-resistant.
My only hope is that you're not idiot-proof, or I'll have lost the game before the warm-up pitch.
Your apartment is on the second story, with a sliding glass door that leads out to an old wooden half-deck and stairway. The stairs lead to the parking lot. Black asphalt with no lines painted on. You can tell where to park by judging distances between the broken-down cars. Some don't even have the good graces to have tires on them. I can tell which car is yours. It's the black Lincoln.
You really picked quite a place to live, Heero. But I shouldn't talk; I've just been staying in hotels for two weeks. I found some really nice ones, though. And nobody cards me in the bars.
I indicate the pickup that I'm driving. It's brown and very ugly and has silhouettes of naked girls on the mudflaps. You, very politely, don't look at it, just walk calmly around to the passenger's side while I unlock the doors.
I don't bother with safety belts. It would just be too funny if I lived through all that hell and then died in a car crash, 'cos like the daredevil I am, I didn't buckle up. It's good to always leave the potential for a very bad joke. Grim humor is the best kind.
The truck turns over and I back it out, and we start our trip out of town. But we'll have to make a stop first.
I have never owned fishing equipment. Sure, I've been trained on how to catch fish in a survival situation, but I've never even really looked at a recreational fishing pole.
"We're gonna have to make a quick stop before we leave the city," I say, after we've been driving for a few minutes.
"Where?"
"Have to buy equipment."
You look at me quickly, like for a second you can't quite believe it, but you calm down right away. You ask, "Where will we buy it? It's after six o'clock."
"It's not quite late yet. The sporting goods store will still be open. See? There it is already. The sign's still lit up."
It's still raining, so I find a pretty close parking spot. There aren't many people here now. The store is getting ready to close. This is going to have to be quick.
I walk in and you walk behind me. The rain feels good on me, even for the short distance into the store. I see a place with some fishing rods sticking up from over the top of a rack, and I head in that direction. You're still behind me. You're wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt over your usual tank top, and you keep your hands in the pockets. I wonder idly if people think we're shoplifting.
I grab two fishing rods with pre-attached, pre-spooled reels. Cheap ones. They're only twenty-five credits apiece. They're probably for kids, or just idle vacationers who only want to be prepared for the possibility of maybe going fishing.
I scoop up a couple plastic packages of snelled hooks and some red-and-white bobbers. It'll be easier just to use live bait. I think. One two-and-a-half-credit tin fish scaler, one cheap filet knife, lead sinkers, a flimsy little rope stringer�and we're done.
"C'mon, Heero."
"Do you know what you're buying?"
"No idea."
You nod, and turn toward the cash registers.
You could've at least offered to carry something.
I follow you, catching up to walk beside you, and you step aside when we get to the register. I dump the stuff on the counter and swipe my card.
I ask the cashier if he has any worms for sale, and he says no. Then he asks if I want to sign up for a premier customer card, and I say that he can shove it up his ass, and then he bags up our stuff and sends us on our way with an insincere "goodnight". And then it's back out into the cool evening rain.
Across the street, some kids are trying to steal a car, and they bolt when its alarm goes off. You are carrying the bag, and I've got the two fishing poles. I toss them gently into the back of the truck. You get into the passenger's seat and just keep the bag next to your feet. You don't speak until were far enough away not to hear the car alarm.
"Why did you say that to the man at the cash register?"
Ah, well. You know.
"That's just my own little way of refusing credit card offers. Also, the guy just kind of looked like an asshole. And I guess it just strikes me as absurd, for a store to sell so much fishing paraphernalia, and not have any live bait."
I look over at you. You're staring at me. Again.
"Do you think that I look like an asshole?"
I laugh and shake my head. Oh, if only you knew.
"Heero, you look like the biggest fucking asshole in the universe." I pause to turn into a gas station parking lot, still chuckling. They always sell worms. And chicken gizzards�but I decided long ago that I would never use chicken gizzards for anything. "And in many ways you are. But that doesn't mean you're a bad guy. If you're concerned, I don't think that guy took it personally. In big cities like this it's not as insulting as it is in other areas, because people are used to being greeted that way. If they haven't been called a fuckwad once at least every couple of hours, they sometimes start to get nervous."
I park again, and gesture that you shouldn't get out. You don't. I run in and quickly buy two cans of soda, and a blue, refrigerated container with 24 nightcrawlers in it. It looks like a tub for margarine or sour cream, only the plastic is thinner and the lid has holes in it.
I get back in and throw a can of soda at you, which naturally you catch. I peek in the blue tub and twirl my finger around a little bit in the very, very black dirt. All the worms are in a big knot, trying to get away from my finger. They're very cold. And VERY long.
"Christ. These worms are huge," I say, putting the lid back on and handing you the container to put in the other bag.
"What will you do now?"
"Wha�?"
