The GW Boys aren't mine. heavy sigh
Warning: This fic was inspired by Benadryl (mmm, fuzzy thoughts). Shounen
Ai, 1+2/2+1, 3+4 implied, etc. Lime-ish.
by Lady M
or The Mission That Went Horribly Horribly Wrong
Duo, sprawled comfortably on
his bed reading a dog-eared manga, looked up as Heero suddenly snapped
his laptop closed, stood abruptly, and walked stiffly to the other side
of the room. Duo sighed, knowing all too well what that meant.
"Mission?" he asked glumly, sitting up and swinging his legs
over the side of the bed.
"Hn," Heero responded, dragging his duffle bag out from under
his bed and rummaging through it before pulling out a sleek-looking Magnum
that he quickly checked for ammunition. Duo cursed silently. Of course
a mission would have to come along now, of all times. He'd been hoping
to get a little "quality time" in with his taciturn companion
that evening. Maybe chisel away some of that cold-eyed mask of his, and
see more of what lay underneath.
It had only been within the past week or so that Duo had made the astonishing
but delightful discovery that a little flirting, of all things, could
get under the Perfect Soldier's skin; that it could even get the stoic
young man -- dare he even think it? -- flustered. There was no other way
to put it. A little casual touch here, a little not-so-subtle innuendo
there... and Heero was squirming. Threatening to kill him, too - - there
was that little drawback, of course. But Duo was used to the usual constant
threat of his own imminent demise. He could deal with it. Especially if
it meant watching some real, not- altogether-hostile emotion flicker across
that stony expression every once in a rare while.
Duo only hoped it all meant what he thought it meant. Of course, Duo had
been nearly falling-down drunk the first time he'd dared attempt something
so bold as coming on to Mr. Omae-o-Korosu. Were he in complete control
of his faculties, he would have never, in a million years, stuck
his tongue in Heero's ear like that. He was crazy, after all, not
Well... not very.
Lucky for him, though, Heero hadn't shoved him away, punched him
in the face, or even put a bullet between his eyes for his drunken, amorous
advances. Instead, Heero had merely jerked in surprise, his hands freezing
in mid-motion over the keys of his laptop.
"Duo?" he had said calmly.
"Nn-hnnn?" Heero's ear. Yummy. Nibble nibble.
"What..." And Heero's voice was suddenly hoarse. He cleared
his throat and tried again. "What in the hell do you think you're
"Nnn. Sucking on your... nnnn... earlobe, man. Can't... nnnnn...
"Because you're...." Duo's tongue flickered teasingly along
the inner ridges, and Heero stifled a gasp. "... so damn cute."
"Idiot," Heero managed. "You're drunk."
"That I am."
"... You... wouldn't do this if you were sober, would you."
Duo had blinked stupidly. That was an odd question... though, the way
Heero had said it, it was more of a statement. His brow furrowed as he
thought about it intently.
"Hell no," he decided, right before attacking the outer edge
of Heero's perfect ear with little love nips. His braid, which was already
drooping precariously over his shoulder as he leaned over, chose that
moment to slither forward into Heero's lap. Was it his imagination, or
did Heero just moan slightly? "You'd... nnn... blow my head off."
Heero hadn't responded to that. The Perfect Soldier just sat in unmoving
silence for a long moment (though, in his drunken bliss, Duo couldn't
tell if the long moment was a few seconds or an hour as he continued his
pleasurable assault on Heero's ear). The moment was broken when Heero
abruptly got to his feet, the movement throwing Duo off balance so that
he fell back and sat down hard on his rump on the wooden floor.
Duo had laughed then, a sound suspiciously close to a giggle, as he looked
up at Heero with bleary eyes. Man, he was drunk. His vision wavered as
he tried to count how many Heeros were standing before him. At least three.
He lifted one hand towards the Heero in triplicate. "Ne, Heero, will
one of you help me up?"
The Heeros had glared at him. "Baka," they snapped, before turning
and stomping off into the bathroom. A few moments later, Duo could hear
the hiss of the shower running, and he blinked. Weird. He could have sworn
Heero had already taken a shower earlier that evening.
Duo shrugged, then curled up on the floor and immediately fell asleep.
