Author: kittikass
Archive: resonant zero: www.geocities.com/kassi4ever
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, John Donne owns the title
Warnings: Language, unresolved lust, pissy boys, plus all the usual misspellings, tense switching, and grammar mistakes I usually deliver.


Break of Day

The midday sun beats down on my lowered head, burning my hair and the tips of my ears. The parking lot is deserted, only the derelict gas station remains, heat rising in waves off its corroded surface. I can't believe it is still running - the place looks abandoned. I grunt unkindly towards the figure turned to the car.

Duo's head swivels, pulling his dry eyes away from the steaming radiator. Those eyes contain so many things: inattention, impatience, resentment. I can't help but grab him and tug his concentration back to me.

"Heero! Just go away!" His face is set, scowling, he doesn't want to play.

My brief kiss changes his mind, however. I make it just long enough to remind him I'm here and waiting.

"I'll be done soon," he sighs, bending over the car again.

"Better be, I want out of here," I grumble, and walk across the hot gravel to the front of the decaying building.

How we ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere-Nevada is beyond my understanding, but I know it was Duo's idea. He always has the bright ideas – shopping, eating at Mexican restaurants, and now, traveling.

Glancing through the dirty window, I can see a crumpled old man glaring at me from behind his counter with undisguised hatred. I guess they don't see many Japanese down here, or Colonials, for that matter.

He glares, beady black eyes shiny and moist, darting from me, to Duo, to the car, and back again. I try to stare him down, but it doesn't work, he doesn't even blink, like he is made of wood. Certainly looks that way, there is enough dust caked in his hair to question his mobility.

I turn away, sick of the game already, and consider asking Duo if he needs help. His stubborn back is still stooped over the car, ass invitingly raised in the air. I should just take him here and now, I think, give that old man a start that might wake his aging ticker. Duo would probably just get mad; the heat is making him touchy. His precious car overheating doesn't help, either.

What I'm upset about is that we haven't even made it to Las Vegas - the supposed Mecca of everything corrupt and wrong with mankind. A Duo kind of place. He has been so irritatingly excited, too, for the past week, and with the car out of commission, we won't have much time in Sin City before heading home. Bad planning, I say, but Duo insists his car was running perfectly. He must be wrong, if the car had simply overheated, we would have been out of here hours ago. Not standing in 102 degree heat, watching his ass sway in the hazy air.

I think the heat is getting to me, I am feeling a little strange. Altitude, maybe, or perhaps I haven't adjusted to Earth's gravity again after my last trip to space.

I walk slowly back to the car, shoes crunching over the gravel, and stand next to him. Getting yelled at is better than tempting myself by watching.

"Here," he says, shoving a greasy rag at me, "do something useful."

I hold the scrap benignly, waiting for further instruction, which he doesn't give. I'm feeling too odd to point out he ordered me away from the car less than fifteen minutes ago, and besides, that curl of hair wound around his ear...

When it comes to certain things, like his car, I don't argue with him, he has a selfish need to fix the problem completely by himself. It is a reasonable request, and I try not to butt in where I'm not wanted. Although...

"You forgot to tighten that clamp," I comment as blandly as possible.

"I know!" He snaps, flinging down the hose he was squinting into and readjusting the offending clamp. "Jesus fucking Christ, Heero, I'm not an idiot!"

"I never said you were, I was just trying to–"

"Fuck you!" He screams, throwing a wrench at me, and I am shocked by the vehemence in his voice. I had no idea he was so close to breaking.

"Duo-" I start, taking a step back, clutching the heavy tool.

"Don't say another fucking word to me, ok?" He is shaking with anger, his white hands grasping the edge of the engine compartment, sweat staining the back of his dark shirt.

I know I can't say anything, sometimes he is so literal when it comes to the orders he gives, and I'm half afraid he will throw something dangerous at me. Like that menacing-looking claw hammer he was improperly using to pry off the stubborn radiator cap. I know how deadly his aim can be. I unconsciously take another step back.

For as long as we have known each other, his rage has always left me feeling a little insecure. I have never been able to effectively disarm the situation without at least a small explosion. He's like a volcano; building up pressure until he finally erupts, flattening everything in his path.

He is glaring at me, and suddenly I feel like I've been put on display. A gripping paranoia threatens to overwhelm me, and a wave of dizziness tries to bring me down. I can still sense the clerk's critical stare on my back, and Duo's fiery eyes are burning holes through my skull.

Something shifts inside, and I unexpectedly decide I'm not going to take his little tantrum, not this time. Chalk it up to heat, my disappointment in the trip, my general pissy-ness, whatever you want, but I wasn't going to stand back this time. I scowl and step forward.

One eyebrow rises incredulously, like he can't believe what he is seeing. I realize I have the wrench raised like I'm going to bash his head in, so I toss it to the ground. I don't want to hurt him. Taking another step, I'm standing directly in front of him. He still hasn't moved, but his gaze is hotter than the trunk of the blazing car.

"I told you-"

"Shut up," I say, but it comes out wrong. I didn't want to sound so...mean. It must have surprised him also; his ferocious expression wavers for a split second before hardening again.

