Amanda F. (Karasu7729)

"Itai!!!" Alcohol sloshed onto the gnarled living-room carpet as Duo toppled onto his back. A stream of incoherent curses bubbled up from beneath the coffee-table until the red-faced pilot surfaced. "Bastard!" Duo furiously snatched the tip of his braid from Heero's fist. "Hands off the hair! You promised you wouldn't do that, remember??"

"A promise exacted under the influence of alcohol," Heero returned emotionlessly, "and therefore invalid." Duo's eyes grew impossibly wide, his mouth working soundlessly in large vowels.

"Injustice!" he finally howled out, imitating Wufei as he poked one tapered finger at the Japanese pilot.

"I hardly think so," Trowa remarked quietly, "when it was you who...adjusted his tea." Duo grasped a half empty bottle in one hand, muttering angrily as he re-filled his glass. Two empty bottles rolled noisily about the table with a jab of his elbow.

"If you two are finished with your childish brawling," a severely buzzed Wufei interrupted, "I believe it is Trowa's turn." The pilot of Heavyarms blinked thoughtfully, pausing to steady a rapidly capsizing Quatre.

"I never," he began quietly, fingers toying with the rim of his glass. His eyes sparked feral, a microscopic smile flickering at his lips. "I've never danced naked in front of a mirror pretending my hairbrush is a microphone."

"You jerk!! You promised you wouldn't tell!!" Duo screeched, his face performing a slow burn. "You--you--"he stammered breathlessly, waving his fist maniacally in the air.

"Sugoi, Trowa!" Quatre cheered, listing once more until he thunked against Trowa's chest. "Drink up, Duo!" The violet-eyed pilot snatched his glass from the table, tossing back the bitter liquid with a grimace. Heero thought he'd mumbled something involving duct tape and a certain blonde pilot, but it could have been anything.

"It's your turn, Quatre," Trowa urged him quietly, his voice a fine vibration against the boy's head, tucked securely beneath his chin. The Heavyarms pilot glanced briefly at Wufei, half expecting twin geisers of blood to spurt from his nose. The Chinese pilot was far too occupied with room around him, which was beginning to resemble a Gundam pilot kaleidoscope.

"Um....ano.....eto..." Quatre's eyes glazed, his thoughts reeling as he tried to fix on a suitable question. "Oh, I know!" he exclaimed brightly. "SOCIAL!!"

"Hey, no fair, he already used that!" Duo announced self-righteously, bouncing about until a glare from Heero made him snatch protectively at his braid. "You gotta pick something else!" he demanded, petting his own hair reassuringly.

"Quatre can choose whatever he likes," Trowa replied reasonably. "It's his turn." Duo turned to Heero, opening his mouth to protest loudly against meddling with his drinking game.

"Shut up, Duo," the Japanese pilot growled, silencing his protests with the patented Heero Yuy glare. Heero grasped his drink from the table, and Duo bitterly followed suit. Wufei snatched blindly about until his hand connected with the glass and he swallowed eagerly. Quatre giggled, obviously very pleased with himself, and snuggled back against Trowa's chest.

"Alright, alright," Duo sighed, wounded by the affection between Quatre and Trowa. The sight of the blonde pilot curled in Trowa's arms like a veritable angel was enough to drive him to new heights of despair. And there, seated beside him, he reasoned, was the culprit. "Your turn, Heero. Last one, OK?"

The Japanese pilot surveyed the circle of boys surrounding the small coffee-table. His eyes fixed on Trowa and Quatre, examining the gentle but unmistakably possessive curve of the taller boy's arms, the adoration in the flushed face of his lover. Oh, he was certain they were lovers; it didn't take surveillance training to decipher to radiance of Quatre's face. He supposed it was practical for both of them, and Heero had no quarrel with practicality. Still...If making love with Quatre had such an effect on cold and silent Trowa, he couldn't help but wonder what the act might do to him. His eyes flickered briefly to Duo, widening slightly at the drawn features of that heart-shaped face, the despair in those large, expressive, and undeniably lovely eyes. What's the matter with him? The game was his idea. And he's been miserable all night...

"Yuy? How long do you intend to make us wait?" Wufei inquired arrogantly, his words slightly slurred. "Duo has been quiet for a full ten minutes, and I believe Quatre is about to pass out." That decided it then, Heero mused. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but he was possessed of a sudden desire to give Wufei the nosebleed of his life.