The next morning, when he woke up with a killer hangover and replayed
the events of the previous evening over in his mind, he groaned into his
hands, knowing that the next time he saw Heero, he was as good as dead.
That is, until he realized that he was no longer sleeping on the hardwood
floor, but rather, tucked neatly into his own bed.
He grinned, feeling no small amount of amazement. A quick inspection under
the covers revealed that he was still in his clothes from the previous
evening. Damn. Oh well, did he really expect Heero to put him into his
pyjamas? He should be counting his blessings. If Heero had gone through
the trouble of putting him to bed, that might mean that there was a pretty
good chance that he wasn't going to kill him. This time, at least.
But Duo Maxwell was called Shinigami for a reason. He just couldn't resist
flirting with death... in more ways than one. Duo had never mentioned
that evening again, and neither had Heero. But now, several days later,
Duo was intrigued, hope and suspicion warring within him over what might
be going on inside the other boy's head. So he had begun his little flirting
test, trying to see just how far he could push Heero before the boy finally
snapped and either blew his brains out, or... blew him in an entirely
different manner altogether. Of course, Duo thought, squirming a bit where
he sat, the latter was preferable...
And tonight, he had been planning a full-scale after-dinner flirting assault
against his unsuspecting comrade-in-arms. But with Heero's new orders,
that pretty much threw his scheme out the window. Still, maybe it wouldn't
be a total loss...
"So what's this new mission?" Duo asked, all innocence, wide
eyes and cheeky grin as he watched Heero methodically slide bullets into
the Magnum clip. "Where are you going? Can I come?"
"No, you can't," Heero replied without looking at him. "It's
reconnaissance. You'd just be in my way."
Duo clutched his chest as if mortally wounded. "In your way?"
he exclaimed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Man, how can you say
that? You know reconnaissance is my specialty! In and out, in and out..."
Duo illustrated with an emphatic, pumping sweep of his hand, and stifled
a chuckle. Heero still wasn't looking at him, but the tips of his ears
were turning pink. Damn, this was fun. "I could get us in and out
of there so fast and silent, they would never even know what hit them."
And neither would you.
Duo wondered if he'd said that last part out loud, because Heero shot
him a death glare that almost killed him on the spot. He swallowed hard,
and grinned. "So... whaddya say?" he continued bravely. "You
can't deny, we make a great team."
"Aw, come on."
Heero sighed with barely-suppressed aggravation. "Because it's a
one-man job. I'm just going to check on some reports that an auto manufacturer
is actually a cover for a Mobile Suit factory."
"Oh." Duo squelched his disappointment. Heero was right, that
was a one-man job, and a boring one at that, even though it was necessary.
They couldn't exactly blow up the place if it was actually nothing more
than the local industry. Still... "And if it is a Mobile Suit
The barest hint of a smile quirked at the edges of Heero's lips, and the
briefest gleam of battle lust glinted in his cold blue eyes. "Then
tomorrow night... you and I will take it out."
Duo grinned and jumped to his feet. "All right!" he cheered.
"Here's hoping!" Nothing like making things go boom to get the
ol' libido flowing, after all...
"Hn," Heero responded, sliding the cartridge into the Magnum
with a solid click.
Heero Yuy slipped stealthily through the midnight shadows of the forested
hillside that overlooked the sprawling grounds of the King Motor Company
Western Division, and did not think about Duo Maxwell.
Ever the Perfect Soldier, he crept to the edge of the rocky overhang,
almost at a belly-crawl, reached back to retrieve a small, sleek pair
of night vision goggles from the partially open satchel that was slung
over his shoulder, and did NOT think about Duo Maxwell. He peered through
the goggles, his brows furrowing intently in concentration, his eyes adjusting
quickly from the near-absolute darkness of the moonless night to the shimmering,
two-toned world of neon green and black. Through the goggles, he could
now clearly make out every sharp-edged detail of the three large buildings
that made up the auto manufacturing plant, and the tall cement-and-steel
fence, topped with a generous amount of barbed wire, that surrounded the
grounds. And he absolutely did not think about Duo Maxwell.
No. He definitely did not think of Duo. Duo's... tongue... in his ear.
