Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Dawn -- Revised ❯ 6 ( Chapter 7 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn

 

Warnings: NC17, AU, angst 6x1, limon

Part Six

// ... // : indicates dream/flashback

 

Heero moaned, clutching his pillow. //"What do you think you're doing?"//

"Heero...."

//"I ... miss ... Mama--"//

"Heero?"

//"Suck it up, boy. I don't have time for sissies. Real men don't cry."//

"Heero!"

Heero started, and found himself staring into the inquisitive eyes of the nurse.

"You okay?" Hilde probed. "Aren't you usually awake by now? There's some guy in living room downstairs. He says he's here to pick you up."

Heero tugged his shirt into place. It was rumpled, the collar stiff with sweat. He grimaced. "What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty...." Hilde stepped back with a frown. "You sure you okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine." Of course he was fine. Heero squelched the image of J, rising like a shiny bubble from the cellar of his unconscious. He was fine.Why wouldn't he be? He stuffed his shirt into his jeans and began making the bed. How many times did he have to mess up before he finally got it together? He hadn't overslept in a long time. Not since ... since.... Heero pressed his lips together. In long enough..... He crouched beside the mattress, briskly tucking the fitted sheet into the corners. By the time he tended to J and got through his chores he'd be late. What was worse, he'd fallen asleep without a glimpse at his homework. So much for proving his dedication....

"So what about that guy? You want me to kick him out or what?"

Heero looked up. "Guy...?"

"Yeah," Hilde smoothed a curl under her cap with a grin. "Big, sexy blond.... He a friend of yours?""

Milliardo.... Heero froze. He had forgotten about last night's promise. Yanking the quilt over the pillows, Heero found his hands strangely unsteady. He curled his fingers into his palm. "I have to shower. Tell him ... I will be there shortly."

"Sure thing." Hilde hesitated at the door, the light from the hall falling softly over her features. "Heero ... that is, Mr. Yuy," she cleared her throat.

"Yes?" Heero bent to pick up the sweatshirt he'd worn last night and a wave of panic squeezed his chest. A single golden hair was curled about the hood. Heero's hands fisted in the soft knit. He remembered Milliardo's lips whispering over his cheek and something within him loosened. Why did Milliardo...? What did it mean -- that moment of contact? Heero prickled with heat. And why did it make him feel so muddled ... like the bottom of his stomach had tumbled out? Milliardo had said "I want to get to know you." But why? Why him?

"What I mean is, it's okay with me, you know? I'm not one of those people who run screaming at the first sight of something different. I'm here to do my job and that won't change as long as you want me here." Hilde smiled. "Hell, if you don't mind me saying so ... I think it's kinda sweet."

Sweet? Frowning, Heero plucked at his jersey. "I don't understand."

"You and Mr. Blond downstairs," Hilde's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You make a good pair."

It took a moment for what the nurse was implying to sink in and when it did, Heero jerked backwards, unfamiliar warmth suffusing his face. She thought they were ... that he and Milliardo.... Heero shoved the shirt away. "No. you are wrong I--"

"I've already checked in on your father for the morning. Since you're clearly running late, I started preparing breakfast. I should get back to it."

"Ms. Schbeiker ...."

"Yes, Mr. Yuy?" Hilde turned to him, her gaze penetrating beneath the fringe of her lashes.

Heero knew he could not meet it with equal honesty. He shook his head. "Nothing ... it's nothing."

When he dropped his eyes Heero was startled to find that even as his sweatshirt crumpled to the carpet the golden strand had lingered on his shirt. It clung, to his breast, shimmering, like a tiny thread of sunlight.

 

 

*

 

"Here, have you had anything?" Milliardo handed Heero a plastic-wrapped sandwich. It was ham on wheat and he could see the bright lettuce-frills drooping between its crusty edges. Milliardo was watching him intently.

Heero shoved the sandwich back towards him. "I've eaten," he lied, tight-lipped.

They were eating under the shade of a spreading oak. Or rather, Milliardo, with what seemed like a banquet spread out before him was eating on the blanket he had retrieved from the trunk of his car. So far the other man had unpacked double-decker ham sandwiches, a flask of hot chocolate, cinnamon scones and even a little homemade soup, but for Heero, Milliardo's constant attempts at nourishing him only left him feeling emptier. It pained him to realize that in the careless way of the rich Milliardo saw him as a charity case. Sitting in the living room this morning, had he seen the crooked blinds, the scuffed furniture ... Heero's old shoes in the entryway? They were on his feet now. Heero folded his legs beneath him. He did not want pity....

