Disclaimer: The usual, Gundam Wing belongs to its owners (Bandai, Sunset,
and a whole host of others, none of which are me) and I'm not making any
money off of them. Not a single peanut.
Rated R for language, lots of violence, sexual content
I'm busy writing a couple of serious fics, and this thing kinda tumbled
out of my id instead. I've had the story knocking around for ages in my
rather twisted synapses. It merged with the GW boys one afternoon of listening
to enough Disturbed, Slipknot and Soil to permanently compromise my mental
This is a sci-fi/fantasy AU, and there's going to be plots and twists
and stuff, but it's mainly an excuse to put the GW bishies on a backdrop
of sex and violence and morbid humour (think Saiyuki if you need a reference,
heh). This is reserved for mature readers. There's actually not going
to be too much weird stuff (I'm toning down the original warning after
writing a few chapters and realizing I just can't be that nasty to the
GW boys) but the 2x5 is going to be a touch on the SM side. Be warned.
What you won't find here is my usuals: No NCS, no deathfics, nothing too
sad or angsty. Some of the boys will be a bit OOC to start with, but will
lean towards their normal characters (or an interpretation of such) by
mid-story. I only have a faint idea where this is gonna end up, so your
reviews might actually influence the story! Have fun!
This is a rollercoaster, so it starts out fairly slowly. Only a mild lemon
in this chapter, and you'll have to wait for chapter 3 for some violence.
Pairings are 2x5 (yowza, but you'll have to wait for it), 3x4 (that one
you get free from the start), and 1x I haven't made up my mind yet, but
due to popular demand, probably add him on to the 2x5.
Source Of All Things + Chapter 1
The Naked Man On The Rock
Trowa was reaching blind, and
that meant he could have grabbed just about anything; a bush, a rock,
a rattlesnake...When you're hanging by two toe-holds and three fingernails
from a cliff, you don't much mind what your free hand grabs as long as
it's firm and can keep you from becoming a big mess at the bottom of a
hundred and twenty foot drop.
The ravine he'd climbed ended in a jumble of rocks and outcroppings, and
he couldn't see where he was going. His free hand brushed sand and loose
grit, and he swore. Then it touched something else. It felt warm, and
firm, and too soft to be one of the sun-scorched rocks of the ravine.
Trowa patted it once, grabbed it and tugged firm, quite firm, well,
whatever it was-
He released the hold of his aching right hand and, relying on whatever
was supporting his left hand it shifted slightly as he put more weight
onto it, but not much- scrambled and heaved himself the last few feet
and up the slight overhang, which he grasped with his arms with relief.
He squirmed, glanced up, froze.
He was holding on to someone's ankle.
The man was looking at him blankly.
He didn't seem ready to shake Trowa's hold, so, after a second of hesitation,
the shaman used it to finish hauling himself up. He straightened slowly,
even his finely honed body had been tested by the climb, and brushed himself
off, staring down at the silent man.
He was right at the edge of the canyon, sitting on a rock as if he'd hardened
from the same primal magma. His eyes were fixing Trowa without interest,
No, to be honest, that was not what Trowa noticed first. What he noticed
first even when half of him was still dangling over the cliff- was that
the man was naked. Completely naked, he confirmed, standing in front of
him. Not that clothes Trowa's eyes travelled up and down slowly- would
have been necessary. In fact Trowa leaned forward slightly to get a better
look, since the strange man didn't seem to mind his scrutiny - clothes
would have been a damn shame. They'd have been an insult. Trowa considered
himself something of an expert in men. Well, if you'd told him right then
and there that he was about to lose his remaining eye, he'd have shrugged
and told you that that was okay. He could manage without vision, and he
had, after all, seen pretty much all there was to see of the beauties
of the earth, as of right now.
The face was just about as perfect as the rest. Strong regular features,
though with a hint of softness around the cheeks and a mouth that was
- Trowa stopped, because at any moment he was going to start reciting
poetry to himself and he left that shit to Quatre. Keep to the facts.
Nice face, gorgeous deep blue eyes, brown messy hair, full lips, body
to die for. Butt naked. Two days walk from just about anywhere remotely
The man was giving him a blank look. His eyes were... not dull, he didn't
think the man was simple, but they were... incurious. Which, considering
the circumstances, was very strange.
"Aren't you even going to ask me why I just spent two hours climbing down
and then up the walls of a very steep canyon instead of using the bridge
that's about a hundred feet from here?"