"What?" he whispers harshly, eyes narrowing against the ruthless sun.

"I said shut up!" I grab his forearm away from the car and whip it up between us. It was a purely violent gesture, not a move usually used between friends.

He wasn't expecting it, and his reaction time hasn't decreased since his fighting days, but I am faster still. Before he could bring up his other hand, clenched in a fist, I catch it, and spinning him, slam his back against the car door. He gasps, and gives a cursory struggle before relaxing into my callous grasp. I'm ready for that move, too, and quickly immobilize his legs before he can trip me. I am out of control.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snarls. He is even madder now that he is completely helpless, like a caged animal.

I can't help it; all I can do is gaze at him, trapped beneath me, eyes flashing. God, I love him. He drives me up the wall with his mean temper that I can't help but adore. What can I say? I like people with spunk. Even as I usually just stand back while he rages, it is to admire the way his emotions roll off in searing waves. It is so exciting seeing his blind, unthinking, passionate turmoil. Like now, but I had never dared get so close before. It was hot.

"Baby, what's wrong?" I ask, as nicely as I can, considering my emotions are whirling between fury and ardor.

His squinting eyes search my face, not a drop of livid resentment leaving. "What are you up to?" he asks, growling. He is breathing hard, chest pounding against mine, bands of hair sticking to his red face.

Since I don't have an answer, all I can do is kiss him. At first, his mouth refuses to open, and he begins to struggle again. I press his resisting body harder to the car; there was no way he was going to get away with turning me on in such a horrible place.

When he finally kisses me back, it's as blisteringly intense as the metal of that septic tank behind the station. I moan into his mouth, my heart pounding, stomach dropping, head clouding. He tastes salty, sweaty, gloriously Duo with a touch of engine grease. His slick tongue plays with mine, wrapping around and pulling it into his mouth. I let go of his hands and they immediately tangle in my hair, pulling slightly. My knees begin to give and I have to thrust my hips into his to keep from falling.

Our burning kiss lessens, slowly winding down into a languid exploration of each other's mouths. Since he doesn't seem to have any objections, it continues for awhile. When he pulls his head back, I'm still nipping gently at his lips.

He looks at me, bemused and not at all irate. "What was that for?"

"You don't seem as angry now," I reply, pushing against him and bending to kiss his grease-smeared neck.

"Um, Heero? Maybe we should stop. There are all sorts of people watching," he says, laughing quietly. "Not that I mind, but, uh, this probably isn't the best place."

Glancing over my shoulder, I can see the old man has actually left his stool and is standing, surrounded by a family of tourists, in the middle of the parking lot. If it's possible, the old crony looks even unhappier, and I think the family is just too shocked to move, their mouths gaping open like beached fish. I dimly remembered hearing the 'ding' that signaled their arrival, but had accredited it to the amazing things Duo was doing to my mouth.

"And the door handle is digging into my ass." he adds.

"Sorry," I say, feeling slightly foolish, and release some of the pressure I had been holding him down with. "Not about them, about your ass. I want to keep it in top shape."

"Hmm," he wraps his arms around my neck and pulls my head down again, "maybe they deserve a show after all."

This kiss is just as intense, but with a lot more grinding and ass-grabbing. I can almost feel our audiences' disapproval, it was so thick. Or, as Duo would say, 'Dead people could feel it'. I think that supposed to be a joke.

"Do you think he'd give us the key to the bathroom?" I murmur against his dry lips, caressing his back.

"Humph," he breathes into my ear, spying over my shoulder, "Never. Actually, I think he's heading in to call the police. It looks like he's going to pop a blood vessel."

I'm disappointed yet again when Duo slips out from under me and returns to his prized engine. Maybe if we can get the car running, we could drive somewhere...

"Are you sure I can't help?"

He gives me a light, relieved smile. "You're the best, you know?"

I catch the rag he tosses and join him. "Ok, what's *not* wrong with it?"

He starts listing what's been checked, but I stop listening. I watch him, standing there, hip cocked, flicking his fingers as he gives me, in great detail, his diagnosis of the car problem.

I move closer, not disturbing him, "Uh huh...yeah..."

"Are you even listening?"

"No."

"Are you going to help, or keep staring at my neck like you haven't eaten all day?" He sounds a little mad again, so I look at his face. He was just acting, funny guy that he is. "What's wrong with you today? You've been really weird," he asks, concerned.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

He looks a little shocked. "No, I guess not." Slowly, he glances away, then back again, thoughtfully. "But if it's anything as much as I love you, I think everything will be ok."

"Good."

We grin at each other, like kids with ice cream money and a plan. He slaps my ass, I pretend to be offended, and we get to work on the car.

Maybe someday our relationship will evolve to the point where we won't have to use drastic measures to get the point across. Hopefully someday we will be able to finish each other's sentences and brush our dentures together.

For now, it has to be like this. Give and take. We take turns sorting each other out - he can't share, I'm a workaholic. Push and pull. It works both ways. Drive and thrust. Sometimes force is needed. Eat and be eaten. Oh, give me a break - I'm still horny.

owari

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