You turn halfway in your seat to look at me while I back out. I'm not looking at you, but I can feel you staring. You don't look angry, or even really annoyed, just that almost blank look that you gave me earlier. Probably anyone else that saw you would think you do look angry, but I know better.
"Now that the war is over. What are you going to do."
I chew on that for a second. It's not like I haven't been thinking about it. Hell, that's most of what's been on my mind recently, right there.
"I've been thinking about going back to L2. I don't want to stick around Earth and just be a freeloader on the government payroll. My hands were meant to work. I've always liked tinkering with things�"
I trail off. You look out the window and clam up for a minute.
"My hands were meant to kill."
Well, yeah.
"Aw, Heero, don't be like that. Hell, even if you can't get used to not killing, there's still jobs that require it. Hey, you could be a big game hunting guide! Take rich people out in the wilderness and teach them how to track and kill cute little deer. I'll bet Relena Meat-Is-Murder Peacecraft would love that."
And I can't believe my ears�can't fucking believe it�but you actually sort of laugh a little. And it's not your crazed, maniacal "killing shit is so much fun I can't wait to die" laugh. It's a real laugh, and it's bizarrely gentle. I wonder if I can get you to do that again sometime.
You don't say anything for a while. I don't have anything to say, either, really. I mean, if I wanted to, I could talk your hair curly, but I just don't need to right now. I'm not trying to badger you into telling me something I don't know, and I'm not uncomfortable with the lapse in conversation.
The city is starting to thin out already. Not so many glaring lights. It'd be easy to relax right now, just let the steady rumble of the engine and the sounds of being in a moving vehicle through a place that has air in it lull me into a nice little driving hypnosis. But for some reason, I can only think about you.
"What'cha thinking about, Heero?"
"Space."
"Think you might want to go back?"
"I don't have a preference."
You've been talking an awful lot. And the things you mention aren't chosen by chance. I'm getting the impression that you're sort of confused, I guess, about what to do next. And I think you might be a little upset about it. Too many choices, I'll bet. Too many different things to do that you'd be absolutely fucking perfect at, and not one choice can seem more or less attractive to you than any of the others, because you've never had to consider your own contentment before.
"What do you want?"
You stop gazing out your window and look back at me, raising an eyebrow.
"Am I bothering you, Duo?"
No, no, no.
"Let me rephrase that. Let's say you have a wish. You can wish for anything, and you'll get it. No stipulations. What would you wish for?"
You're quiet again, for several minutes. Then you say something, so quietly, I can't even hear you over the noise of the wind.
"What?"
"�I want my Gundam back."
"What?"
"I liked it. I don't want to fight anymore, I just wanted to�keep it."
I heave a deep sigh. I completely understand what you mean.
"Yeah. I actually started to tear up a little when I saw mine blow up, the first time. You kind of get attached to it."
"What do you wish?"
For some reason, not a single part of my brain was prepared for that question. I'm mentally stuttering, trying to figure out why something like that should be so hard to answer, and here it's my fault you asked me in the first place. What would make me happy?
"�I'm happy right now," I think aloud. It literally occurs to me at the very moment I say it. I mean, I knew I was happy earlier, but what the question implies is a different kind of happiness than 'I'm in a good mood.' And right now. I'm better than just in a good mood.
"Why?"
"I think�just the act of leaving. Going away, but not because I need to escape, or because I want to get somewhere, just leaving�for the act of leaving. You know?"
"I don't understand what you mean."
"I feel�I dunno. Free. I feel free, Heero, and I never have before. God, that sounds lame. But does that explain it better?"
"Yes. We are both free now."
"Do you think it's nice, too?"
"I have never had any aspiration to be free. To be free is to choose one's actions arbitrarily. It accomplishes nothing."
Somehow I knew you'd say something like that.
"Then why did you come with me? What does that accomplish?"
"�Nothing."
"Then why?"
"I would rather be with you than alone."
Interesting.
"Why?" Turnabout is fair play, Heero, you did this to me, remember? And it's better than just listening to the radio all�hey. Has that been on this whole time?
"What about you, Duo?"
"I'm not gonna let you dodge the�"
"No. It was you. You came to my quarters of your own volition. You hadn't planned to go fishing beforehand. You chose this activity at random. You have never tried fishing and you have no reason to think you might enjoy it. Your going fishing was entirely contingent on my choice to go with you. You would not have gone without me. I want to know why this is."
If you think you've cornered me, you're dead wrong.
"Why do you want to know so badly?"
Well. That shuts you up.
"You know, Heero, it's not unusual for two people to just like being together. It's called 'friendship'. And it can be kind of nice."
You fold your arms and look out the window, scowling. "I know what friendship is."
