Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation ❯ Page I - Fate Works at a 24/7 Convenience Store ( Chapter 1 )

Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation

How these 4 `s' words are intertwined - A Gundam Wing fanfiction

By Masamune Reforged

WhenShootingStarsFall.com

Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters, they are the property of Bandai, Sunrise or someone else, but not me. I use them for no-profit whatsoever, simply fun.

 

Warnings: This story has a great deal of adult content in it, including: Yaoi (lots of pairings and lemons later, primarily 1x2 and 3x4, but nothing more than shounen-ai for right now) cursing, drug use, violence, abuse, angst, insanity, BDSM, cameos, AU, lunacy, sanity.

 

Summary: Sex, substances, sin, salvation. The less than exemplary lives of five young men in a sprawling, modern city and the events that bring them together as friends, allies, and lovers.

 

Song lyrics contained in ~ ... ~ marks

 

 

Page I: Fate Works at a 24/7 Convenience Store

A - “Fate is a Pack of Cigarettes”

Heero's POV

 

“A pack of jacks please.” The young blonde man standing directly in front of me in line said.

 

It was late at night in a 24/7 convenience store. Like the streets, the store was almost deserted. Counting myself and the cashier there were four.

 

“Who the fuck calls them jacks?”

 

I turned around. This skinny, sickly looking youth smirked, open-mouthed, from under a dirty black baseball hat. The peeling trim around the Gotham Kings logo showed it was a cheap Chinese bootleg. Chestnut brown bangs hung down into his face, tied into a braid in the back. His eyes were big, a combination of amethyst and indigo, and beautiful. Even though he wore a ratty gray coat, I could see he had a lithe body without an ounce of fat. The black shirt underneath and his black jeans were skin tight. His arms were thin. The jeans were dirty and ripped at the knees. Height-wise he was just a hair shorter than I. The boy was beautiful; but he was a bum, no doubt about it.

 

He was pretending to go through the stoner snacks. His fingers ran over Funions, Doritos and chocolate bars. But he didn't appear too interested in any of the junk foods.

 

What he had really come in for was clutched in his long, almost spidery, chalk white hands. It was a VHS cassette, no labels. He tried to hide it in the holes and tears in his dark gray overcoat. It was actually a women's coat, medium.

 

So I concluded that what he really came for was to check if there were any new pornos in the small, bent metal rack wedged in the bodega's back bowels, between where they kept the bleach and mops and the always open, unhinged women's bathroom door that didn't lock.

 

The bum wasn't smiling; his lip turned out in frustration, his eyes narrowed in disappointment. It seemed he hadn't found anything new, or, at least nothing suiting his tastes.

 

I turned back to see the blonde cringe at the comment. Clearly he was uncomfortable with saying anything more that might provoke the bum. The blonde held a twenty in a suede gloved hand, Maxine's for Men, around $90. The twenty was folded into his wallet in an awkward shape, almost triangular. His blonde hair was styled in a fashion that ironically resembled the bum's, but short in the back, well-shampooed golden locks gelled into thick bangs that stuck out and then drooped over his forehead. His eyes were blue, his teeth perfect and white. His face still had a layer of baby fat, but he was on the lean side as well. The blonde was also short, half a head below even me. The wealthy youth had a face that expressed everything he was thinking. Right now he looked just a little bit hurt or agitated by the bum's words.

 

The blonde turned back to the cashier, a forgettable looking youth. The rich blonde repeated, clarifying, “A pack of jacks please. Benson and Hedges, 100s. Menthol if you have them.”

 

I turned around again and continued to stare at the long haired bum. Now he was restlessly shifting from one foot to his other, waiting for the blonde to pay for his cigarettes. His eyes were expressive, hungry. They roved over the walls of the store. Irritated, jittery, almost expecting something from the piss-stained peeling paint or rattling heating vents. Anywhere. I couldn't tell if he was a drifter or homeless, but certainly no older than I, though completely on the opposite end of luck. The right hand in my overcoat pocket instinctively released the normally tight grip I always keep on my pistol. It moved to my pants' pocket, squeezing and crumpling the paper tickets inside.

 

“We're out of Bensons,” The cashier answered.

 

The sound of music, bad, loud music, started from outside. The bum noticed too. It was techno or House Metal or whatever they call the crap. The bum strained his eyes; squinted those captivating violet eyes, trying to catch whatever was making all the noise out on the dark city streets. I looked out the store window as well. There were no headlights or any sign of a car approaching.

