Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Boxed Eden ❯ Shinkei ga Waretta Samui Yoru ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its characters. I can hear the rejoicing already. I also don't own this lovely song by Pierrot. Lastly, I make no money off of this, I lose money in fact, every hour I write fic instead of working.

Shinkei ga Waretta Samui Yoru
By Cyrelia J

kimi ga me wo tojiru tabini omoidasu no wa,
kitto minikui boku no sukao
mada na kanjou wa torimodosenai no nara
kioku wo kiyou ni kirei ni kakikaete

Surely everytime you close your eyes,
what you remerber will be my ugly true face.
If you can't take back those wasted emotions,
Skillfully, beautifully rewrite the memory.

Trowa lays back on the couch slowly running his finger along the metal edge of the can. He digs his finger hard into the metal edge of the opening, the skin refusing to break. Green eyes glance into the swirling, carbonated, darkness in frustration and he drops the offending cylinder to the floor. The sticky caramel concoction flows along the cracks of the worn finish. He leans forward, eyes fixed on the leg out in front of him resting on the coffee table. His head cocks to the side and with a pained hiss, he allows his slender fingers to trail the length of the bruise on his shin. The night before, he'd fallen over the very same second hand table. Thin lips frown at the too pale skin. surrounding the mark as fingers ghost over the worn hole in his jeans. His nerves almost don't react to the slightly painful pressure. Finally, his arms end up encasing his upper torso as if he's wearing a straightjacket. His eyelids slide to half-mast while he tilts his head to rest it upon a bony shoulder. A dirty finger rises to his mouth and insinuates itself inside. It doesn't taste like anything. He brings the newly wetted digit to his arm, rubbing the slick spit around a sliver of blood, newly dried. The new crust intermingles with the wet fluid, morphing into a dirty brown stickiness.

He runs fingers through his hair, jerking harder when they encounter a tangled mat on the side. With a growl of frustration he tears through the strands, breaking hair furiously watching dried semen flake to the ground in disgust. He stands up, shaking his head before stepping bare-footed over the broken glass of an old picture frame. He looks briefly down at the shredded photograph stained with blood and Pepsi where Duo Maxwell winks at him beneath veil of high fructose corn syrup; an arm slung over Heero Yuy's shoulder. Two months after the photograph was taken to commemorate Dekim Barton's defeat, Heero snapped that same appendage in two. The day the cast came off, Duo threw it, and himself out of the window. And a week after that, Trowa moved in. He and the now parapalegic Duo were no longer on speaking terms. Trowa blinks slowly and looks down again. The picture's gone. For a moment he sees sterile the white tiles and padded walls of a sanitarium. The room blurs and he shuts his eyes. He opens them and he's on the bathroom floor.

Trowa kneels by the side of the tub after pushing an empty pill bottle out of the way of his reaching hand. He smacks his wrist, a habit he developed to break himself of other semi-conscious muscle spasms that would've been a liability with HeavyArms' hair trigger.. His hand turns the knob, watching the water flow out of the spigot, brown at first from the rusted pipes, and reluctantly slip through the few unclogged holes of the drain. It always seem to take hours for the clear, liquid to emerge. The water slowly fills the white porcelain and the door opens as it reaches the halfway mark. He ignores the sound and instead lets his dirty fingers stream through the less murky water with a soft sigh.

"The water bill last month was ten dollars higher than the month before." Heero stands next to him eyes looking at the grout in between the tiles on the wall. Trowa nearly jumps at the close proximity of the monotone statement not having heard hear the footfalls of sneakered feet entering the bathroom. His brain slowly makes the transition from english thought to accommodate Heero's preference for his own native language; or as Duo used to call it "Jap Yap". Trowa smiles a little; the quirk of his lips obscured beneath the long bang. The stream of urine hitting the water in the bowl plays counterpoint to the tub filling as Heero lazily empties his bladder behind the green eyed boy.

"Maybe if you didn't piss so much we'd save a few bucks on toilet water." Heero's hand falls to his matted hair, stroking absently as he pisses.

"Yeah." his grip tightens and dirty fingernails scrape over the uneven lumps of Trowa's scalp. He feels almost as if he's about to be dragged back to hell. "Next time I'll use your mouth. It's filthy enough already." Trowa reaches under the tap.

"Promises promises," he murmurs softly. For a moment he doesn't feel the water running over his hand. Heero, with a disdainful glare, flushes the toilet, looking satisfied when the kneeling figure withdraws his hand from the now scalding water to turn the flow off. He can already hear the water begin to bubble down the broken drain.

Trowa lifts himself slightly, hands precariously balanced on the edge of the tub. Heero's hand trails down to his neck, his other one skillfully maneuvering his prick back inside his spandex. He doesn't wash his hands. What are you waiting for? Trowa's eyes don't blink at the wavering image on the water. "Duo would sometimes put his head under the water for what seemed like hours. He'd hold his breath. Said it made him feel like he was being baptized." Trowa's fingers grip the edge of the porcelain tub harder as the grip on his neck tightens in kind. "It was a different kinda ecstacy. It didn't get his dick all hard like it does yours."