"Are you afraid of it or something?" Okay, now I'm baiting you on purpose. I just don't want you to stop talking. I know you're real good at keeping quiet, and it's nice to get to talk to you for this long.
"I am not afraid."
"I think you are. But you don't understand what it is that's scaring you."
"Duo. What are you accusing me of? I am willing to accept your friendship."
"It's give and take, Heero. You have to be my friend too."
"That is implied, yes."
Ahh, this is nice. Been a while since I had a friend.
"Shake on it?" You shrink back slightly. No one else would ever catch it, but I do. Maybe you're scared of touching people? I guess I can understand that. Social touches are probably new territory for you. If I wanted a sock in the gut, you'd be more than happy to deliver, but�
"You are driving a vehicle without an automatic transmission. It requires two hands to operate. We can shake hands when we arrive at our destination."
"Fair." You can relax, Heero, I won't ask you to. "Speaking of our destination, it's about a half hour away yet. You can catch forty winks if you want to."
You take my suggestion right away, going to all the trouble of closing your eyes before you fall asleep. Somewhere during our conversation, it had stopped raining, and my wipers have been running uselessly ever since. I turn them off. I crank the radio up a little, knowing that it won't wake you, but there's nothing on that's really worth singing along to. But, what the hell, a little singing never hurts�

I tap you on the shoulder, but your eyes open before my fingers touch you.
"We're here."
I pull in close to the lake. It's pretty muddy in places, but it's sandy near the shore, and there's some rocks to sit on.
"Duo. Are we trespassing?"
"Yep!"
"Do you know the people who own this property?"
"Nope!"
"Where are the owners?"
"No fucking idea," I smile, and open my door to hop out. "Grab the bag, will ya? And the flashlight under the seat."
You do, and you pull off your sweatshirt and put it on your seat after getting out, and I go over and reach around in the back to grab the two poles. There's a piece of cardboard wound around each of the reels, and I yank them both off, along with two pieces of scotch tape that are keeping the line from unspooling, and throw it all on the floor of my truck. I hand you your pole, and you hand me the flashlight, which I hold between my neck and my shoulder. Then, we both get to work on taking the tiny, very very hard to see end of the fishing wire and guiding it through each eyehole of our rods. You get done first and hand a snelled hook to me, and I tie the end of my line in the loop at the top. Then you hand me a couple of the small lead weights.
Boy, Yuy, you're really on top of things tonight.
"I think you position them so that the line fits into the center of the small slit, and then you squeeze them shut."
"I know, I know." Well, maybe I didn't know, but I don't need to let on. I put my sinkers about seven or eight inches above my hook; you put yours right above it. You open the package of bobbers with one hand and pass me one, and I observe you pinching yours on before I try mine, making a pretense of slapping mosquitoes. You put yours about a foot up from your hook, and you granny knot it so that it stays in place. I mirror your actions while you grab all our stuff and head toward the water.
I take a moment to examine the mechanical phenomenon of the spinning reel. There is a small, semi-circular wire-shaped piece of metal, fairly sturdy, with a thing at the end to catch the line and keep it from sliding around. It can be flipped up, which releases the line. When I do this, my line falls into the drink right in front of me, and since I haven't baited my hook, I reel it back in. The spool of line moves up and down so that it has an even vertical distribution�no snarls from the line getting too thick in one area. For something so cheap, it's actually pretty well-made.
You reach your arm straight out to the side, holding your fishing rod horizontally, flipping the wire up and holding the line in place with your finger so it doesn't slip out and just fall. Then, you swing your arm, casting your bait and bobber out about thirty-five feet ahead of you in the water, then reel in some of the slack. Then you sit down on a mostly-dry place in the pebbles and sand.
Okay, now it's my turn. I've sort of seen people do this before, but Christ, for it being your first time, you're awfully damn good at it. As I impale the other half of your worm with my hook, I make note that there are lots of trees above and to each side of me, and I'll have to do this in a way so my hook won't snag on any branches. All right. One for the money, two for the show�
Hey, I guess I didn't do so bad. Mine even went a little farther out than yours did. And right away, my bobber�well�bobs, and moves a little to one side. I jerk on it gently, and I'll be damned if I didn't already catch a little fucker. I look over, and notice that you also got a nibble, and are reeling yours in.
I get mine out of the water without too much trouble; it's not big enough to put up much of a fight. It's flat and round, like a slightly oblong cookie with dorsal fins.
"Duo?"
"Yeah? You got one too?"
"Yes. Duo, let's shake hands."
"What?"
"We were going to seal our friendship with a handshake in the vehicle, but you were unable to do this because you were driving."
"Oh." I'm not surprised that you remember, but it's a bit strange for you to bring it up. "And you want to do it now before we get fish slime on our fingers? Good call, but you should've done it before we touched the worms."