Duo's tongue, sensuously tracing along each inner ridge with infinitely
soft moistness... and the feel of the braided pilot's warm breath against
his skin, so close, it seemed to seep right through him and into his brain,
filling it with an unfamiliar, pleasant fog, even as his body throbbed
with little ripples of pleasure...
Heero blinked at the sudden tightening sensation rising in his groin.
A fierce scowl settled across his features, and he took a measured, deep
breath to reign in his quickening pulse. He shook his head once, sharply,
supremely annoyed with himself. No. He was NOT going to think about that...
that... whatever the hell it had been, dammit! Especially not now.
But not now! He had to focus on the mission. King Motor Company. Possible
Mobile Suit factory. Right.
Forcefully banishing the... unsettling memories of Duo from his mind,
Heero shifted his position, inching up a little further on the outcrop,
ignoring how the stony ground beneath him dug into the bare flesh of his
arms and lower legs. Leaning forward, peering through the goggles, he
counted the security guards. Two at the front gate. From this angle, he
could also see four to each building, and there were probably more out
of sight. A surprising amount of security for a mere auto manufacturer.
On top of that, the guards didn't carry themselves properly. No ordinary,
run-of-the-mill security guards, these, Heero noted, unless King Motor
Company either had a killer security training program, or had taken to
Still, well-trained, over-cautious security guards did not an undercover
Mobile Suit operation make. He was going to have to get closer, infiltrate
the facility. Find out where the Mobile Suits were hidden, if any existed
If Duo were with him, he knew the clever Deathscythe pilot would already
be planning the sneak attack, with great, overly-vocal enthusiasm. Heero
mused silently that it was a good thing he had chosen to leave the exuberant
boy behind. While Duo was most definitely an asset in covert operations
such as this mission, Heero knew he was perfectly capable of handling
it himself. Besides, he didn't want to have to worry about watching Duo's
back, keeping him out of trouble...
(Though, deep inside, in a part of his soul that had yet to see the light
of day, he knew Duo could take care of himself, and that there was a new,
different reason for his concern; for wanting to keep the other pilot
out of harm's way...)
Yes, it was good that he had left Duo behind. Besides, he needed to be
absolutely focused. There was no room for error in this, or any mission,
and Duo's presence would have been a... distraction...
Heero could almost picture him now, laying next to him on his stomach,
propped up on his elbows as he looked out over the factory, his violet
eyes glittering in the darkness as he grinned that utterly disarming,
maniacal grin... The long, impractical chestnut braid trailing down his
lean, sinuous back...
Heero blinked again.
With a sound that was almost a groan, the Perfect Soldier rubbed one hand
over his face. "Duo," he muttered. "What the hell have
you done to me?"
"Gesundheit," said Wufei, without looking up from his book.
Duo sniffed as he flopped on an overstuffed chair on the other side of
the small living room. "Gah," he gasped, wrinkling his nose.
"Looks like someone's talking about me. Either that, or I'm coming
down with a cold. Damn, I hope not."
"More likely, it's just all the dust in this old place."
Wufei flipped a page and kept his eyes fixed on the kanji, determined
not to be drawn into yet another conversation with the American pilot.
He really did want to finish his book.
"Huh, you can say that again," Duo said with a grin. For emphasis,
he picked up a threadbare throw-pillow that was gray with age, and whacked
it against the sagging bookshelf behind him, sending up a large poof of
dust. "Wow, would you look at all that?" he exclaimed, watching
the cloud of motes drift in the lamplight. "Man, this place probably
hasn't seen a feather duster in a couple of decades or so."
Wufei stifled a sigh, then glared at him over the top of his book. "Kindly
do not stir up the dust further, Maxwell."
"Whoops, sorry." In spite of his words, Duo's mischievous smile
was not in the least bit apologetic. "Well, hey," he said, shrugging,
"I guess I shouldn't complain. Sure, it would take Quatre's entire
cleaning staff a week to clean this place, but at least the water heaters
in this safe house aren't broken, unlike the last place we crashed."
Duo took a breath to elaborate further, but, to Wufei's immense relief,
he was spared more of Duo's effervescent verbosity as Quatre entered the
room, wiping his floury hands on his baker's apron. "Dinner's ready,"
the blond Arabian announced.
Duo immediately leapt to his feet. "All right! I'm starved."
As Wufei marked his place in the book, he breathed a small sigh of relief.