"I never...."

"C'mon, Heero," Duo prompted impatiently, "you--eep!"

"I never," the Japanese pilot continued, Duo's braid firmly in hand.

"Yuy, you dishonorable cur!" Wufei snarled, his words ridiculously slurred.

"I never--kissed a boy." Heero sat and smugly awaited the effect of his challenge. As expected, Trowa lifted his glass. Quatre couldn't, as he was unconscious, head lolling off Trowa's shoulder; the Heavyarms pilot smiled slightly and drank Quatre's penalty as well. Heero glared at Wufei's face, willing the blood to come spurting forcefully from one nostril--or better yet, both. The Chinese pilot glanced briefly at each of his comrades, mouth a fine line of resentment. And then, he lifted his glass, and drank. Heero's mouth dropped open, prompting Trowa to follow suit, shocked more by the sight of Heero's dumbfounded expression than surprise at Wufei.

A sudden rustle of fabric drew the Japanese pilot's attention. You too?? No, the Wing pilot swore, an unnamed emotion gnawing at his stomach. Refusing to meet Heero's eyes, Duo poured a final glass, drank, and promptly passed out.

Damn, you! Heero hissed, bending to lift the prone figure into his arms. Who was it, Duo? Who?

 Heero paused, wedging his shoulder against the door jamb, shifting the violet-eyed boy in his arms. Duo's head lolled back, braid snaking along behind him as Heero continued down the blackened hallway. Neon light flooded the far end of the corridor, the words "24 hours" flickering from the diner across the street from their current residence. The light pasted sharp shadows across the cracks in the whitewashed walls, flickering with the perpetual beat of electric pink and blue.

The American moaned obliviously as Heero arrived at his room, palming the door-knob. He shifted his burden to pass through the entrance, neglecting to raise the lights. Duo's bed lay beyond a veritable mine-field of shirts, trousers, and boxer shorts, the sheets still crumpled from the night before.

Hmph. Absolutely no discipline, Heero mused almost affectionately. He strode purposefully toward the bed, intending to deposit Duo and return to his own room in the opposite wing. Duo's body curled onto his side the moment he touched the sheets, one cheek pressed against his pillow. Heero removed the boy's clothes with clinical precision, folding them neatly on the nightstand. Black silk boxers, he noted, rubbing a fold of cool fabric between his fingertips. Frivolous, pointless, like that ridiculous braid of his....and every bit as beautiful.

The Wing pilot paused for a moment to gaze down at the American, dark brows furrowing with thought. Strong, callused fingertips extended hesitantly, exploring the soft surface of Duo's cheek. The boy shifted in his sleep, gravitating toward the Japanese pilot's touch. Heero snatched his hand away, staring in wonder at his own fingers, horrified at his behavior. Duo, Duo, what are you doing to me? You're nothing but a burden, a liability, a beautiful distraction. Why--how-- do you make me want you? Heero rose quickly, navigating the clothes-strewn floor to reach the doorway. This can't happen; I won't let it.

"Heero.....Heero no baka." the faint mumbling caught him in his tracks, curiosity drawing him nearer the bed.

"Duo?" The American tossed restlessly upon the sheets, grasping fistfuls of bed-linen. A light sheen of sweat erupted on the boy's body as the words stuttered from his lips, the name 'Heero' chanted rhythmically like an incantation, a prayer.

"Don't go, please don't.....please, Heero...." The words were clearly uttered through a drunken slumber, but he found, to his shame, that he couldn't abandon Duo now. A promise made under the influence of alcohol he reasoned, removing his customary tank and shorts. Nothing binding. I'll forget this tomorrow. But I promise, Duo, I won't leave you tonight.

Heero grasped Duo's chin in his fingertips, drawing his face to meet his lips. The American moaned softly beneath him, the tension seeping from his limbs as Heero fed on his slumbering mouth. Duo woke to the heated, velvety insistence of Heero's tongue stroking his own, pinned securely beneath the Japanese pilot's body. Reality struck him physically; he jerked from Heero's embrace, smacking his skull against the headboard.

