Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Dawn ❯ Chapter 11 ( Chapter 11 )

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

Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own Gundam Wing or its bishounen, nor am I making any monetary profit from this fic whatsoever.

Pairings: 6x1, 13+5 ( possible 13x5 later), 3+4
General Warnings: AU ( the pilots are 18, Zechs and Treize are 23) yaoi, angst, sap, lemon
Archive: http://angelfire.com/gundam/asanctuary
Rating: NC 17


Warnings for this chapter: abounding angst


Feedback: craved ^_^



Beautiful Dawn 11/?
by: Michalyn



The driveway - a long, winding ribbon of smooth, bleached asphalt - unfurled in a woody avenue all the way up the gentle knoll, revealing at its summit the house, which lay nestled amidst shady trees and dappled sunlight. A sprawling, two-story structure, it was comfortably large, but not grandiose in scale. In the waning, lazy afternoon light, the large glass windows glowed the color of warm champagne, and the pale, creamy walls were a rich buttery hue. A gentle breeze stirred, bringing with it the fresh, sweet, scent of blossoms. All was pleasantly quiet, interrupted only by the occasional chatter of birds, and the crunch of their heels in the gravel as the two men walked up to the front door.

Heero glanced around while Zechs pulled out his keys and fiddled with the locks. Two large, potted fichus plants stood by the door, one on either side - patient glimmering green sentinels -greeting all who stepped over its threshold. Lower down, a porch swing with fluffy mint and cream cushions rocked gently in the breeze.

Why had the blonde brought him here?

Confused and wary, Heero turned to the older man. "What are we doing here?" he barked, breaking the tranquil, arboreal silence.

Instead of answering, the door swung open and Zechs stepped inside, - his backwards glance clearly communicating that he expected Heero to follow. Warily the brunette obeyed, shutting the door behind him, dropping his backpack and leaving his sneakers next to Zechs' much larger, leather, casual shoes. The sight of his dingy shoes and frayed laces next to the fine Italian leather embarrassed him, and Heero frowned, separating the two pairs- shoving his discreetly into the corner between the door and the wall before following Zechs into the living room.

The blonde was in the process of opening drapes and flicking on lights, revealing a tastefully decorated room with clean, masculine lines. Like the porch, soft mint and creamy hues abounded. Thick, soft carpeting covered the floor and interspersed on the walls were various pictures of Zechs: Zechs alone, Zechs with a slightly haughty- looking Treize, Zechs and a smiling Quatre, Zechs with a glowering Wufei, Zechs and a placid Trowa - and a few group pictures with them all.

One in particular, however, caught Heero's eye. Zechs was draped lovingly around a grinning boy with thick, chestnut hair and startlingly large, violet eyes. The boy's face would have been girlish- almost cherubic if not for the masculine jut of his chin and the glint in his eye that shimmered with mischievous, unspent, mirth. He saluted the camera - two slender fingers spread in a symbolic V. Beneath the photograph, in perfect, flowing script, was scrawled:

" Zechs and Duo, Summer of '99."

There were no others featuring the unknown boy, and Heero turned away - photograph soon forgotten in his absent exploration of the room.

He was acutely aware that despite the understated beauty and clean, simple lines, which characterized the blonde's choice of décor, that everything was clearly expensively bought - from the low coffee table scattered with books ranging from car manuals to literature classics - to the sturdy Victorian desk standing in the corner. Accompanying that knowledge was an acute discomfort - a distinct sense of not belonging in the present environment.

Immediately Heero wished to leave.

Purposefully he sought out the blonde, whom he found in the kitchen busily rummaging through cupboards.


"Milliardo," Heero called, tone clearly indicating that this time he would not be ignored. " I would like to leave."

Zechs paused - pasta box in hand- turning to regard the intense brunette. Behind him the white, gauzy curtains flapped like wings.

"What?" He strode towards Heero, standing very close to him. Azure gaze studied the dark youth.
"Is there somewhere you need to be?"