If there was one thing guaranteed to keep Duo quiet for at least a short
while, it was food.
"Smells good, Quatre," said Trowa, who had just come down the
Quatre beamed at his lover, who returned the smile almost shyly from beneath
his long, tapering bangs. Duo looked back and forth between the two, a
little too obviously, then chuckled knowingly.
Quatre blushed under Duo's scrutiny, and sighed. The Deathscythe pilot
might be silent as death on the battlefield, but under other circumstances
-- especially in person -- he was about as subtle as a ton of bricks.
Why, just the last week alone, Quatre had been surprised to see that Duo
had finally progressed beyond his pining-from-a- distance stage of longing
for Heero, and was now out-right, actively pursuing the boy. Duo was so
amazingly un-subtle about it, it seemed that everyone had noticed what
was going on. Everyone except Heero, of course. So maybe it was a good
thing Duo came on like a ton of bricks, he realized. Anything less might
not get through to the stone-faced Wing Pilot.
In the meantime, Duo was continuing to leer at him and Trowa, so Quatre
glanced around quickly for a distraction. He immediately found the perfect
thing -- their quintet was minus one member. "Where's Heero?"
he asked innocently.
"Oh, uh..." Duo stopped smirking, and put his hand behind his
head in embarrassment. "I forgot to tell you. He left on a mission
earlier. It shouldn't take too long, though, so we should try to leave
him some leftovers, neh?"
"So speaks the human vacuum," said Wufei with a snort.
Duo managed to look mildly offended. "Oi! I've got a high metabolism."
Wufei eyed Duo's lean form with a single raised brow. "Obviously.
All that food you consume has to go somewhere. Yuy will be lucky if there's
a single biscuit left when he gets back."
"So what was the mission?" Quatre asked, anxious to interrupt
Duo and Wufei's verbal sparring before it got out of hand.
Duo shrugged. "Nothing major, he just went to check out some car
factory to make sure it's not really an undercover Mobile Suit operation.
If it is, we'll be taking it out tomorrow night."
"Which car factory is that?" Trowa asked, leaning against the
"I think he said it was the King Motor Company. They're some luxury
car manufacturer," Duo replied, and blinked as he saw Trowa's surprised
"King Motor Company," Trowa said thoughtfully. "Aren't
they the ones who make those... interesting pink limousines that Miss
Duo's jaw sagged. A moment later, his lopsided grin was back in place,
and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Holy cow, Trowa, I think you're
right. Damn!" he exclaimed, his tone a strange mixture of delight
and frustration. "I knew I should have gone with him! What I wouldn't
give to see the look on Heero's face when he gets an eyeful of a whole
fleet of Relena's cars! Man, I can't believe I'm missing out on that."
"Don't be so sure," Trowa said mildly. "It's highly unlikely
that the company only makes... pink limos. And even less likely that they
keep a fleet of them at the factory."
"Oh." That dampened Duo's enthusiasm somewhat. "You're
probably right about that. Oh well, I guess I'll find out when he gets
back. In the meantime..." Duo walked through the kitchen door between
Quatre and Trowa, snagging each of them with his arms and dragging them
through. "I'm starving. Let's eat already!"
Wufei followed close behind shaking his head, a small, amused smile tugging
at the corner of his mouth.
Heero crept silently across the rooftop of the main factory building,
glad to be beyond the reach of the flock of security guards swarming the
grounds below. It had been trickier than he thought it would be, sneaking
past them without detection. Were it a different type of mission, he could
have gotten away with creating a disturbance with a well-placed explosive
or two, and he also wouldn't have had to think twice about killing any
soldiers who got in his way.
Then again, if it were that type of mission, he might have brought Duo
along after all. And since just the thought of Duo was making him feel
confused, muddle-headed and tight-chested again, it was just as well that
it was merely a one-man reconnaissance job.
Besides, the security guards might be civilians, not soldiers. And the
factory might not be a Mobile Suit factory. And even if it was -- especially
if it was -- he couldn't afford to give away his presence, and thus put
them on the alert for tomorrow's attack.
And he was suspecting, more and more, that there would be an attack.