We both switch our fish poles to our left hands and shake. Your hands are rough and they have worm shit on them. You don't have much experience with this, since the only other person, to my knowledge, who has shaken your hand is Zechs. You don't really shake it much, just grasp it firmly�firm enough so I can't move mine�and then let go. Then we both turn to lean over and pick up our fish.
"OW! Fuck."
"They have spines. Be careful."
"Jesus, Heero, why didn't you�"
"I think the spines can be avoided. We have to find a way to hold the fish so that it doesn't injure us."
Well, that did sting a little, but I'm not bleeding, and it doesn't really hurt anymore, so I guess it's not so bad. I look over and watch you as you carefully consider the fish on your hook. It considers you, too. And suddenly, it flips so hard, it breaks half its bottom lip off and falls back in the lake.
You grunt, and I laugh, and you come closer to me to look at my fish. I had let it down in the water so it didn't choke on too much of the unwelcome air, and you pull it up and look at it. It flips occasionally, but not nearly with the same spirit as your fish had. And I think mine's even a little bigger.
"Hey, Heero, let me try." When I pulled mine out of the water, it had its top fin smoothed down. I touch the fish's head gingerly, and the spines seem to fold back if you flatten them down starting near its head and moving down. It's pretty easy, once you figure out how. It tries to flip out of my hand as I remove the hook, but it can't. I feed the stringer through one of its gills, but then I realize that we don't really have anything to secure the stringer to.
You've already thought of this, though, and you suddenly hand me a big rock. I nod and put the end of the stringer on the ground, and you set the rock on top of it, with the end of the thin rope sticking out the back.
"Guess that oughtta hold, eh?"
"Yes. It should. I only hope that the water here is deep enough for the fish to survive in until we kill it."
Your last fish took your worm, so you take out another one and rip it in half to bait your hook. I still have�most of mine. Should be okay.
"Hey, Heero."
"Duo." You nod, but don't look at me.
"Having fun?"
"I am enjoying myself, yes."
"It's nice out. I like nights right after it rains."
You don't say anything for a minute, but just as I was beginning to assume that our previous line of conversation had died off and I'd have to start a new one, you say, "Why?"
"Boy, you sure are talkative tonight! I guess I've just always liked night. And rain. They both make it easier to pick pockets. And the air smells nicer here, on Earth, now than at any other time. Rain didn't make anything smell much different on L2, on the occasion that we got it. I mean, the grass would smell like wet grass instead of dry grass, but that was fake, anyway, and where I lived there wasn't really that much of it. The grass grows here just because it does, not because it was put here by somebody. Same with the rain. But even that fake rain�I loved to be out in it. Felt good."
"Yes. I agree. Even though on the colony I didn't stay outside very often, when it rained the air seemed different to me�and it felt good in my face and hair."
"Cleaner than this. But I think that's what makes me appreciate this rain. It's not filtered."
"The clouds filter it."
"You know what I mean! The clouds aren't clean, either." My bobber, which had been moving around a lot, finally just stands still. "I think somebody stole my worm."
You've just reeled in another fish, smaller even than the last one, and you put it on the stringer while I re-bait my hook.
"Why do you keep such long hair?"
Nosy little fucker, aren't you? I cast my line out as I reply, narrowly missing some bushes with my hook. Have to be careful.
"I just�like it. Brings back old, fond memories. Gives me something to dick around with if I want to keep my hands busy without doing work. And it's a neat place to hide things. Some officers would do a full fucking cavity search and not think to check my hair."
You don't laugh again, but I think you maybe smile a little. I can see I'm getting some nibbles, and suddenly my bobber goes completely underwater and stays down. There's surprisingly little fight as I reel it in; just the slight weight of the fish.
"I wonder what it feels like."
I'm beginning to suspect that Heero Yuy has undergone some kind of major personality-altering brain surgery. And suffered serious damage to some important parts.
"Uh, Heero, if you've never had to have a full cavity search, you don't want to know what it's like." This fish is very small, and it's narrow instead of round, and sort of has stripes on it, areas where the skin is slightly darker on its back.
"Idiot. I meant having long hair. I have never kept my hair long. I was wondering what it's like."
"Don't grow yours out. It wouldn't look good on you."
I'm putting the fish on the stringer, really not much more than a big minnow, when you say, "You think I look good now?" and I almost drop the damn thing.
"You're not bad looking," I concede, and I'm glad it's dark because I may or may not be blushing. I've never actually seen myself blush, and no one's ever come right out and told me I did, but there have been some times when I think I may have blushed. But I'm much better at making other people blush. For instance�
"I ever tell you about the time�"
"Can I unbraid it?"
Now, that's just not fair. I was right about to tell you about the time I was on a mission with Quatre and it was my duty to conceal our Gundams in the woods, and I positioned them so that it looked like Deathscythe was in the act of nailing Sandrock good and hard, doggie style. And really, they both seemed to have good sex grimaces on, so it was perfect. God, the look on his face. I thought his hair was going to turn red.