"I'm not Duo."

"You should be." Trowa tenses, his shoulders bunching uncomfortably. "If I loved you, Heero... I'd be really fucking angry." Green eyes flicker in the tepid water.

"You would if I fucked you hard enough."

"You don't know how to fuck. That's why Duo cheated on you in the first place." His teeth break the inside of his mouth when Heero's nails break his skin. He can feel every microbe crawling inside the broken skin from the dirt beneath Heero's fingernails. His blood burns with every phage attaching injecting its DNA into the helpless cells. Even down to his arm it feels like an IV needle, every pulse becoming a regulated beeping in his head. "You don't know anything."

Trowa squirms uncomfortably away from the grip. When he speaks the beeping stops. "Fine. You know how to fuck, but you don't know how to make love." Heero's sneaker prods him in the back. "Make love? I left Relena because I like men. What are you a woman?" Trowa can feel the rush of blood beneath his skin to and from the temporary depression. He shivers.

"Besides, why would I want to waste my emotions on you?" He steps back looking thoughtful for a moment. Trowa stands.

"You don't have any emotions." Heero smiles. "I like you Barton. Sexy and at the same time completely stupid." Trowa brushes himself off absently.

"Duo too smart for you Yuy?" Heero steps forward looking contemplativefor a few moments. "What would you do... if I came home and I wanted to fuck you."

Trowa rolls his eyes. "Let you. Like I do every day." Heero smacks him and then looks at his palm curiously. He shrugs. Trowa doesn't bother soothing his cheek.

"Why would you let me?" Trowa doesn't answer him. "Aren't you a soldier Barton?" Trowa sits down, his back facing the water in the tub. "A soldier fights. Always. No matter what." His face draws into this hideous sneer. He looks like a monster out of an old film. "And a soldier... doesn't fuck... if he doesn't want to fuck."

"I thought you said this morning that I was a whore." Heero stands in front of him, barely lowering his eyes. A hand to the chest sends Trowa falling backwards into the cold pool. "Not a whore," he muses while Trowa makes no move to pull himself up. His eyes fall to Heero's crotch, Heero's penis having no such reluctance to erect itself. "You're just so helpless aren't you?" Trowa glares and splashes him as he turns to leave.

yasashii uta wo kikitagatteita ne,
imada ni dekinai koto dakeredo

You wanted to hear a gentle song,
though even now you won't.

He slides back into the water breathing deeply. Opening his eyes, he peers through the wavering liquid and feels the particles sweeping arcoss the surface of his eye balls. The ceiling looks pure white. He makes a move to leave the tub, but his arms are immobile. He looks down and sees leather straps around his wrists and an IV in his arm. He blinks. The water and the bathtub are gone. Trowa closes his eyes and counts backwards as if he were preapring to receive anethesia. The room reeks of urine. He licks his lips and feels the familiar pull back into a different consciousness. When his eyes force themselves open, he's dripping water onto the mildewed tiles of the bathroom he never left. Trowa smiles, his vision embracing the familiar environment. Feeling parched lips with an almost equally dry tongue, he runs them along the puddle along the ground kissing the floor. There's no needle hole in his arm. The young man sits up and sees his dry clothes on the top of the toilet bowl. He blinks a few times then realizes he's still wearing them. Trowa stands and takes them off. There's no water in the tub. The spigot has the appearance of being long broken. He takes a towel from the bar and begins to dry his boy off and kicks the wet clothes into the corner.

Drying his hair, Trowa sits back on the lid of the toilet. He sets the towel down and halfheartedly wipes the tub out. He doesn't press hard enough to soak up the lingering moisture at the bottom., his mind not questioning the conflicting circumstances. Briefly, he stares at himself in the mirror, pushing the corners of his mouth into a smile. "Pierrot..." He laughs softly at action. Tossing the towel in the hamper, Trowa walks past Heero sprawled out on the bed. His clothes are hanging on the towel bar to dry. He doesn't bother covering his nakedness.

"That's disgusting." A green eye rolls to give a sidelong glance. The towel is on the hamper lid. Trowa opens it and puts the damp cloth inside. "Put your clothes on already, I hate having to always look at your body." Heero's own naked form, is carelessly stretched out, arms behind his head, his cock lazing in a state of semi arousal. "I lost my fucking erection because of you."
"Still so sure you're gay Heero?" The young man yawns closing his eyes slightly not answering the question.

"On second thought... don't get dressed. I'll just close my eyes." Trowa turns around, looking at the prone form and sighs. "I might want to fuck you later," Heero adds. "I just took a bath Heero." His answer is met with a snort.

"Why do you think I waited? It's bad enough when I can smell you." He motions for him to come over, but Trowa stays put. "It took you five minutes and forty seven seconds in there starting from when I left. Yesterday, it was five minute and thirty three seconds." Trowa doesn't look at him but stares at the wall.