"He--Heero?" he croaked, amazed and more than a little frightened of the proximity of those smoldering cobalt eyes. "What are you d--" Heero's hand snaked out to grasp at his throat, fingers weaving into the hair at his nape and drawing him relentlessly closer. Duo's eyes blinked owlishly in the darkness, his features guileless, stunned. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" he whispered hoarsely, recognizing the expression on Heero's face--that intense concentration and frightening, inhuman devotion to his mission. Heero's mouth twitched, a microscopic smirk curving at the tips.

"Yes," he replied almost mischievously, "I suppose you might say that." Duo's mouth dropped open, and, soldier that he was, Heero didn't waste the opportunity. As his tongue explored the sweet, hot recess of Duo's mouth, his thumb wedged in the band of that ridiculous braid, snapping it in two. One hand threaded in the plaited mass of Duo's hair, tugging almost impatiently until he was cocooned in a thick fall of Duo-scented silk.

"H-Heero-" the violet-eyed boy whispered helplessly, jolting at the searing sweep of breath against flesh, ghostly lips grazing the curve of neck and shoulder with maddening, feather-soft pressure.

"Hm?" The Japanese pilot grasped at a thick lock of honey-shot hair, rubbing it thoughtfully between his fingers. Must be good for something...His mouth sealed against the surface of Duo's throat, savoring the groan of pleasure as the texture of hair brushed Duo's nipple. I thought so. Heero's mouth replaced his fingers, tongue laving it's pink surface, toying with the tiny nub of erect flesh. The American writhed in his arms, pinned between Heero and the iron headboard, fingers grasping handfuls of the Japanese boy's hair. The flushed pink flesh and openmouthed gasps flooded Heero's brain with an irrational sense of possession, ownership of this beautiful idiot emblazoned with each fevered tattoo of his heartbeat. Mine! Mine! At least for tonight....

Duo' body arched with the wriggling slickness of Heero's tongue against his sternum, the air cooling the wet line of flesh as the Japanese boy descended. Fingers clenched the elastic of his boxers, yanking, and the fabric slithered from his narrow hips to the floor. Violet eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment as Heero examined him, palms pressed against the smooth surface of his inner thighs, opening him against his will. For an instant, there was nothing, and Duo cracked one suspicious eye. He saw the smirk on Heero's face, shame pummeling his cheeks with color.

"Keep them open, Duo," Heero demanded quietly. "I want you to see what I'm doing to you." Duo's mouth opened in a guttural, inarticulate cry as Heero's tongue flicked playfully across the tip of his sex, stroking the underside in long, steady sweeps. Firm lips held him in place as a deft tongue wormed at the opening, squeezing, tormenting him unbearably. Duo raised his hips, squirming, pleading silently for mercy. Heero laughed softly, almost menacingly--and proceeded to swallow his victim. The American groaned in response, his hands falling to clench the dark head below, throat exposed as his head fell back against the pillows. He writhed mindlessly as the suction increased, a tight hot wetness punctuated by the unbearably sweet pressure of Heero's tongue. One hand leapt to grasp at Duo's hips, stilling his mindless thrusts, and he noisily voiced his annoyance.

He was vaguely aware of discomfort as Heero's fingers worked their way inside of him, stroking, stretching him. He'd almost worked up the resolve to struggle, when Heero's digits brushed up against something deep inside of him. Duo's back arched, his hips bucking with the sheer ecstasy of it, thrusting his organ deeper into the Japanese boy's mouth. He screamed out his pleasure, a shuddering exclamation of Heero's name, as he pumped his hips once, twice, again, collapsing in a boneless heap of satisfaction.

Heero's tongue caressed his own lips, and he bent to kiss the moist flushed face of the boy beneath him, mouth bitter and sweet with Duo's seed.

"Duo?" he asked with quiet urgency.

"Hmm?"

"I want you...." Duo's eyes widened in the darkness, obviously confused by Heero's hesitance. Realization dawned on him with a rush of hot color, and he groaned in embarrassment, jabbing a finger at the bedside table. Duo rolled onto his side, the sound of Heero rummaging through his belongings drowning in the thundering of his own heart. The cheap iron frame creaked softly with the return of the Japanese boy’s weight. The scent of lotion mingled with musk assaulted his senses, and the American turned, intending to kneel on all fours.