Surreptitiously, Heero stepped backwards, heat prickling his skin. He found the blonde's scrutiny, the warmth of his body - the nearness of that smooth, golden skin - disconcerting. He caught Zechs' faint masculine scent, and his nostrils flared subtly, savoring the warm fragrance. Inexplicably, he was reminded of Quatre and Trowa and the loving embraces shared between them that he had observed. His pulse quickened and Heero took another shaky step backwards.

"Yes," his voice was soft, absent before he steeled himself - cobalt gaze sharply focused on hammered silver-blue.

" I must get to work."


Zechs noticed the confusion and wariness swirling in the rich, navy depths, the sudden, curious discomfort the boy was trying desperately to conceal. The tenseness of the brunette's body, the occasional nervous clenching of his fingers and especially, the small steps backwards he kept on taking in an attempt to put to put distance between them, all spoke volumes. Zechs smiled, determined to have Heero stay.

Deliberately, Zechs stepped ever closer- so close that he could feel Heero's seductive body heat, could see the slight dilation of his pupils and the occasional nervous dart of his eyes towards the door as he struggled to maintain an unaffected front.

"Come now," he rumbled. " Don't tell me you must leave right away.What time does your shift begin?"

"Eight o' clock, but it is imperative that I--"

"Good!" the blonde smoothly interrupted. " Then we have time for dinner no? - And maybe even a shower if you so desire. Do you have your uniform with you?"

Heero nodded dumbly.

Zechs smiled engagingly. "Even better then. When we're done I'll drop you over there."

Heero finally found his voice: " That is really quite unnecessary - my meals are usually taken at home. I would prefer to leave immediately."

"Nonsense." Zechs declared, briskly steering the stubborn brunette towards one of the high-backed stools around the island central to the kitchen. " There is no point in depriving yourself of a meal for such a length of time. You will eat here."

Resignedly Heero sat, watching as the blonde pulled out a small pot and set the pasta to simmering with a dash of olive oil. The arrangement of the kitchen itself spoke of the regal blonde's love of - and his skill in - the culinary arts. There was no dining room per se - simply a set of stools around a main cooking block - so to speak - one of which Heero was seated on. The stovetop was directly opposite so that guests could directly observe the food as it was being prepared. It lent a warm, welcoming air - a sense of enjoyment and engagement between diner and chef. An abundant, fragrant, autumnal array of herbs and spices hung overhead, adding to the easy, natural cheerfulness of the room.

Fascinated, Heero watched as a seemingly bewildering array of ingredients were expertly transformed under Zechs skilful fingers into steaming angel-hair pasta topped with richly fragrant garlic shrimp, steeped in a delicate wine, tomato and basil sauce. A liberal sprinkling of Parmesan cheese completed the dish.

It was a far cry from bland, spartan meals he was accustomed to.

Again Heero was confronted with the disparity between their lifestyles. It was as if everything - from the tasteful furnishings to the ambrosial meal - reflected the blonde's sophistication- his undeniable charm - his exquisite, masculine beauty.

Conversely, Heero was acutely aware of his own dowdiness, his gaucheness - the utterly unremarkable quality of his features.