"I'm not an exponential growth model."

"Linear."

"Whatever."

"Just shower next time."

"I pay the bills too Heero." He looks down and realizes he's sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'll take my fucking time." Long, slightly calloused fingers encircle Heero's cock with the precision and passion of a surgeon.

Trowa backs away as Heero's limbs jerk violently in response, his hand the only lingering appendage. "I thought you said J taught you how to control your... urges." Heero looks like an insect, twitching as if stepped upon by a large boot. For a moment his limbs look like the tentacles of a great octopus and then like the thick wires of some great machine. The walls flicker white again to Trowa's gaze. His hand evenly strokes Heero's shaft, a counterpoint to his dispassionate voice.

"F-fuck J-j..." Heero breathes in desperate response. That would explain a lot.

"Do you have to jerk around like that? You look like you're having a seizure." Heero gives him the finger. Trowa looks down at the undulating cockin front of him. It writhes like an anaconda. Trowa moves his wrist, afraid for a moment it might intertwine itself around him. He wipes some of the slime off on the beadspread. "I'm not putting it in my mouth." Heero cracks an eye open in annoyance.

"Yessss... you will." there's a brief sweep of Trowa's eyes upwards as his hand continues working. His thumb circles the head, nail lightly toying with the weeping slit.

"What makes you think that?" he murmurs watching the clock on the wall as his hand glides over the rapidly reslicking surface. With a groan Heero sits back up on his elbows, hips jerking without thought. His breathing is heavy and he swallows before speaking. "'C-cause you... llllove it." A visible eye narrows and the grip on Heero's cock tightens. More of that viscous mucus expels itself. "That's... better..." Heero's lips twist into a grotesque look of rapture, his cock twitching in Trowa's hand. The swollen pink head blushes angry purple, slick and shiny under the rough ministrations pulsating like a slimy mushroom. Trowa looks past him seeing an animated caterpillar on a similar fungus; the window having become the screen of a large television set. The character exhales smoke rings from a pipe before the appliance turns off again.

Trowa smells smoke as he leans forward letting go; wiping his hand off on the unwashed sheets once more. He doesn't look at Heero nor does he close his eyes as his mouth opens, engulfing the obscenely bobbing prick. He sucks hard, his teeth scraping and biting as if he were devouring the last essence of his life. Heero moans. The slickness sliding through his lips permeates the small air of silence around his performance with messy slurping noises. Trowa gags and reflexively bites hard. He feels the thing lodge in his throat and the taste of blood running over his lips. He pulls back quickly and sees instead a spattering of semen. He licks his lips and tastes no blood. Regarding Heero coldly, he moves and grips the base of the shaft hard. The cock is still moving after the first expulsion of fliud; still hard. "You're not coming in my mouth." Heero manages a look of boredom.

"Yes. I will." His voice is cold, his cock hot and pulsing as Trowa's face hovers above it. He glances up looking at Heero defiantly. "I'll come in your mouth or all over your face. Hurry it up."

"I..."

"Don't you want to taste it." Trowa feels nauseous. He glances at the first glutinous coating. His hand feels as if sulphuric acid is eating through his skin. "Not really. I think I might throw up."

Heero rolls his eyes and lays back. "You know what'll happen if you do; like getting beaten on and off the battlefield eh? Hurry it up."
"Careful Yuy, I might start liking it." He frowns, wiping his hand off compulsively for a third time. There's more semen on Heero's cock than there was before. "Even if you don't beat me. I still don't..." The protest dies.

"You need it Barton." Heero answers him with annoyance, shutting his eyes once more. He comes noiselessly for a second time and green eyes watch as the hot semen trickles down onto his hand. Without looking up at Heero, he bows his head and licks it off. He puts a hand over his mouth to temporarily stifle the nauseous urges. "All of it." For a split second the fliud tastes like a dissolving lithium pill.

mujou ni kizamu toki no naka de mata hitorikiri ni natte
tsutawari moshi nai kotobabakari
muimi ni koborete

In time passed cruelly by I became utterly alone.
Only these words that I can't say,
meaninglessly spill out.

The bitter medicine lingers in his throat. He realizes he's laying down. The hair of Heero's leg rubs against him painfully. Trowa stands after awhile, ignoring the slitted eyes of the figure still laying prone on the bed. He takes a few shuddering intakes of miasmic oxygen, his lungs burning with the effort to breathe. It's not the good suffocation. It's not the contracting of his lungs, bringing him off in the darkness; that wonderful moment when he feels himself hovering on the verge of non existence. This is heat. It's hot. It's too hot. "It's... it's too hot in here Heero." The sweaty figure ignores him rolling on his side. Trowa stares at his ass for a while curious at the slight lack of symmetry. "Heero..." he walks to the window and then allows his cheek to press the cool glass. His breath stains the crisp surface and his finger traces a pattern on the temporary mar. "I..." Heero sits up eyes darkening.