"No. Your hands are all dirty."
You grunt in agreement, or maybe offense, who knows? It's a grunt. It could mean 'an insect just bit me' or 'all my life I have longed to be a professional basketball player.' Not much you can do to interpret a grunt.
I look over when I hear the sound of moving water, and I realize that�for some unknown, probably ridiculous reason�you want to let my hair down so bad that you're rinsing off your hands in the water. You can't wipe your hands on your shorts, 'cos spandex doesn�t absorb water very well, so you dry them on the sides of your tank top.
"Now?"
I heave a sigh of weariness.
"Yeah, I guess."
This is weird. I'm pretty sure this is the first time, since early childhood, that I've ever willingly let someone else tamper with my hair. I get up and sit on a rock closer to you, and you sit up on your knees behind me and take my hair out of its braid.
"So, what do you think?"
"It is very soft near the top, but gets slightly coarser toward the end." You took it down in record time�flipped the tie out like you've done it a million times, then ran your hands through it to let it out of the braid. You're still touching it, smoothing it out so it falls over different parts of my back and shoulders. You haven't pulled at it unpleasantly, not once, which is pretty amazing, since it's difficult even for me not to tug on a few strands here and there when I unbraid it.
"Good thing I remembered to take out my lock picks�this would be a bad place to drop something that small and thin. I'd never find�"
"Why do you like to sing so much?"
"Will you quit interrupting me?" I haven't been singing that much�jeez. Have I?
"During the war, although you would sometimes whistle while you worked on your Gundam, I heard you sing only once. You had recently been tortured and were fading in and out of consciousness. You sang 'Tiptoe through the Tulips.' Two of your ribs were cracked. When you began to try to whistle it, I had to gag you so that your breathing would not become deep enough to aggravate your injured ribs."
Heh. Funny the things you forget.
"I like that song. It's nonsense, but it's catchy. To be perfectly honest with you though, I don't know shit about flowers. I probably wouldn't know a tulip if I saw one; that's one thing I never bothered to learn about."
"�But now, it's as though you are unable to stop singing. Do you enjoy singing so much, or is it only a habit instilled by your upbringing?"
"You worry too much about little things. What does it matter why? I sing a lot. I guess I like it."
You let go of my hair suddenly and take your hands away. I hear you sitting back on your heels, so I turn around and face you.
"I was taught, when I was young, that song preexists language in all cultures. I can understand how song can be pleasant, but I don't understand how it could be so important as to precede language."
I can't help but laugh a little.
"You ever sang, Heero?"
You frown at me. I can barely see it in the moonlight, and it's not much of a change from your neutral expression, but it's there.
"Of course I have."
For some reason I have trouble imagining this.
"What did you sing?"
"Doctor J taught me how to sing many songs that are important to learn when interacting socially with people of differing cultures, such as birthday and new years' songs."
"You ever sang for the hell of it?"
The only change in your features is a slight upward movement of your eyebrows, barely perceptible.
"No."
"Well, don't let me stop you."
"No."
"There any songs you like?"
"No."
"Aw, c'mon. There has to be. Don't be such a pill."
"Duo�"
"Hey, I'll pick for you!" Let's see�what's the most absolutely fucking ridiculous song I know? Ah, I've got a good one. "Lav-en-der bluuuuuue, dilly, dilly�"
You aim for my solar plexus, but your punch is packed with great force, counting on catching me off guard�which isn't going to happen�and so it's slow. Leaping up, I dodge it easily and mock-punch at you, evading your next blow also, an intended kidney punch that would have made me piss blood for a year. You must not be trying very hard to hit me, Heero.
"Lav-en-der greeeeeeen�"
I make a quick jab at your adam's apple, just for show, not intending to connect and not surprised when you use the opportunity to attempt to kick my legs out from underneath me. I have to jump a little to avoid this, so I surprise you by jumping to the left instead of backwards, and so your next upper cut misses by a small margin.
"If I were queeeeeen, dilly, dilly, I'd need a kiiiing�"
I stick my tongue out at you. You're trying out some judo shit on me, so I stay on the defensive. Your attacks are getting quicker and I have to focus all my attention on dodging them. Nothing I can't handle, though.
"Who told me soooooo�dilly, dilly�who told me soooo?" Heh, my turn now. "I told myseeelllf, dilly, dilly�" I jab low, near your appendix to distract you from the almost-kick to the right kneecap. I don't want to really hit you, just let you know I maybe could've. "I tooold me so!"
Doesn't distract you long enough. You almost got me there, pal. Lucky thing my instinct to survive outweighs your desire to hurt me.