Duo would be happy about that, if his instincts were correct. The factory
grounds had been so well guarded, he had to abandon any plan to enter
the buildings through the ground level doors. Which was why he was currently
on the roof, and creeping toward the skylight with a glass cutter in his
As Heero reached the skylight and looked down into the surprisingly well-lit
factory, he froze.
Stretched out beneath him was a virtual sea of all-too- familiar cotton-candy
The corner of Heero's left eye twitched slightly.
The sight of so much... pink... drove all thought out of Heero's stunned
mind. Except for one particularly intense thought.
Mobile Suit factory or not, this place definitely had to go.
Heero, already frozen by the mind-numbing sight of a fleet of Relena's
cotton-candy-pink limos, obediently continued not to move. But not because
the man behind him said so, or even because the man was holding a gun,
its cold barrel suddenly pressing mercilessly into the back of his skull.
He froze because he couldn't comprehend how he could have let years of
training and conditioning slip away, and allow himself to become distracted
enough that someone could sneak up on him unawares.
It might have been just the limos, he mused grimly. Pink.
Ugh. It should be illegal for cars to be that color. Or anything else,
for that matter.
But more than the sight of pink limousines, he greatly suspected his unforgivable
lapse in caution and awareness was the direct result of... Duo Maxwell.
Even now, with a gun pointed at the back of his head, he couldn't seem
to purge the recollection of the American's drunken advances from his
brain. In fact, the memories seemed to clarify and sharpen in his mind.
The teasing, flickering tongue in his ear; the feel of the silken mass
of the boy's braid laying heavily in his lap...
For days, the memory had lurked constantly within his thoughts, filling
him with a strange ache he couldn't even begin to define. But now, with
death just a twitch of a finger away, his mind racing even as time seemed
to shudder to a stop, he could almost name the emotion the experience
had evoked in him, without denial.
He had wanted, so badly, to reach down and untwist that long, thick hair,
plunge his fingers into the soft strands... He had wanted to turn his
face just so, and capture that hot, moist, wandering tongue with his mouth...
He couldn't, of course. Because... because he was the Perfect Soldier,
and Perfect Soldiers don't indulge their whimsical, licentious fantasies
about their fellow pilots, and take advantage of them when they are drunk
out of their mind. But, the thought suddenly occurred to him, Perfect
Soldiers also couldn't be taken by surprise by a single gun-toting
guard on the roof of an automobile manufacturing company that might be
a cover for a Mobile Suit operation...
So maybe he wasn't the perfect soldier. Maybe Dr. J's training
was incomplete. The good doctor certainly had never taught him how to
deal with the possibility of suddenly wanting to play tongue tag with
a certain violet-eyed terrorist...
"Put your hands up where I can see them," the man behind him
grated. The barrel of the gun dug painfully into Heero's scalp. "No
funny business, or your brains are going to be decorating the skylight."
Yes, thought Heero, as he slowly lifted his hands into the air, keeping
his glass cutter carefully hidden in the crease of his palm. This man
behind him was no average security guard. His trigger-happy attitude practically
screamed "OZ soldier." Heero realized, rather calmly, that unless
he thought of something fast, he was probably going to die in the next
few moments. He only hoped the man would let him at least turn around,
because he didn't want a bunch of Relena's pink cars to be the last thing
he saw. Aside from that, all he could seem to think about was that he
would never get the chance to tell Duo how he felt about him.
But maybe that was a good thing. He could see it now. Walking straight
up to the Deathscythe pilot and saying, "Duo... You confuse the hell
out of me." And then maybe punching him in the jaw. Or kissing him
Yeah, he could see it going either way...
Also, he didn't even know how Duo really felt about him. Duo had
been drunk, after all, and people say and do things they don't mean when
they are drunk. Hell, Duo had even come right out and admitted he would
never have come on to him if he were sober...
Duo had been so drunk, he probably didn't even remember the incident
at all. Or maybe he did remember, but was too embarrassed over
his actions to mention it. Heero had hoped (rather guiltily) that it was
the former, because if Duo remembered and was embarrassed, the chance
that there might be a repeat performance was practically nil. But Duo
had been steering clear of the alcohol the past few days...