"Get away from there." Trowa smiles at Heero's anger. He can almost see the heat swirling around him being sucked into his body. Trowa feels cooler when he sees Heero's sweaty form dirtying the linens further.

"Heero..." He takes a deep breath, inhaling the condensation, the humidity barely touched by his vicinity to the cooling surface. "Heeee... roooo."

Heero turns but makes no move to leave the bed. "Trowa." No questioning. Silent and calculating. Commanding. Trowa watches Heero's legs. His eyes stare at the black hair which stops short of his upper thighs, no gradual shift to smooth skin, but an abrupt halt just above the knee. It's unnerving how he looks to be suspended somewhere between prehistoric man and cheap transvestite. Heero's eyelashes are too long when they blink. The hair on his legs is too coarse. Trowa refocuses his irritation. "I want..."

"No. " He lays back down when Trowa pushes himself from the now room temperature glass. Trowa notices there isn't any hair on his arms. He waits a while to see if Heero will lift his arm. He doesn't recall there being hair there either. Trowa's naked behind presses to the glass and he licks his lips, wriggling against it. It's almost like wearing a hospital gown; the cool touching only his rear.

"I... I want it Heero." There isn't an answer and Trowa glances back idly his fingers tracing the peeling paint of the windowsill. The once ivory white paint flakes off onto the scratched wooden floor. Long dirty fingertips crawl up the dusty surface, dropping more lead based poison. "I'll beg you." His head crooks, his body sliding over, grating against the scraping vinyl wallpaper. He looks at Heero's feet. They're perfectly shaped. He looks up. Heero's fingernails are perfectly trimmed. He almost desires him until his eyes fall back to those legs, disgusted. He doesn't look away from the black hair running over a calf muscle. It isn't even consistent. He speaks to the hairy tibula, the distain creeping into his voice. "You like that don't you? When I beg you?" He sinks down, forcing his eyes back to Heero's long elegant toes. "On my knees like that." He smiles. It's almost inviting until he sees those legs again. He hates those legs.

Suddenly, Trowa looks like he's in pain.

"Don't say it." A warning that he ignores. Trowa exhales sharply in frustration ,standing up and turning around. He can't stop thinking about the fucking dark hairs Heero's legs, wishing he could rip out every one of them.

"Fuck you Heero." His hands reach up, bitten fingernails picking at a latch, hastily painted over after Duo's "accident". His arms push at the window throwing his body weight into moving hindrance. He smells the fresh air before he hears the other young man. He hears the smack of his wrist against the wall before he feels the lancing burn up his arm. He feels the hot sticky breath on his face before he sees Heero's eyes.

"I said no Trowa." He twists away, back to the wall. His eyes are forced to Heero's face. Heero blinks and his eyelashes seem to Trowa like great flytraps.

"I'm suffocating in here." He looks away not wanting to be caught in the act of disturbing that meager lock on the window.

"Then go outside already. You're annoying me."

"I was."

"I know you were." Trowa frowns, clarifying. "Going outside, Yuy. Pissing you off is a given."

"Use the door."

"I prefer the window.

Heero's lips purse into a white line. Trowa thinks of a rubber band he saw on the kitchen counter the other day. "Don't do this Trowa."

"Why not? I whore myself like him... shouldn't I be like him in every way? Wanna break my arm too?" Trowa manages a tight grin as Heero throws him against the wall, his eyes fixed on Heero's perfectly smooth face, and wishes the bastard would either grow a beard or wax his legs. Heero's visage almost blurs into that of a domineering nurse. For an instant there's a perfectly straight cap on his head. He looks liks a beautiful woman. Trowa is seized by an insane urge to kiss her. He licks his lips then smells the antiseptic mouthwash of Heero's breath. "Hit a nerve?" The voice breaks his trance and he ducks as Heero's fist hits the wall. The debris on the inside clatters to the ground beneath them, the tenant below resonding with a faint rapping. A roach crawls from the hole and across the floor in response to the duel assault. Heero steps on it barefoot, the delicate arch of the it coming away sticky and dirty. He lets go of Trowa, eying the mess on the sole of his foot. Trowa's gaze strays to it, his eyes flickering with annoyance.

"Don't call him that. Ever." He doesn't look at Trowa, instead, going to the bathroom to clean the mess. Trowa swears he hears a voice telling him the spigot's broken before the sound of running water, the tinkling against the porcleain, giggles at him. Trowa stays leaning against the wall, watching as another roach skitters underneath the bed.

"You said that yourself." He picks at the dirt beneath his fingernails, tasting it. Dried semen. "Before you shattered his arm."

"He healed. I forgave him."

"He didn't forgive you."