The handsome man looked at him with the same blank stare. Just as Trowa
was wondering if the man could speak Common, or hear, the blue eyes flickered
to the left, to look at the bridge which was, indeed, a hundred feet away
and perfectly serviceable. Then he looked back at Trowa.
The man looked at him as if he had the rest of eternity to stare up his
Trowa shook his head. He was not talkative, normally, he let others trip
over their own words, and listened instead, but in this instance, they'd
be here till nightfall, or possibly the end of the world, if he didn't
take the initiative.
"I'm a Nightwalker, a shaman. I'm following a straight line."
He waited. No question, no comment.
"I follow it until I find what I'm looking for. I've been walking all
"I don't know what I'm looking for when I start out but if I follow the
line and do not deviate for anything, sooner or later I will find it."
Still no comment.
Trowa leaned forward and put a finger in front of the stranger's face.
He moved it left and right. The deep blue eyes followed it without curiosity
or any trace of damage or paralysis. The man seemed perfectly healthy,
un-injured, fit, and, well, strange.
"Looks like I found it."
The man said nothing.
"My name is Trowa Barton."
"And you are... ?"
The man straightened a bit and looked at Trowa with finally a bit of
not interest, more a weighing look.
Trowa felt some relief. He could speak, good. That might make things easier.
"That's your name is it? Doesn't sound familiar, where are you from?"
"That is not my name."
Trowa rubbed his sore shoulders and smiled every so slightly. He shook
the hair, that sweat had plastered to his face, out of his good eye. Ah,
"Okay, so what is Heero Yuy, if not your name?"
The man stared at him, and frowned ever so slightly.
"It means the one and only." He said at last.
Trowa had been passing the time looking at him again and found himself
nodding. "Well, I'm already in a committed mating, or I'd be tempted to
take you up on that. Are you the one and only of anyone in particular?"
"Do you have a name?"
"Can I call you Heero Yuy then?"
"Do you want to come with me, Heero Yuy?"
The man said nothing, and his eyes ran over the desert landscape, the
cracked and burned earth, the Joshua trees and scrubs sweltering in the
heat-waves of a morning sun as if they would catch fire before noon. He
seemed to be thinking about it. Trowa hesitated, reached out and took
his wrist. Heero Yuy cast an incurious eye at the hand holding him, and
allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
"Come on. If we leave now, we can make it back to my camp by this afternoon."
The man slowly nodded the first positive gesture he'd made- and headed
towards the cliff. Trowa quickly grabbed his shoulders and swung him towards
the left. "No, we don't need to go back that way, we can take the bridge."
"You are following a straight line."
"Only until I find what I need to, and I think I found it. Him. You. Come
on, Heero, this way, trust me, the bridge is a lot easier."
Trowa led the other to the bridge, occasionally dropping back to admire
the way the other walked, or passing him to glance back and catch a glimpse
the other side, which was just as appealing. Heero walked without a hint
of embarrassment, as if he'd never known clothes before. Trowa was intrigued,
but also prosaic. Considering the uniformly pale smooth skin with just
a hint of gold tone- the man was going to be roasted by the sun before
noon. His back was already reddened. Trowa regretfully dug his cape out
of his bag and persuaded Heero to put it on. He had to tie the fasteners
himself. Heero followed the movement of his hands with something like
interest, then followed him without a word as Trowa once more set out
for camp and Quatre. The healer might be able to tell Trowa if Heero Yuy
was simply the confused victim of some mugging who'd been dumped naked
into the desert, or something infinitely stranger.
Quatre's cries of pleasure suddenly strangled themselves into a squawk.
Trowa gasped as his love went rigid in his arms. "What? Did I hurt you?"
Quatre just shrank further into his chest, as if trying to hide, his eyes
fixed, Trowa realized, on a point past the shaman's shoulder.
Trowa turned his head. Heero, recently dressed in one of Trowa's spare
outfits, was standing in the afternoon sunshine, a hand lifting the curtain
hanging across the vardo‘s low doorway. He was staring at them.
"Heero? What is it?"
"You were screaming."
"No, that was Quatre." In his arms, his lover curled even more onto himself
with a groan, drawing his legs back from Trowa's waist as much as he could
in the circumstances.
Heero frowned. Trowa waited a few seconds but Heero didn't seem to want
to ask anything, or leave. He seemed... curious, in that blank way of
"We're having sex." Trowa said, although that would have been obvious
to anyone including a blind man, as Quatre was always vocal.
"Sex." Heero's frowned cleared slightly.
"Yes, sex. Do you want to join us?"
"Trowa!" Quatre's voice was scandalised.