"Are you going to shut up now?" you ask, earnestly, performing a brilliant, quick series of three very simple leg movements that for some reason almost trips me. Just for giggles, I respond with a good old-fashioned barroom sock-in-the-jaw�of course you can duck your head back in time�but I've got a good, hard one and it's really fast. And in this kind of fight I don't think you would've expected me to be able to pull off a slow move like that, even sarcastically.
"If your dilly, dilly heart feels a dilly, dilly way, and if you answer yes�"
"Duo, I'm really going to hit you."
I've got my falsetto out now, full force. "In a pretty little church on the dilly, dilly day, I'll be wed in a dilly, dilly dress of�"
Before I can react, before I can counter, before I can even say 'Lavender Blue', you've got me. You move somehow before it even happens�and now you've got me�tight in your arms, shivering simply out of surprise, your tongue deep in my throat and your hands in my hair, cradling the back of my head fiercely.
Oh, God.
Talk about a surprise move.
I let my tongue move against yours, clumsily�I'm not used to this. But it's fun. Geez, and I thought I felt free before. I can do anything now. I can fight with you. I can sing with you. I can touch you.
I can taste you.
"Heero?"
"Yes?"
"Did that really happen?"
"�Yes."
"Wow." I touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth, still tasting you, letting myself slowly start to believe it. "Guess you win, then."
"Yes."
And now you're kissing me again.
Your fingers are hopelessly tangled in my hair, and they keep moving around like they're trying to get even more tangled. I decide to try touching your hair, too, just to be fair, and I find that it's very thick, and amazingly soft by your neck. I smooth my hands very firmly up and down, from near the top of your head to your neck and then back up, over and over while you kiss me.
I don't realize that you've been pushing me backwards until I bang the back of my foot against a rock.
"Ow."
"What?" Your voice is lower and huskier, like it wasn't expecting to have to go to work just then and had just woken up. And I must've just done some unholy things to your hair. You look like a person who just got electrocuted in an old B-rate movie.
"Ah, just hit my foot. It's nothing."
"I'm glad you're not hurt."
"Well, you know what they say. 'Sticks and stones will break your bones, but only if you let them.'"
"I've never heard anyone say that," you chide, lowering your neck down to rest the side of your head against my shoulder as you continue to hold me.
"Well, you don't have to get all technical. Say, weren't we making out?"
"Yes. About that, Duo. I was thinking�"
"Yes?"
"How about we move to another place? One without mud�or rocks."
"In the woods, you mean?"
"That would do."
"How 'bout this way, then?" I motion to the thick darkness of trees behind me with my head. "Watch the rock. Wait, I'll go get the flashlight."
You stop me with a hand on my shoulder as I turn around.
"How far do you want you go, Duo?"
"Well, not too far. It's pretty dark even with the flashlight, and we'll need to find our way back."
"That's not what I meant."
"Wha�? Oh."
Well, I feel silly. "I�er�oh, skip it." My brain is tripping over itself, but let's face it, I'm as happy as a pig in shit right now, and I think it'd be a lot of fun to have a quick tumble in the woods with Heero Yuy. "The only thing I can think is there's some WD-40 in the glove box in the truck. Grab it and I'll grab the flashlight."
You look shocked. "WD-40? Is that safe? It's petroleum-based."
"It's all we got. Anyway, I read once that WD-40 can actually soothe arthritis pain. So it's got to be good. Like Ben-gay or something. Unless you can think of something else."
"Both worms and fish secrete a mucous�"
"Oh, no you don't. We are NOT using weird creepy shit for lube. Go get the WD-40."
"What's weirder than WD-40?" I hear you mutter as you leave.
"Worms, that's what!" I retort, indignant, and having trouble finding the flashlight. You must've dropped it. Oh, here, by the stringer and the rock.
Since I found it so quick, I follow you to the truck.
"Where did you read that WD-40 relieves arthritis?" You ask, with your back to me.
"I promise to tell you all about it later. C'mon."
"There's no WD-40 in here."
"What? Did you check under the seat?"
"We have two choices. Either we go back to my apartment to continue," and you reach behind yourself to pick something up from under the seat, "or we use this."
And then you magically pull out a very, very old, dusty tube of lipstick, of all things. I swear I've never seen it before. Must've come with the vehicle�
I laugh out loud, as hard as I think I ever have. This is going be absolutely ridiculous, but�well, hell. I think a little absurdity would look good on you.
"Think about it this way, Heero. No matter what we could do at your apartment, none of it would ever be as memorable as using lipstick as lube. Let�s go."
"�I hope it's enough."
"Oh, relax. This'll be fun."