"So?"

naze nakanai de ita no konna hidoi yoru
taekirenai hodo kimi wa kizutsuiteita hazude
naze damatte ita no konna samui yoru
mada nari tomanai yo shinkei no wareta oto ga

Why weren't you crying on such a terrible night,
eventhough I've hurt you more than you should be able to handle ?
Why were you silent on such a cold night ?
The sound of you nerve's rending won't stop ringing.

Trowa doesn't say anything as he walks to the closet and starts getting dressed.

"I should have known." Heero grins and stays silent. It makes him look like a circus chimp. "See Barton, use your brain once in awhile and even you can figure things out." Trowa puts his right leg and then left into the faded jeans. He goes for the zipper and realizes he's wearing a hospital gown. A breeze blows on his back. He moves to retie the thin cotton when he notices the dark hairs sticking out from the unzipped denim. His hands fall and he carefully pulls up the zipper. Green eyes shut and his shakes his head out.

"You don't pay me to think."

"Who says you're getting paid?" A slight pressure into the side of Heero's head makes him turn slightly.

"You're lazy, you're dirty, and frankly I'm getting sick of your attitude." Blue eyes glint briefly with color. Trowa sees his eyes are mirrored in the perfectly polished steel in front of him. "This says I'm getting paid, Yuy," remarks the hand holding the weapon. Heero kisses the cold barrel and pulls the gun from Trowa's grip. His other hand graps a cold, bony wrist. There's no sound when the gun hits the floor. There's a reign of silence until the next storm.

"I wanna fuck you." The hand is snatched back and reaches into the pocket for a cigarette.

"Piss on you." Heero grabs him and kisses him hard. Trowa lets him. Their teeth clink together with a painful awkwardness.

"Kinky bastard." Trowa mutters, raising a hand to wipe off his mouth. "I wasn't kidding about the money."

"I know."

"And?"

"You'll get your money like always. Just stop your bitching. I'm on a fucking pension."

"How much can you get even? Doesn't the colony disability offset it? And besides, I heard from Duo you don't even have a citizenship card." He snickers. "J's little pet doesn't even exist."

"J's 'little pet' has friends in high planes."

"Relena? God don't tell me you fucked her?..."

"No." He reaches for Trowa again.

"Don't touch me."

A fingertip barely pressed to a cold, clammy forehead. "What are you gonna do about it?" Trowa looks down and away.

"Just... get me a light." Heero shrugs and walks to the wobbling bureau. The top-drawer sticks and he yanks it out violently, letting it drop to the floor. Trowa sees it as a box filled with sedatives and needles and kicks at it panicked. Looking again, he sees it never moved. Heero shakes, in front of him, taking a deep breath before throwing an offensive picture frame across the floor. He picks up a packet of matches and tosses it to the figure behind disdainful green eyes. Trowa catches it easily, lighting up the crinkled white cylinder. Heero unbuttons his jeans.

"Take a long smoke. I like it when you taste dirty."Trowa inhales deeply but doesn't taste anything except for the bacteria resulting from a long fast.

"Make up your mind. You were just saying..."

"Remember what the doctors said."

"Yeah. Post traumatic stress syndrome and a stick up your ass."

"I think you do like it when I beat you. It's the only time you ever get hard."

"Fuck you," he answers automatically. Something burns warm inside his chest. Heero doesn't look up as he kicks the stained clothing into a pile in the corner.

"Never." Heero walks back to the bed. "Hurry it up." Trowa doesn't smile. He looks at the floor again. "The stick makes me impatient," the asian mutters darkly when Trowa makes no move to obey. Holding the cigarette between his teeth, Trowa removes his pants letting the ash drop to the floor.

"I'll drop it and I'll start a fire."

"You know we don't allow smoking in here Mister Barton." Heero takes the cigarette from him. Trowa looks down and sees white cleaving staring him in the face. His right hand reaches out, brushing the soft breast. His eyes refocus with a stinging burn on his hand. He looks and sees the cigarette ashes falling onto it. He lets it drop and realizes Heero hasn't moved from the bed.

"What did you say?" Trowa asks him painfully.

"I said burn it. I hate this place." Long fingers move to massage his temples. The cigarette is still in his hand.

"Did you used to love it when?..."

"When it was clean yeah. Then Duo left and you moved in."

With a sigh, Trowa walks over to the bed. He puts the cigarette out on Heero's stomach. His eyes drink in the tense interplay of taut muscles tightening further. He wishes he'd put it out on Heero's leg. He doesn't look at Heero's cock but instead at the smoldering burn. Both young men smell the singed flesh. "Still hard?" He blows smoke in Heero's face and the ex soldier inhales it with a slight lick of his parched lips.

"Harder." Heero's expression doesn't shift in the slightest as he answers and Trowa cracks a smile. He sits on the edge of the bed picking at a scab on his wrist. Heero grabs it, giving a tug. Trowa barely winces at the popping of his shoulder even as it curves unnaturally. Heero stares at it not noticing the blood on Trowa's arm from the ripped scab. Trowa feels the warm trickle on his skin and watches for along while until the blood disappears.