"Join you." Heero repeated, as if tasting the words.
"He didn't mean it, Heero, he was joking!" Quatre squeaked, poking a red
face past Trowa's shoulders. "He-"
Trowa noticed Quatre's eyes go wide, the colour drain from his cheeks.
He glanced back at Heero, who was looking at the rest of the vardo's interior.
Then the strange man turned on his heels and left.
"What is it, love?"
"He-... " Quatre swallowed, his eyes troubled. "He wasn't interested at
"I meant, at all! No sexual feelings at all. I've never... even a child
would show some curiosity, and embarrassment. He's just... not there...
"You said he had no apparent brain damage."
"I'm beginning to think I should examine him again, he's not normal."
"I should say, anyone who wouldn't even consider joining us is highly-"
That earned him a punch on the shoulder. It wasn't very hard, and Trowa
knew that Quatre would be-
"I'm sorry Trowa!"
-apologising less than three seconds later. Trowa smiled, shaking sweat-heavy
bangs out of his one good eye so he could look at the Healer in his arms.
Quatre was blushing again. This was his natural state when they made love,
even after all their time together he was strangely shy about it. Trowa
thought it was very arousing, but there wasn't actually anything about
Quatre that he didn't find arousing so that wasn't saying much. Quatre
could and did- make stitching a blanket look alluring. Washing dishes,
cutting wood, mixing medicine, drinking and eating, talking to merchants,
arguing... there wasn't anything that Quatre could do that Trowa didn't
Except maybe try to wiggle away from him just when things were getting
interesting, because some strange man had poked his head into their caravan.
Trowa waited until Quatre had practically lifted himself off of his erection,
then grabbed his shoulders and gently thrust him back on again.
Quatre gasped. "What-" He tried to get off again, a bit more vigorously
this time. Trowa waited once again until the last second, and plunged
himself back into that welcoming warm darkness.
"Trowa!" Quatre hissed.
"Quatre." Trowa murmed, only slightly mocking, as he nuzzled the small
Quatre started to wiggle again. "Let me go, he's still right outside!"
Trowa waited and then thrust once again. Quatre bit the shaman's shoulder,
to stifle a cry, then harder, a small nip in anger. Trowa waited three
second and, once the blonde had apologized, shrugged.
"So what if he's outside?"
"Trowa!" Quatre hissed, leveraging against his lover's shoulders to lift
himself off of his erection again. "We can't- he's listening! Ah!"
Trowa's slight smile lit his impassive face as they were once again back
where they'd started.
"So what? He seemed pretty confused-" He bit his lip as Quatre squirmed
again, in a very distracting manner, "aaah... - maybe all he needs is
a shock to get back to normal."
Quatre gasped as he was once more brought back down. "T-Trowa th-that's
n-not how you help people who are confused! Let me off!"
Trowa brought him down again, even harder, twisting to hit the little
throbbing pulse of pleasure within his love's body.
"Are you enjoying this as much as I am?" He panted. Quatre had gone the
same pretty red as the roof of the vardo. His eyes were closed and he
was biting his lip to avoid making any more noises that Heero would probably
come and investigate. The way he was now lifting himself up and letting
Trowa pull him down had no longer anything to do with escaping, which
answered the shaman's question.
Trowa had grown up a Nightwalker, with the same taboos as the animals
which were the tribe's shaman guides and companions, which is to say,
very few. Apart from immediate family and those too young to have reached
the age of reason, any man or woman was fair game, and he'd had a string
of each in the many towns he travelled, anyone who would accept to love
and be loved by the shaman, without strings and with very few words either.
He'd forgotten all of them the moment he saw the Healer. He had
remembered them during the months of extreme frustration that had followed,
but had finally given them all up the moment his love had shyly kissed
him for the first time, even though it had looked quite likely that Trowa
would, from that moment on, never have sex again.
Quatre was a Healer and had been dedicated as an infant to some god or
other, Trowa had never bothered much with the details, except those that
mattered. Namely, that the god in question required celibacy from his
followers, and that those followers considered sex between males to be
one of the seven grievous sins or whatever. Two major hurdles to overcome,
and for a long time he didn't think he'd be able to. Quatre had accepted
with some trepidation to allow the shaman to stay at his small clinic
and help him there. They'd become great friends in the one night of talk
they'd had after they'd met, but Quatre was still nervous around him.
Most people were nervous around Nightwalkers. They tended to avoid the
shamans. Actually, what they'd do was lock up their wives, sons, daughters
and pets when they heard one was in town, and then avoid them.