He simply did not belong here.

~~~



Zechs was disappointed by Heero's continued silence. He had hoped that the crisp white wine, and the flavorful meal would have relaxed the reticent youth and encouraged more of a warm camaraderie between them. The brunette however, remained brooding, silent- picking only half-heartedly at his food. His drink stood untouched.

Zechs' determination however, did not waver. He refused to be deterred from his purpose. He was tired of stony silences and tentative questions. He wanted to get to know Heero - wanted to be friend, confidante and lover - and truthfully, he was willing to wait patiently for the latter two - he was no fool; he knew Heero was skittish, that he nursed hidden scars. But how long would they continue like this: constantly remaining hidden from each other? Something had to give, and it was clear that it would be up to him to make the first move.

"Heero," he said gently.

"Why don't you go on up and take that shower? You're obviously not going to get through that pasta tonight."

Heero glanced up; thoroughly chagrined by the realization that he had indeed become so lost in his thoughts that he had barely touched the carefully prepared meal.

"No," his voice was gruff with determination."Throwing it away would be wasteful - I will eat it."

Zechs sighed, softly, inaudibly: everything was a battle with Heero. The somber brunette was now stubbornly devouring the contents of his plate, but in a fashion far from what the blonde had intended when he'd first prepared the meal. The point had been to enjoy it - to slowly savor it- to allow Heero a small indulgence in the sensual side he tried desperately to ignore - not to gobble it up out of guilt or obligation.

"Heero, stop." The deep, resonant voice was insistent, and there was a slight frustrated edge to it as well. Heero hesitated, unsure - he did not want to be wasteful, but to stubbornly insist on eating would be inhospitable.

A small, exasperated sound escaped Zechs' lips at the boy's reluctance.
" Heero, it's fine, really. Go on up - it's the third door on your right. I'll leave a change of clothes in the adjoining guestroom."

Nodding brusquely, the slender youth disappeared through the doorway, Zechs' azure gaze riveted on the lithe line of shoulders and slender hips.

Gathering up the dishes Zechs stacked them in the sink. Turning on the hot water, he set to washing.

Something told him that this was going to be a long night.




~~



The borrowed outfit was comfortable - if a tad too big- though it was obvious that it had been specifically chosen with his smaller frame in mind. Undoubtedly, the large blonde had not worn it in years. The large, cotton t-shirt was fine, but the drawstring pants hung in folds around his slender ankles.

Heero automatically accepted it as yet another confirmation of his inferiority to the blonde. The thought was accompanied by no pain- just simple, calm acceptance.


~~~

He found Zechs in the living room, comfortably seated in an overstuffed armchair and quietly reading. Soothing music wafted from the stereo. Heero found an unobtrusive spot on the opposite side of the room and he opened his own book - a textbook he had retrieved from his backpack in the hopes of studying (being in a new environment did not preclude studying, he stoically reasoned) and settled down to his own reading. In precisely an hour and fifty minutes he would change into his uniform and demand that Zechs take him to work.