What was even worse, Heero realized, was that ever since the incident,
he had been finding subtle... innuendo... in almost everything Duo said
and did. And Duo, who was only being his usual talkative, energetic self,
probably had no idea that under Heero's cold-eyed mask, a spark had been
lit...and that spark was slowly smouldering, building in strength and
igniting fires where no warmth had existed before, thawing his frozen
heart like the mid-summer sun on a glacier. No, Duo probably had no clue
that he was driving his fellow pilot practically insane with desire with
nearly every word, every gesture, every smile...
Heero Yuy, who had never before experienced anything like the trembling,
desperate, visceral need that the braided American pilot evoked in him,
couldn't even begin to comprehend what to do about it.
And he wouldn't get the chance to figure it out -- especially if he got
himself killed in the next few seconds. Which was almost certain to happen
if he didn't get his act together and gather his scattered wits so that
he could think of a way out of this mess...
"Drop the bag," the man said in a tone that clearly communicated
he meant business.
Reluctantly, Heero lowered one arm and let his small duffle bag slip from
his shoulder. He wasn't too worried about losing the contents, since the
bag didn't contain anything that couldn't be easily replaced. But his
.357 Magnum was in there (another unforgivable mistake), and the chances
he could get to it before the soldier decorated the roof with his gray
matter were practically nil.
"Turn around," the man grated. "Slowly. One false move,
and you're dead."
Heero turned around - - glad, at least, to have the pink limos out of
his direct line of sight. He found himself staring, instead, down the
barrel of a gun held by a huge, burly, lantern- jawed man, who was wearing
a security guard uniform that looked a few sizes too small for him. Looking
up at the towering, overly- muscled man, Heero briefly wondered if they
even made uniforms his size.
The big man blinked at Heero in surprise, and took a step back. "What
the-- you're just a kid! What the hell are you doing up here?!"
Out of all the reactions Heero expected, that was not one of them. Why
did it matter if he was a kid, if he was caught in the act of spying on
an OZ facility?
But the man's sudden uncertainty was clear. He lowered the gun slightly,
even as a scowl furrowed his brow. "Answer me, boy. What are you
doing on the roof of Vice-Minister Peacecraft's car factory? This better
not be some kind of prank, or you're in deep shit. Hell, you're in deep
shit anyway, so explain yourself."
Heero blinked. A prank? This guy thought he was here to play a prank?
Not exactly the reaction of an OZ soldier, protecting a secret mobile
suit factory. Had his instincts been wrong? Was this place truly nothing
more than Relena's pink limo manufacturer?
It couldn't be. Not with all this overblown security. It had to be an
OZ outfit. Maybe the soldier was just really dumb. And in this deadly
situation, he was suddenly reminded of a movie that Duo had made him watch
a month or two back. It was some ancient, pre-colony film that Duo loved,
called "Die Hard." "When the guy is sitting in the bathroom
pulling glass out of his feet," Duo had said afterwards, "and
he's talking over the radio to the cop about his wife and kids, thinking
he's gonna die soon... man, that just kills me."
Heero thought the movie was okay. He had mostly enjoyed watching Duo,
and his animated reactions to the movie, discreetly out of the corner
of his eye. But there was a particular scene that he remembered -- where
the hero caught the terrorist flatfooted. Hans Gruber, faced with a gun
to the head, had gone in an instant from cold and collected, to terrified
and tearful; slipping from his clipped German accent to the vocal patterns
of a slightly drunk American, and acting as though he was merely a hostage
who had escaped the main group...
The corner of Heero's left eye twitched. It would be difficult -- he'd
never done anything like it before. He had absolutely no experience with
this kind of thing. But it was so stupid, it just might work.
If he could pull it off, that is...
Staring at the guard, he forced his eyes to go wide and scared. At least,
he hoped that was what he was doing. He was a Gundam pilot, not an actor.
Still, this was a mission he had accepted, and he had to follow through,
no matter how... demeaning it might be.
"D-don't shoot," he stuttered. "I... I was just looking."
Hm... he didn't sound nearly panicked and fearful enough. He tried to
put more emotion in his voice. "I wasn't going to do anything, I
swear!" Yeah, that was better, he thought, even as he winced inwardly.
The guard lowered the gun further. "Just wanted a peek at Miss Peacecraft's
pink limos, eh?" He wrinkled his face in disgust. "What are
you, some kind of stalker freak?"