Which was stupid. No nightwalker would ever take what wasn't freely given.
So Quatre had been perfectly safe, and Trowa the one in grave risk of
dying of extreme frustration. And he would have, rather than lose their
friendship. And he quite joyfully abstained from sex with anyone else,
rather than lose whatever chance he had to gain the Healer's love.
The long months of growing friendship and platonic love delightfully
highlighted by that one shy kiss- and been abruptly interrupted by those
fools in the Healer's religious order. They'd found out that a Nightwalker
was hanging around the best and most promising young acolyte they had,
and told Quatre to get rid of him, and return to the main cloister to
avoid any more contact with the unclean animal.
Trowa found himself, twenty four confused hours later, driving a determined
Quatre away in the vardo, away from everything he'd ever known, the clinic,
the cloister, the order itself. Trowa had remembered to drop a handful
of silvers in the charity box of the temple before Quatre had slammed
the door with a determined clang. He owed the old farts that much for
pressing the matter and bringing things to a head. He would never have
Quatre had admitted to Trowa by his decision if not in words- that he
loved the shaman more than any future he had in his order, and that was
already more than enough for the quiet man. Of course, there still wasn't
any sex. Quatre had a martyr streak a mile wide. He loved the shaman not
that he admitted it outright- but wouldn't compromise his mission in life
for that, and his mission was healing. Well, that was fair enough. Except
that the young ex-priest believed his healing powers came from the grace
of his god, and his god required celibacy... Trowa didn't say anything,
merely agreed that Quatre should keep his vow of chastity if that was
what was needed to heal the injured and sick they encountered in their
nomadic life together.
Trowa never bothered telling Quatre that the shaman knew quite a bit about
gods, had met a few of them, and even slept with one during a glorious
night of his youth, and so very much doubted that Quatre's god required
any oath of celibacy to let the blonde access his healing power. Or if
he did, Trowa was pretty sure that here was a god he didn't want to meet,
and didn't much approve of. But he didn't say this to Quatre. This was
something the young man had to figure out on his own. Chances were that
he wouldn't but, well, such was life, and sex wasn't everything in it.
Trowa was content with a life full of love and friendship (and no sex),
and would have been for a long time, if Quatre hadn't happened upon him
while the shaman was bathing, two months after they'd started travelling
Trowa was shaking off the water from the creek, drying himself in the
sun at its edge, when he was bowled over by a blonde hurricane with at
least six hands. They landed in a tangle in the reeds at the edge of the
creek. Trowa had tried to protest and actually managed to finish his sentence,
though the way the blonde man was ripping off his own clothes was distracting
him considerably. He tried to remind the healer about his vow and his
mission of healing the injured. Quatre had snarled something about using
band-aids from now on, and leapt on to the shaman who had nothing more
After a very long night, during which Quatre had broken his vow of chastity
no less than four times, it turned out his powers were still in perfect
working order. Trowa was not very surprised.
Of course, it could still be a little frustrating. The blond could still
be absurdly shy for a lot of things, and he clung to many of the taboos
and edicts his religion had placed upon him. He went from complete chastity
to complete fidelity, for one, and it was much more binding to him. Trowa
had once more shrugged and acquiesced. Have sex exclusively with Quatre
was better than having sex with any other number of partners, and much
better than none at all. He was content. In fact, in the two years they'd
been together, he'd only ever felt one niggle of regret. A naked Heero
Yuy could distract anybody from such considerations, for a few moments.
Quatre screamed, impaling himself onto his mate as he came, his beauty
far greater than any of the stone statues his religious order worshipped
in their cold, empty cloisters. Trowa's eyes never left that beloved face
as he worshipped that body with his own, once more. No, even a dozen naked
Heeros couldn't make him regret this. He'd found his own One and Only,
the only one he'd ever need.
The pair collapsed on the vardo's narrow cot, panting and gasping in the
afternoon's heat, trapped in the caravan's dark and airless corners.
"I still want to examine him again." Quatre wiped the sweat from his fair
skin, but made no other effort to move. "We also need to find out who
he is, where he comes from, and why your line led you to him."
"We'll go see Svale. The old crone will know." Trowa murmured sleepily.
"It'll take us three weeks to reach her. Maybe Heero won't want to come
with us." The blonde's eyes were darting towards the side of the vardo
where they could hear Heero occasionally shift as he sat against a wheel.
"What else is he going to do? He can go sit on a rock in the middle of
a desert some other time." Trowa murmured prosaically before rising and
preparing for the night.
[chap. 2] [back to