I put it in my back pocket, and take a deep breath of the sweet, fresh night air. It's the kind of night where it would really suck to have asthma, cool and damp�but there's something else in the air, some mysterious, nighttime smell, of real soil and real plantlife, real rain, real air. I don't know how else to describe it. It's like the smell of�something that ought to be cold, but isn't. There's a little wind; now that I think about it, there's been a pretty good breeze all evening. I realize all of a sudden that you're holding my hand, and I look over at you. You're carefully watching your feet as you walk beside me, presumably so you don't trip. Wise idea. Lot of rocks around here.
Well, would you look at that. There's mud and rocks in the woods, too.
"The ground is higher over there." You point to my right, and slightly in front of me, to a small rise. I nod, and point the flashlight that way.
When we get there, though, we have no idea what to do.
It's a difficult transition to make, really. Knowing you're going to make love to someone, knowing that it's time to start some serious foreplay, wanting them badly, but nevertheless standing there with all your clothes on, staring at them awkwardly while they awkwardly stare back.
Well, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step�
"Hey Heero."
"Yes?"
"C'mere."
You do, and you get the idea quickly, returning the embrace when I wrap my arms around you. You put yours around my neck and I put mine around your waist. In doing so, I drop the flashlight. It goes out. But I can still see your eyes. Eyes are moist, and water reflects light.
"You know, I can see the stars in your eyes, Heero."
You bring your face up against my neck, almost-nuzzling me as you speak. "There was a sticker on the bottom of the lipstick. It said 'Sun-Ripened Cranberry Crème'. I have no idea how they fit so many letters in so little space."
"Must be magic. Same with your ability to somehow read it in the dark."
"The dome light in your truck turns on when the door is opened."
I kiss you, hard. I think it's kind of neat how similar in height we are, and all I have to do is tilt my head and lean in. You were leaning in toward me, too, and our lips met quickly and firmly, and now I can taste you again. You taste like�something natural, like a fresh vegetable, or sweet water from a spring. No. No�that's not it.
You taste like an avocado. Sautéed, with butter.
You've got your hands in my hair again now�it's like you can't keep them out of it. Not that I mind. It's�nice, being touched in ways and places that I've never really been touched in before. This is how I always hoped this sort of thing would be: relaxed, easy, and unpremeditated. Sincere, I guess. And it seems ironic to me, since you seem like such a serious guy, that intimacy with you would be so carefree and comfortable. You don't have a bashful bone in your body, no uncertainties to get in the way. Hell, you're already taking your shirt off.
You have to pull back a little to do this, and you throw it on the ground when it's off. I move in close to you and trail my tongue down the side of your neck, stopping just before your collarbone. I hear your breath catch a little, and you tip your head back slightly. I move my hands up and down your sides, light enough so I'm really barely even touching your skin, with my fingers curled around so they're actually touching your back. You move your hands off my hair to lift my chin up, and you bring your lips to mine again, less firmly, but more sure this time.
You slide your hands up under my shirt and smooth them along my belly, coaxing me to take some of my clothes off, too. You're as hard as a rock, and so am I. And this proximity is so, so nice as we move together, rubbing our cocks together�but it's time for us to be closer.
"Heero."
"Mm."
"Red light."
You pull back from the kiss, utterly stunned, your eyebrows up higher than I've ever seen them before, and say, "What?" like you would've sooner expected to see a mauve monkey juggling knives in a wheelchair than to hear me tell you to stop. I casually lift my shirt up and off, and let it fall to the ground.
"Green light!" I announce with a grin, and you growl under your breath and catch me back up in your arms for another try at kissing. Hands back in my hair, of course. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you kind of like my hair.
"Duo," you breathe, moving your hands slowly underneath my hair, caressing my back with the pads of your fingers, "will you touch me?"
"Well, since you asked so nicely�"
I snake my hand in between us and gently squeeze the erection outlined in the front of your shorts, then stroke my hand against it. You've got so much precome already that there's actually a damp spot in the front of the fabric.
Your mouth breaks away from mine just as you had begun to kiss me again, and you make a soft sound in your throat, then come back and just rest your face against my shoulder, quietly letting me touch you.
"Heero. You should always wear underwear. What if you were in an accident?"
You don't answer; you just unzip my fly and let my pants drop. I let go of you to pull my underwear down, and step out of them, then pull your spandex down partway. You take it the rest of the way off. You seem to have trouble getting them over your shoes, but it wouldn't be comfortable to be out here barefoot.
Well, now that's taken care of. You smile at me briefly, inclining your head downward in a gesture that resembles modesty, but probably isn't�and you just look so damn sweet like this�God.
"How should we do this, Duo? Should I get on my hands and knees?"
WHOA. Pull that bus over.
I was not expecting that arrangement. I thought I'd be the one with the heels of my palms digging into the mud and moss and maple leaves, but I guess�not. My mouth kind of tries to stammer a little, but I manage to stop it in time.
I just can't believe my good luck tonight.
"Uh, yeah. That's good."