"No. Not like that." Heero's breath was a fine, hot rasp against his shoulder, and satin-clad iron fingers were grasping his flesh, turning him onto his back. He was being raised, opened, his legs hooked about Heero's shoulders, his violet-eyed devotion pinned and wriggling beneath the sheer weight of cobalt lust.

The Japanese pilot entered him slowly, Duo's quiet whimpering stifled by the exquisite pleasure of being inside of him--marking him, owning him as no one else ever could. Duo, my Duo...A low groan rumbled up from the depths of his lean, muscular body, features contorted with the agony of pleasure, of possession, the pleasure of being possessed. Duo, my Duo....If only for tonight.

"Oh God--Heero!" The slender form beneath him trembled violently, hard length trapped between them, eyes wide in astonishment. Heero angled his thrusts exactly, enraptured by the writhing body jackknifed beneath him, the short open-mouth gasps of pleasure--pleasure he'd inflicted. Duo's body tensed, his sudden shout of fulfillment heralding the exquisite tensing of his muscles. Heero joined him, head thrown back, throat corded, clenched fingers bruising the surface of Duo's shoulder. The Wing pilot collapsed, mouthing the salty arc of flesh, apologizing. One arm closed possessively about the American's waist, drawing the warm and vibrant body close.

The air conditioning thrummed irritably on, chill fingers peeling the sweat from a tangled heap of limbs. Heero groped blindly for the tattered blanket, yanking it across their bodies. Duo stirred sleepily against him, fitting his cheek in the hollow of his lover's shoulder.

"Duo?" he questioned softly, eyes tracing the jagged line of a watermark down the wall.

"Hmm?" Heero palmed the smooth surface of Duo's cheek, stroking that irritating mouth with his thumb, willing him to listen.

"That game you made me play...."

"I never?" Duo asked, grinning rather foolishly in the darkness. "Man, Quatre really can't hold his liquor. What a lightweight! I thought for sure he was gonna give Wufei a biiiiiig nosebleed--"

"Who did you kiss, Duo?"

"Huh?" The American blinked dramatically, wincing comically as he tried to shift position and almost yanked free a fourth of his hair. "Itai!!"

"Duo..." Heero continued menacingly, an expression that, to the drunken Shinigami pilot, threatened an imminent use of scissors.

"Eep! Ano....eto...um...I did kiss a boy once," he conceded quietly, the heart shaped face performing a slow burn. "Just a little kiss, heh, nothing serious, really--"

"Who was it, Duo?!" The American blinked twice, amazed at the jealousy in those cobalt eyes.

"Well...it was you, Heero."

"What?"

"I swear!! Look--I'll explain, OK?" Duo gathered the mass of his hair, tucking it securely from Heero's grasp before continuing. "It was the last school, we roomed together, right? You have these nightmares, Man, it's like you think somebody's trying to kill you, it really freaks me out. You sounded scared, or hurt, or something, I dunno....I just wanted to help you. So...I held you, sang to you a little. And one time, I just couldn't help myself," he concluded, chewing on his lower lip. "So I kissed you. I would've told you, but I couldn't....I just couldn't" Duo winced as Heero's fingers smoothed the chestnut bangs from his eyes. One callused thumb traced a thin line of moisture along the curve of Duo's cheek.

"Duo?" he asked wonderingly. "Why are you crying?" The violet-eyed boy evaded his fingertips, but Heero managed to force his face from the shadows.

"It's nothing. I just figured you hated me," he sighed, settling once more against Heero's chest. "Quatre's got Trowa, you've got Relena, even Wufei's got--somebody. Just got tired of being alone," he slurred brokenly, clutching the Japanese pilot like a lifeline. "Not alone anymore, ne Heero? Promise me. Promise you'll never leave me."

"I promise," Heero rasped, the lie scalding his throat as he forced it past. Maybe I can forget tonight. Bury the memory of my weakness, the feel of him in my arms, the taste of his flesh. Maybe I can repress all of this. But he can't. This was a mistake.

Duo shifted in his sleep, molding himself to the arc of his lover's body, basking in the warmth of Heero's vow. The Japanese boy glanced toward the window, watching the sickly flicker of a yellow bar-sign, reflected color trickling down the pavement and dribbling pathetically into a storm gutter. Promises under the influence.

3/7/99 ã Amanda F. Uruchan5@hotmail.com