In the car this morning, he and Milliardo had barely said a word to each other. They rode in a charged silence with Heero all the time aware of the weight of Milliardo's gaze examining him. Even now, he felt it like a brand between his shoulders blades, so when Milliardo had suggested they have lunch together he should have declined. Yet, inexplicably he found himself hurrying from class. When he arrived at the park Milliardo was already waiting and the smile he gave Heero had left him strangely breathless.

Frowning, Heero traced the edge of the blanket. A leaf, mottled gold and brown was tangled in its tassels and he cupped it in his palm. Diseased and discarded.... Heero sighed. J had told him once only the good were rich and that their wealth was the just reward of their virtue. Heero knew his own failings, but he often wondered what J had done to fall from grace -- to have been cut down so categorically by whatever power decided the justice in these things. He watched Milliardo's broad hands with their pink, un-smudged nails and realized that he must be very good. Certainly he had been kind to Heero in his odd, demanding way. He felt that there must be a lesson in here for him. That was why Milliardo left him so muddled. If only he could grasp it. Heero brooded, the leaf twirling between his fingers. But surely a dying thing could not grow green and bright again? It could only hope for shelter in the shadows out of the reach of wind and sun.

"Heero," Milliardo suddenly asked, "How do you feel about me?"

Startled, Heero looked up. The look in Milliardo's eyes seemed to say he knew his thoughts. "About you?" he repeated.

"Yes ... I ... I need to know."

Milliardo's hand closed about his fingers. They were as soft as Heero expected -- and as strong.... He froze, staring at their joined hands and something strained for release inside him.

Touch....

How long had it been since he'd felt the gentleness of that other hand? He thought he had forgotten, but his palm remembered it, his fingers did. Without his knowing they had retained the impression of that softness. Heero watched amazed as his fingers unstiffened and curled around Milliardo's.

"Heero--" Milliardo groaned. He looked almost as surprised as Heero felt. "I thought last night would be enough. I ... I promised myself not to push you but ... it wasn't -- isn't. There's not a morning I don't wake up thinking about you since that day we met in the library. Heero, I---" Milliardo's fingers tightened. "I'm becoming more and more attracted to you every day and I'll die if you won't at least let me kiss you."

Heero remembered the closeness of Milliardo's body and his breath whispering over his cheek. His hands had trembled when Milliardo pressed him against the door. What did Milliardo want of him? Why couldn't he find the will to refuse?

Milliardo lowered his head and the gold of his hair was like fire even in the cold autumn light. It tickled Heero's shoulders and his cheek -- blazing him out of existence as his mouth covered his. Milliardo teased the seam of Heero's lips and Heero gave him entrance before he even knew what was being asked of him. The probe and retreat of Milliardo's tongue startled him but Milliardo did not allow him to become frightened. His mouth left Heero's and he lowered them to the blanket, the heaviness of his body settling along Heero's side.

Milliardo was nuzzling the hollow of Heero's collarbones and through his shirt his thumb traced the outline of his nipple making him shudder. It whirled through the haze of Heero's thoughts that this must be part of Milliardo's strength too -- this touch that he had no knowledge of. No matter how he tried Heero could not regain command his body. He shivered in the cradle of Milliardo's arms even as the other man continued to touch him. Milliardo was murmuring against Heero's ear: soft words, things that Heero could no more absorb than the sensations Millardo was igniting all over his body. The stiffness below his belt confused and embarrassed him and Heero crossed his legs, flattening his palms against his crotch. He was ashamed that the secret stirring of flesh known to him only in the blurry moments before morning should now make itself known. How horrible it would be for Milliardo to discover his weakness.

He should have known, however, that he could not keep any secrets. No sooner had Heero thought it than his fear was realized.

"Don't hide." Milliardo found him. He pried away the seal of Heero's palms and replaced it with his larger hand. "There's no one here to see you but me." Unsnapping the button on Heero's jeans, Milliardo delved between the gaping teeth of Heero's zipper to his underwear beneath. His fingers slipped beneath the the elastic waistband and he caressed Heero, releasing sensitive flesh from the confines of soft cotton and denim.

"No--" Heero tried to jerk away but Milliardo's hand cupped him. It moved and Heero twisted, his fingers clenching in Milliardo's shirt as color bloomed and burst behind his eyelids. "Ungh!"

"Shh, shh ... it's all right. I've got you." Milliardo's lips found Heero's again and this time the kiss was fierce. "Gods ... you're everything I dreamed of. So beautiful ... so beautiful...."