Satisfied, he lost himself in the vagaries of computer technology

~~~


Heero's discrete movements, nevertheless, drew Zechs' attention - pulling him away from his tome.

He stared, transfixed at the sight before him.

Heero's thick dark hair was tousled and damp from his recent shower. The fresh, clean scent of his skin and the subtle herbal fragrance of Zechs' own shampoo, teased the blonde's nostrils, enticing him with their intoxicating scent. The pale blue t-shirt he had chosen, faithfully complemented the unique blue of Heero's eyes, rendering them darker by contrast - and ever more mysterious. Zechs' gaze shifted downwards to the gray sweatpants - to the drawstring cinched tight at the small, slender waist valiantly protecting the brunette's modesty. The blonde, swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry.

One tug of that tiny string and…

Heero shifted - impatiently, absently, brushing his hair out of his eyes - and the thin cotton blend clung lovingly to a lean muscular thigh. The cloth lay in folds about the boy's groin, but the brief movement had pulled the material taut for a moment, revealing, the smooth, sensuous curve of a firm, masculine buttock. Zechs almost groaned. The complete absence of any marring, elastic lines convinced him that the boy was indeed wearing no underwear. Zechs had had nothing that would fit him, and he hadn't thought that the boy had carried an extra pair - but still, the confirmation was a delicious, tantalizing knowledge that sent a rush of blood straight to his groin. He followed the line of thighs, knees and supple calves down to the small, slender feet peeking prettily beneath the too - long hem of the pants - deeply arched with long, perfect toes, they were surprisingly delicate. But then, Zechs mused; he should have expected that nothing about his dark beauty would be short of exquisite.

The insistent hammer of his pulse, and the frantic throb of his arousal intensified. It was his turn to shift in his seat - out of an entirely different type of discomfort.

Surely this was torture.

He struggled to regain his composure: He did not think that his endeavors to garner Heero's trust would be furthered by his looking up to discover the thick bulge presently tenting his jeans.

He breathed deeply, surreptitiously re-arranging himself to relieve some of the discomfort - and only through carefully avoiding the sight of the delectable youth mere feet from him was he able to rein in his wayward hormones.

What he needed was a decidedly, * non-sexual * distraction. He plunged into what he hoped was a thoroughly innocuous conversation:

"Heero, do you have any definite plans for after college? Anything you'd like to pursue?" Zechs made sure that his gaze remained riveted to Heero's face.

"Of course." The answer was prompt, succinct. Zechs contented himself with watching the play of light and shadow against Heero's cheekbones and soft, full lips as he spoke.

" I have many objectives to be fulfilled."

The single word snapped the blonde out of his trance-like state.

"Objectives?" he asked incredulously. "Heero, you make it sound like a military operation to be clinically executed. I'm talking about hopes - dreams… Don't you allow yourself even that?"

Heero paused, speechless, confused and inexplicably stung.

" I don't understand," he said, stiffly -carefully.The blonde was obviously upset. He was right - he had been a fool in allowing Zechs to drag him here. He should have known better than to be drawn into a situation that was obviously out of his depth. Not waiting for an answer, Heero gathered up his book, standing.

" It would be best if I left." He didn't even look up as he began to make his way towards the door." The borrowed garments will be returned to you, in their original, clean state tomorrow."

The only problem was that he had not calculated that to get to the door he had to get past a very formidable blonde. Zechs grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him roughly towards him. The book fell numbly from Heero's fingers.

"You little fool," he hissed, tantalized almost beyond bearing by the boy's nearness and frustrated by his stubborn resistance. Where do you think you're going?"
Heero stiffened, trying to pull away, but Zechs held on tight.
" You think I care about those damn clothes? You can have them for all I care. What is wrong with you?" he snarled " why can't you see that you're hurting yourself?"

Heero's eyes were huge, haunted - reflecting hurt and pain and the youth's utter confusion. Zechs stopped, immediately repentant. When he resumed, his voice was soft, gentle.

" Don't you ever get tired of this Heero? Don't you ever get tired of fighting?"

The brunette turned away from Zechs, desperate to conceal the emotions warring within him.
Instead, Zechs drew Heero's rigid, reluctant form into his lap, hugging him close. He only wanted to help - only wanted to take the pain away. He murmured soothingly against the dark head that refused to turn to face him, refused to acknowledge the tears shimmering in the dark, cobalt depths. Zechs persisted, tightening his embrace, even as Heero silently fought him. The brunette was obviously in pain - if only he would allow himself to be comforted.
" I will not hurt you. I promise." Zechs' deep voice was low, mesmerizing and rich with emotion. "Sweetheart you cannot keep doing this. I have seen the real you and it is not this - we both know it."

The tears hovered, threatening to fall, and Heero, stoically, valiantly fought them. He would not succumb to this weakness.

But Zechs was relentless - persistent.

"Surrender to your emotions Heero - allow them to truly prevail - if just this once. You have my word that I will not betray your trust."

"Just for this little while" he coaxed, " - Let. Go."


The combination of the gentle words and the loving embrace were Heero's undoing. Images flitted through his mind of his mother's death, of his own constant inner struggles with the grief - he only now tentatively admitted to it - over what he knew to be the inevitable death of the only father figure he knew, of Trowa and Quatre embracing in a second - story classroom, and finally of Zechs, in all of his golden, gentle virility.

In that moment he suddenly was so tired - tired of endless grief, tired of relentless responsibility, tired of being alone.

"Surrender…" Zechs had said.

And so he did, melting into the strong, sure warmth of the blonde's arms