And right away, you turn around and get down on all fours, sticking your ass up in the air and waiting for me to do something. I lower myself to my knees also, and look at you, and then I touch you, rubbing my hand in circles on the small of your back. There are some very soft, completely invisible hairs there, and it feels smoother than I expect it to. The air hasn't cooled your skin yet. It seems like anywhere I touch you is hot.
I lower myself some more, supporting myself mostly on my knees but partially balancing with both hands, one resting on either side of your hips. I bring my hands slowly closer together, then move my thumbs apart, parting the cleft of your ass, and you sort of jump a little when I bring my face up close to your entrance and kiss you there. You settle back down though; you adapt well. I've always liked that about you.
You're clean, to my relief, and very soft. I was prepared for it to be a little gross, but it's really not bad. I want to get my tongue in, but it's awfully tight, so I just lick it for a while, running my tongue around and over it a few times, then a few more.
And then, all of a sudden, it's like somebody hit your 'relax' button, and you visibly loosen up, all over. I crawl over a foot-and-a-half to my left and grab my pants, taking the lipstick out of my pocket, then make my way back to you, armed and ready.
I uncap the lipstick, and to my surprise, it looks unused. Maybe they bought it, and it rolled under the seat and they just forgot about it. Also, I notice that in the short trip over here in my back pocket, it had actually warmed up a little, and is fairly soft.
I prepare you with the lipstick, using a little saliva, too, to smooth it around, then push my left index finger in. You gasp faintly when I wiggle it around, and push backwards against my hand. While still touching you, I use my right hand to paint my dick red with the lipstick. I put it on thick, then drop the rest of the lipstick, spit on my hand, and stroke myself, using the saliva to make the lipstick moister and more slippery.
It looks�silly. Like my whole cock is a big tube of lipstick. I mysteriously managed to get some on my thighs, too, and in my pubic hair.
You have amazing patience and self-control, not looking back over your shoulder even once through all of that.
"You ready?" I ask, positioning myself and removing my fingers.
"Yes."
I just slide the head in, first. It's really not that difficult to enter you. And God, is it hot inside. Instinct tells me to start thrusting, and I have to bite back my urge to do so.
"Okay?"
"Yes. Go farther inside."
Yes, sir.
I push in, getting closer to you, moving my knees closer so it's less of a strain to thrust. I just stay like that for a second, my hips pressed up against your ass, my cock throbbing inside of you, thrown off guard by the heat. Then, making a conscious effort to control my breathing and mostly failing, I pull out a little ways and then go back in.
I manage to keep my movements slow, but it still seems to go by very quickly. Probably because it's just so intensely pleasurable. It strikes me for some reason just how crazy this all is, trained killers on a stranger's property, fishing and fighting and fucking, with a stick of Sun-Ripened Cranberry Crème to top it all off. If I weren't trying so hard not to pant, I might laugh. Before I know it, though, I hear your instruction to go faster, and I do before I can even really recognize your words.
Absently, I note that I'm breathing much too fast, and I'm already feeling a little lightheaded�and I'm going to come any second now. I can hear that you're breathing heavy, too, and I hook my hands around the insides of your thighs and jerk you hard back up against me, then push you slightly forward with my thumbs, then back again, as I continue my quick thrusts. You let me control both my motions and yours, only arching your back and grunting. I can't see your face, but I'm sure your mouth must be open, and your eyes clenched shut, and I think I even feel you shiver a little�
And you're coming. And so am I, holding your hips flush up against me and ejaculating inside you, deep as I go. You make a noise like half your mouth is trying to yell while the other half is trying to stop it, then you just sort of stop, and sag, and sigh.
I breathe for a second, and pull out, chuckling a little at the vivid red smeared all over everything. Then I stand up and find my clothes and start to put them on. Yours are a little farther away, and you get up too. You watch me while we get dressed.
Your hands, as well as both of our shins and especially our knees, have dirt all over them. My hair, also, is long enough so that the ends of it trailed on the ground a little. But, all in all, I'd say I'm feeling pretty good, and I'd even say that it doesn't look like you're doing too bad, either.
"Your shoelace is untied, Heero."
"The lipstick from your hands has smeared all over your clothes."
Well. So it has.
Two weeks ago, I was the God of Death, and now here I am, just a kid in the woods with a good healthy coat of dirt and make-up on me, grinning like a fool and meaning it. Time flies.
We walk back to the clearing where we were fishing, and we let our minnows go and carry the equipment back to the truck.
I let you drive, telling you that it's more or less a straight shot back to the highway, just hang a left at the end of this gravel road.
You ask me if I'd like to spend the night at your apartment, and I say yes�and off we go. I make sure to buckle my safety belt.
You let me keep the radio on.
- 1
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Unto the Pure Are All Things Pure