He caught Heero behind the knee, lifting him until his thigh was pressed against Milliardo's hip -- parting him with the soft pressures of his hands and mapping him just as surely as his tongue suckling him through the dampness of his shirt. He traced the seam dividing the seat of Heero's pants, stroking and rubbing at him until Heero wanted to press backward onto those teasing fingertips. His hips rose once, searchingly and he was dashed by a wave of incredible force. The thing struggling within him wrenched free and Heero cried out as a wet heat exploded across his belly. Oddly, there was no pain with the rupture. Heero lay with the smell of grass and Milliardo's cologne in his nostrils, feeling the the slow trickle of warmth down his stomach. He wondered that he should not feel the slightest worry as his life-blood trickled away from the strange, painless wound on his abdomen. Not even the thought of J was enough to rouse him. There was only warmth, and relief that Milliardo had ended so quickly what he could not. She would come for him now. He had been waiting so long to hear her voice.... Heero closed his eyes and waited for the darkness to envelop him.

"Love, are you all right?" Milliardo brushed Heero's hair away from his forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go so quickly."

Heero opened his eyes. He didn't understand. Wasn't he supposed to be hurt? Heero frowned. "There ... is not much bleeding," he said slowly.

"Bleeding?" Milliardo's voice rose in alarm. "Where? Have you been injured? Why didn't you say something before?"

"No, I...." Heero unfastened his jeans and tugged his shirt aside. He touched the wet place on his stomach but there was no blood. He came away with only a glistening whiteness on his fingertips. His frown deepened. "I...." Heero looked up and it was Milliardo's expression that told him of his mistake.

"Oh, Heero ... Love...."

Shame, shame, shame. And J's voice mocking him in his head. Heero jerked to his feet but somehow his knees had lost the strength to support him. He stumbled and Milliardo caught him.

"Don't run away. I'm sorry. I didn't realize...." His hand slipped beneath Heero's shirt to where the evidence of his shame lay hidden. Heero struggled, but Milliardo held on to him. "Please don't be embarrassed. You did nothing wrong; your response was natural and wonderful and if anyone is to blame here it is I for thrusting this upon you before you were ready for it."

But he had been ready.... Remembering the oblivion he had thought would come, Heero blinked back the burning behind his eyelids. He was a fool and there was only one cure for his ineptitude.... Heero clenched his fists. It would take more than his usual regimen to hammer his body intto submission this time. "I must leave."

Milliardo's expression was pained, "You can't return to class like this. Let me take you to my place. You may shower if you wish and you can throw your clothes in the washer and finish up lunch while you wait."

Heero knew he should refuse, but the prospect of washing away his shame was too strong to resist. He nodded and Milliardo led him to the car, stopping only to pick up the food and the old blanket. The car was parked just beyond the grass and its sleek surface was dappled under the light filtered through the trees. Milliardo opened the passenger door and Heero slid inside.

"Come on, let's go home."

 

 

*

 

Knotting an apron about his waist Milliardo checked the biscuits plumping in the oven; he studied the golden mounds with a discriminating eye. Hmm ... they looked done.... Milliardo nodded and turned off the gas. Balancing the baking sheet between mittened hands he carried it over to the counter where two others were already resting. The shower roared overhead and Milliardo bit into a biscuit with a sigh. He always cooked too much when he was nervous. Not that it made a difference: Everything he offered, Heero rejected like the vilest of poisons.

Heero....

What a bundle of contradictions he was. How was he ever going to win him over? Milliardo was so afraid of hurting Heero and yet it seemed inevitable. He didn't understand the younger man. Heero was so innocent and yet ... something in his eyes told Milliardo he had seen far more than anyone his age should have. And what about family? It seemed unlikely that Heero should live in that big old house all alone, but Milliardo hadn't seen anyone this morning other than that nurse, who puzzled him most of all. What on earth was she doing there?

With Heero, it seemed nothing was simple. Milliardo thought guiltily on that afternoon. He had suspected Heero was inexperienced, but nothing could have prepared him for Heero's heart-wrenching confusion. He was an innocent in the true sense of the word. How did one get to be Heero's age and have no experience whatsoever? Sex was one thing, but Heero's response was too naked, too frantic for him for him to have ever been kissed before Milliardo had held him in the moonlight. More distressing was Heero's unfamiliarity with his own body. The age difference between them was not so great, but in none of his past relationships had there been such a disparity between his lovers' experience and his own. Certainly Duo had been well versed in the ways of the world....

Milliardo frowned. It worried him. Could it really work between him and Heero? Treize and Wufei had done it and he didn't know a happier couple, but was their situation really similar to his and Heero's? Wufei was sensitive to how others perceived him and Treize would never betray his most intimate of confidences, but it was safe to assume that Treize was the more experienced of the two. Milliardo doubted though, that Wufei had been as conflicted as Heero about his desires. More disturbing, he was coming to realize that what he had initially attributed to shyness in Heero might be linked to something deeper and much more painful.