"Come here." Heero's fingers dig into the soft flesh.

"Make me." He moves anyway, feeling his shoulder start to separate further. Heero's hand feels like a leather strap around him and he twists instincitvely against his coincidentally jarring the popped shoulder back into its socket The japanese pilot sits up and puts his arms around the other young man's slender waist, arms tightening like a belt.

"Don't try to be like him Barton. You'll never be like him."

"Shuttup Yuy."

"You don't have his spirit."

"I don't want to be like him." He stiffens when Heero's presses cold lips to his shoulder blade. It feelt like a stethoscope.

"Yes you do."

"No. I don't." Heero bites him and he shivers.

"Why not?" A calloused hand strokes his flaccid cock. Trowa yawns.

"I don't want you to love me."

"You're getting to be like him." A brown eyebrow raises, and a head turns to look at Heero. Trowa starts to open his mouth.

"Call him a whore again and see what happens." Trowa looks away, jaw snapping shut. "Good. You talk too much anyway. Kiss me already." He doesn't wait for an answer, joining their mouths in another violent clash of teeth and bleeding gums. Trowa closes his eyes to avoid the unpleasant look on Heero's face. He looks like a hulking orderly with eyes screwed tightly shut as if he's being tortured. A white starched shirt buttons up to his neck. Rigid arms relax around Trowa and he opens an eye, untensing when Heero's look relaxes as he becomes more involved with the act and less with Trowa himself. The starched cloth turns back into dry skin. A tongue pokes his lips and he opens his mouth. The metallic taste of the blood makes him want to gag. He holds his breath, pulling Heero's hand away from his waist. His head pounds with the pressure of denying the oxygen to his lungs and the lingering memory in his olfactory nerves of tobacco and blood make him sick. He pushes Heero away. Heero looks annoyed and Trowa vomits on the floor in response. He goes to wipe his mouth off on the sheet when Heero throws him to the bed and kisses him even harder.

yasashii uta wo kikitagatteita ne,
itsuka wa dekiru koto datoshite mo

You wanted to hear a gentle song,
even if you could someday.

Trowa frowns when Heero lets up. "You're disgusting. Are you finished yet?"

"Keep dreaming. I haven't even started." He shuts his eyes when Heero tries to stroke him again.

"Don't try and make it hard, I don't like that."

"You don't like it anyway."

"Maybe if I make it bad enough for you, you won't bother trying." He gags at the greasy fingers covering his mouth.

"You never talked so much during the war." Trowa turns his head to the side, annoyed, speaking when the hand falls away.

"Don't talk to me and I won't talk back."

"Hn." Heero gives his balls a painful tug and he lets out a hiss. "There it goes," his nasal monotone notes with satisfaction. The limpness between Trowa's legs gives a perfunctory twitch and he sighs.

"Fine. Hurry it up, the news is on."

"It wouldn't take so long if you didn't bitch at me constantly." He smacks the pallid flesh of Trowa's thigh and it jumps once more, independent of its owner.

"Don't hit me."

"Stop me next time." Trowa sit up, shoving Heero off the bed. Once again, Heero appears almost a great whaling figure, his features twisted into a neanderthal mask. A rough hand paws at his chest and he slaps it away.

"Don't like it yourself do ya? " Trowa's panicked eyes fixate on the mask. He claws at the stubbled chin screaming. The rents in the mask drip out blood until he sees Heero's face again. He sits up and goes to run out the door. Heero stands dead still seeming to know that Trowa can't move his legs. They're clamped but he sees no hands. Invisible hands force him to his knees. The backdrop blurs once more before him, in a moment of crystal clarity, the walls are pure and white. He sees the white light and thinks he's dying. There are rough hands at skin, ripping it off and he watches a tattered hospital gown fall to the floor. It writhes like a snake and he looks at Heero still in front of him.

"Heero... what am I?... help me?..." Heero appears disaffected.

"Help yourself." Trowa shuts his eyes tightly. "What fun are ya if ya don't fight?" He opens his eyes after hearing the gravelly voice. For a moment he sees Heero leaving out the door when he feels a familiar scar scrape his ass. His eyes train on the stained bedding. He hears a door lock.

Trowa feels another scrape, this time coarse hair rubbing his calf. He jerks away from it disgusted, cock going soft. The walls are back to normal.

"When you're finished, I need a roll of quarters for laundry." The detached "normalcy" of the statement relaxes him. Heero grabs his neck and shoves his face into the matress. Trowa smiles taking a deep non breath causing a renewal of the reluctant erection. Heero's free finger taps his flank irritated. After a moment he spits into his palm. Trowa's cock hardens against his stomach getting wet with every suffocating second. The spots before his eyes make a purr escape his throat. Heero shoves into him with a grunt and Trowa blinks, eyelashes scraping the dingy sheet, remembering a belated cry. Heero releases his neck but he doesn't turn his head away from the hot fabric surrounding his face. He doesn't breath, heart thudding harder with each denied breath.