Milliardo finished off another biscuit with a sigh. What a confusing mess....

As if conjured up by his thoughts, Heero emerged in borrowed sweats and a tee shirt. They were just big enough to call attention to the difference in their builds and Milliardo suddenly had an image of himself as clumsily over-large. Frowning, he moved to wash his dough-covered hands in the sink. "I checked the dryer; your clothes should be done in a minute or so."

"Thank you." Heero settled awkwardly on one of the stools, his body half-turned towards Milliardo. He smelled good and Milliardo was seized with the urge to bury his face in the damp, silky hair clustered at Heero's nape. Heero however, seemed more concerned with trying to occupy as little space as possible on the already narrow stool. He was tense and uncomfortable -- and it made Milliardo feel all the more lecherous for his desire. Another sigh escaped him. "Heero--" he gestured helplessly, "biscuit....?"

"No."

Of course not. What did he expect? Milliardo tugged off his apron. "All right then, let me just clean this up and we can get going. What time does your class begin? Two?"

Heero shook his head. "I do not have any more classes today."

"No,?" Milliardo couldn't help the surge of hope that possessed him. He struggled to keep his voice steady. "Then, why did you have to leave so soon? Do you work this evening.?" If Heero could stay then perhaps they could make up for this afternoon and get to know each other better. Become friends....

Milliardo could see nothing of Heero's face as he replied, "My shift begins at seven o' clock, however, I...."

"Heero, if you feel you have to leave because of this afternoon, please don't. It was my fault for pushing things forward so quickly and the last thing I want is for you to be shamed in any way because of my idiocy. Please, Heero, if you can ... I would like you to stay. "

"No." Heero jerked to his feet. He was clenching his fists so hard the veins bulged in his forearms. "Why must you always come between me and my salvation?"

Milliardo was stunned. "Salvation? Gods Heero, what are you talking about?" He could make no sense of Heero's words and the violence of his reaction frightened him. Heero's eyes had a wild, hunted look as he faced Milliardo. He edged along the counters and suddenly darted out of the room.

"Heero--" Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why did he always screw things up? Milliardo chased after him, desperate to remedy the damage he had done. He headed towards the living room, thinking Heero was about to leave and hoping to stop him before it was too late. He didn't expect to stumble over Heero doing furious push-ups in the hall.

"Heero?"

Heero did not answer. His expression was tormented as he pumped steadily, raising and lowering his body until his arms trembled.

Milliardo frowned. "Come on, Heero. I don't know what you're trying to prove but, it's not necessary."

The mechanical movements did not waver, even as they clearly began to take their toll: sweat glistened on Heero's arms and rolled off his forehead. His face was red as his panting, quick and sharp echoed between them. Heero's fingers clenched in the carpet. His body shuddered. He raised himself up again only to heave back down. Milliardo was horrified.

"Heero, stop it!"

"No...," Heero shook his head, "I must...." His knuckles scraped the carpet as he tried to rise again and Milliardo refused to watch anymore. When Heero's elbows extended for the umpteenth time, he simply looped an arm about his waist and caught him up in his arms.

Milliardo gathered him close. "Stop. Why are you doing this? What are you so afraid of?"

Heero fought him, but Milliardo was just as determined as he moved to the living room and settled them on the couch. His arms tightened. "I won't let you go until you tell me what's going on here. He fingered Heero's bruised knuckles. "Why did you abuse yourself like this?"

"Not abuse." Heero's brow furrowed as he struggled to find the right words. Finally he said: "I was weak; I must be punished for my failure."

Weak? Punishment? Heero's words did nothing to allay Milliardo's fears. Gods, what horrible experience had put these ideas in Heero's head?

"Heero, what made you weak? Was it my touch?"

Heero stiffened. His head jerked once, convulsively. "I lost control. I did not know. I'm ... not used to...." Heero's jaw clenched; he was blinking rapidly and Milliardo could see that his lips were trembling. " I try to be strong, but there ... are many things I do not understand," he said slowly. "If only I could...." Suddenly Heero's shoulders drooped. He leaned forward bit by bit until his head touched Milliardo's chest. His voice was small -- and as lost and confused as a little boy's as he admitted, "I ... am tired."

Milliardo's heart broke. He kissed Heero's temple and hugged the awkward body in his arms even closer. "Shh, shh, I know, Heero. I know and it's okay."

"Rest a while. I won't let you go. "