His palms are flat against the bedbut he just grips the sheets pushesing his face in harder. The mattress moves beneath him. He can't feel his knees on the surface. He moves his hand, realizing it's holding a pillow to his face. The slime from Heero's cock rubs him unpleasantly. His eyes see rainbows in the darkness. There's white noise until a stifled moan into the pillow and he feels the rainbows slipping away into blackness. He goes to pull it closer, hands still flat on the mattress.

He blacks out, back hitting the floor as his breath runs out. He leaves his eyes shut as his body forces an intake of unwanted oxygen. The cold tiles freeze his back. He feels an IV digging into his arm, jarred from the impact. He goes to pull the cord but grabs at air. Eyes still closed, his hands brush a splinter from the wooden floor. He pulls it out, smelling fresh blood on his fingers. Drying semen feels cold on his stomach. A sharp toenail nudges him.

"If you're going to do the laundry, they close in an hour." Trowa opens an eye. He stares awhile at Heero's leg.

"I'll do it tomorrow."

"You're getting lazy." Heero walks to the bathroom to perform an expedient cleaning. Trowa sits up, legs out in front of him, stretching the muscles.

"Like Duo?" A kick to his back stretches his hamstrings when his upper body is thrown painfully forward.

"Stop talking about him. You weren't even here and you didn't know him." Trowa gets up, passing the young man now at height with him.

"Fine. Did he keep the house clean?"

"It was perfect when he was here." Trowa goes into the bathroom and runs the water. It comes out rusted and yellows the tub. He scoops a slight handful and tastes it. It's still cold, but there's not hint of metal. He lets the small pittance drop back into the tub, looking again, seeing clear steaming water. Trowa soaps up a threadbare rag. It feels soft in his hand and he realizes it's a sponge. There's a basin on the table next to him.

"So perfect, Perfect Soldier that he left your perfect little world." Heero passes into the room half dressed.

"You're not perfect Mister Barton." The little nurse's cap is on his head again.

"I don't want to be." He steps out putting his clothes back on. The cap's off Heero's head. "That's your hang up Heero." With a faint look of disgust, he walks into the living room. He sits down on a well-worn couch cushion. There's an old man in a robe next to him watching the television. "Hey there Chief," he whispers softly. The man hands him a piece of fruit from the table looking sympathetic. Trowa takes it and turns back to the television; the food turning his stomach. There's a gameshow on. He turns to thank the man but no one's there. He then looks and sees the telephone in his hand.

katachi no kaeru tsuki no shita de mata hitorikiri ni natte
todoku wake mo nai kotobabakari
muimi ni koborete

Under the moon changing phases I became utterly alone.
Only the words that never reached you,
meaninglessly spill out.

"Your turn to cook dinner tonight." Heero's voice breaks through the silence. The television is off when he looks again. Trowa doesn't look up.

"No. It's not." He holds the receiver between his ear and shouder, finger absently pushing the buttons. His brows knit together in annoyance when the buttons stick.

"That better be takeout."

"It's the fucking cavalry."

"Fine, tell them to bring something to eat."

Trowa listens to a few rings. "It's not my turn."

"Hello?" The woman's voice relaxes him like the tempting nicotine on the table never could.

"It's me." Heero stalks back into the half kitchen violently ripping the drawer out. Various metals clink to the ground, most of them rusted or soiled.

"Dammit, Trowa you didn't even wash the fucking dishes!"

"Is every thing alright Trowa? I can call you later if this is a bad time." Heero throws a dish at him, precision aim deliberately hitting the wall to hit left. Trowa picks a piece of cheap plastic out of his hair.

"What makes you say that?" He shifts the receiver to his other ear and doesn't bother covering the mouthpiece. "I'm not your fucking maid Yuy!" His voice raises slightly. He looks to Heero and for a moment sees a man in sweatpants overturning a card table. He hears shouting in the backgroud. "So Cathy, I hear you've gone and got yourself..."

"Trowa!" He ducks a frying pan and then moves it out from where it landed behind his back.

"You dropped something Heero." The teflon dream drops to the ground.

"I'm the one paying the fucking phone bill Trowa get off the phone and clean this up!" Three orderlies wrestle Heero to the floor and Trowa chuckles softly into an overly ripe banana.

He puts his feet up on the coffee table. "Calm down Yuy." He reaches for the remote, shifting the receiver again. A "Dole" label brushes his lips. He pulls it off. It's black and reads "AT&T". He drops it on the floor. "So who's the father?" There's a derisive snort from the other end and a sound like a door slamming shut.

"Does it matter?" Trowa flips through the channels, not watching the screen or the figure blocking the light from it. Heero's there.

"You gotta put something on the birth certificate Cathy." He sets the remote down, hearing the loud background noise of a game show drowning out the man above him. It's the same one that was on before. Heero's mouth moves and Trowa's eyes spare a glance up at him.

"Tell him what he's won Johnny!" Heero seems to yell. Trowa smiles at him.

"Put me as the father." There's silence on the line.

"Well Dick, it looks like our newlyweds are about to be spirited away to the beautiful Caribbean courtesy of Sun Tours!" Heero leans in further, grabbing for the phone, forcing Trowa to the other end of the dirty cushion. He grabs Trowa's arm, well bitten fingernails digging into the pale, scarred, flesh. "And for our runners up, we have some lovely consolation prizes so they won't be going home empty handed!" Heero screams from above him. Catherine's soft voice on the phone plays counterpoint.

"Trowa... I... that... look can we talk about something else? I'm worried about you."

Trowa smacks Heero in the face when he feels another hand around the cold plastic of the receiver.

"I fucked you didn't I?" He brings a knee up for Heero's second attempt. There's a cacophony of applause from the studio audience.

"It's not a healthy environment for you Trowa..."

"Miss me fucking you Cathy?" His head snaps when the phone is rammed into his ear. He pushes at Heero who's fully on top of him, both sets of hands now grabbing the phone.

"Thank you for playing The All Star Newlywed Game!"

"Trowa I don't think you should stay there anymore..." His muscles are strained, and his lip curls in disgust at the feel of Heero's sweat rubbing onto him.

"Is the baby mine Cathy?" There's silence once more on the line for a period, and the shows goes to a commercial. Heero's face twists above him into a hideous grimace, and it occurs to him that at times both Heero's heads, all purple and veiny and slimy, rather resemble one another. He looks like an orderly again/ Trowa feels himself being pulled away. Heero shouts again, his breath reeking of tobacco "Mister Clean gets rid of dirt and grime and grease in just a minute!"

"Get some help Trowa... please."

"Tell me you love me, Cathy," he begs like a child. "No." She hangs up and Trowa lets go of the phone, sending Heero backwards. The banana falls and is trampled in a continuing struggle for dominance. He stares at the floor only turning when Heero shoves him of the couch and onto the sticky Pepsi puddle. He blinks and rubs his eyes. He stares at Heero's legs and watches the black hairs displance themselves and line up in perfect rows. The floor feels soft all of a sudden. He blinks at the double vision and the swirling asian faces sing in Heero's heavily accented english, "Misuta Crean is stronga ronga cause zere's arutra powa in it!"

Heero turns towards the television and stalks over, pulling the plug. The room is driven back into maddening silence. The displaced receiver beeps. Trowa turns towards the telephone and still on his knees, rips the cord from the wall. The same silence encroaches upon the room. Both of them look at each other and smile. "You're gonna make my fucking dinner now aren't you?" Trowa gets up and goes to the sink to clean himself. His feet sink into the floor's padding. He doesn't turn back to Heero.

"Don't I always."

naze nakanai de ita no konna hidoi yoru
taekirenai hodo kimi wa kizutsuiteita hazude
naze damatte ita no konna samui yoru
mada nari tomanai yo shinkei no wareta oto ga

Why weren't you crying on such a terrible night,
eventhough I've hurt you more than you should be able to handle ?
Why were you silent on such a cold night ?
The sound of your nerve's rending won't stop ringing.

"You'll never recover Mister Barton, unless you admit you have a problem." He looks across at the doctor and rubs his eyes.

"Really, I'm fine. I… I don't belong here." He stands up an then falls, catching himself on the countertop. Heero raises a glass to him taking a long drink of some bitter home brew.

"Here's to independence."

"Don't patronize me you bastard." He takes a plate from the microwave and slams it down on the table. A small cup of pudding rolls off and onto the floor. The lunchroom falls silent.

"One of these days, I'm leaving here!" There's a raucous of applause.

"I don't believe you." Trowa walks to the bedroom and starts filling a canvas bag.

"Wasn't it you? That said I could leave whenever I wanted." He picks through a pile of worn and faded garments. The air is stagnant around him. Heero looks at him from the doorway.

"Yeah you'll get real far." He leans against the frame. "You're like fucking art Trowa. You paint yourself like this grand portrait of noble suffering and just like those worthless scrap sculptures that Duo always tried to peddle, it just boils down to costing me money and not being worth the junk you're glued from."

"And you wonder why he left you. You don't understand a damn thing." He picks the bag up looking at Heero. "Get out of my way."

"There's still a matter of paperwork Mister Barton." Trowa spits in his face and shoves past him.

"Tell the higher ups I'm cured." Heero grabs his arm forcing him around. "Kiss me."

"What?"

"I want-" He looks about to smile but seems to think better of it. His dry lips press to Trowa's while he takes a few moments to ram his tongue painfully down the other's throat. The brown haired Trowa pulls back and makes to wipe his lips clean. "Don't. I want Duo to taste me when he sees you."

There's a brief widening of green eyes. "How did you-?" The nurse smugly adjusts the cap on her head as she escorts him out of the building.