 

I figured that I shouldn't jump to any conclusions about this stranger. I trust my instinct and judgment more than anything or anybody else in this world. If he was renting a porno tape, he obviously had a place of his own, and money to blow on trivial shit. But he wore shoddy shoes; torn, dirty jeans and I could count the numerous holes in his coat. Ten. I just kept looking at him. He was like the combination of a car accident and a male model. I love car accidents.

 

“Would you mind checking again?” The blonde was persistent, but still polite. “They usually ship at least three cartons every Saturday.” It was Wednesday, December 17th. 1:49 AM. “Aziz, the owner, puts them over in that corner. No, the other one, under the condoms. He knows I'm just about the only one that buys them.”

 

“Sorry, we're out.” The cashier insisted.

 

“Listen,” An edge of desperation wiled its way into the blonde's words. “I know those cigarettes are back there. Here's your 8.10 and keep the change. Just go get them, ok?” The polite tone was gone.

 

The violet-eyed beauty noticed my staring, or more likely, finally got tired of my staring. He faced me dead-on, snapping, “What's your problem?”

 

“My problem? I'm a chronic gambler. I'm a hired criminal. I'm a depraved sadist. What's yours? My name is Heero Yuy. What's yours? I also have the problem of uncontrollably wanting to take you back to my place so I can tie you to my bed and pour scalding hot wax all over slightly oozing cuts and fuck your brains out while I lick the blood off your beautiful face.”

 

I smiled at him.

 

The young tramp's mouth went slightly agape. There was a total silence, save for bass outside. The conversation behind me had stopped. I had the feeling I was being stared at intently. The blonde. The cashier. Their attention pressed in on me and I realized... I had just said that out loud?

 

I turned around to face the two strangers. The blonde was aghast. The cashier made the kind of face a young kid does after his mother use a swear word.

 

The music was gone. Or...

 

The entrancing young bum made his way over to me, steps falling loudly in the smothering silence of the store.

 

The blonde turned his back on us. He cleared his throat righteously, like an announcement that he wanted nothing to do with either of us. He went back to bitching about his “jacks” to the cashier.

 

The door opened, the little bell jingling.

 

~Allein - was hast du bloß aus mir gemacht
Allein - wo warst du nur in dieser Nacht
Allein - was hat der Fremde dir getan~

 

The music suddenly blared again, much louder now, pointlessly loud. Over 100 decibels of god awful ruckus. I glared at the source, as did the blonde and the cashier. A tall figure in a hooded sweatshirt carried the biggest, bulkiest boombox I had ever seen. A wall of flaxen hair masked all of his face from my view, hiding his identity from all eyes in the store, even that of the mechanical security camera. The camera was perched over the refrigerators that were stuffed with overpriced beer for the underage youth. It was an old outdated model from Valiant Securities.

 

Then without warning, the bum's hand reached into my front left pants pocket, where my hand still lingered, clutching not my gun, but the wad of Lotto tickets and Scratch Games. I couldn't stop playing them. The hand was warm and calloused. I could smell the dirt on him, the alcohol, Leeds vodka, the last thing he ate, pizza, and... and semen...on his unwashed hands. The devil with amethyst eyes. They seared into me. They burned with lust.

 

~Hast mich im Stich gelassenbist mit ihm durch gebrannt

Hast mich im Stich gelassenbist mit ihm durch gebrannt~

 

The cashier was yelling at the boombox guy to turn the music off. The blonde was yelling at the cashier about his cigarettes.

 

~ Hast mich im Stich gelassenbist mit ihm durch gebrannt~

 

The beautiful tramp pushed up close to me. A bony finger, stuffed into my pants, traced a line from my hand up my wrist, sending the tiny brown hairs standing on end. He cocked his neck, looking up into my face.

 

Just loud enough for me to hear over the music, just soft enough for nobody else to, he asked, “You willing to pay for it?”

 

I had no clue what he was... Oh...

 

~ Hast mich im Stich gelassenbist mit ihm durch gebrannt~

 

The hooded boombox guy ignored the cashier. The blonde began to yell louder and louder, his face flushing red. Mayhem. There was usually nobody in this store at this time of night on a weekday.

 

An amethyst eye winked at me, but the light indigo orbs harbored a serious, professional hardness. A pierced tongue with a centimeter-wide silver barbell suggestively flicked a piece of gum over his lips and around the insides of a slightly open mouth. He chewed loudly and I could almost taste it too. Lemon flavor... When had he gotten the gum? He hadn't been chewing any a moment before.

 

I wasn't sure what to say.

 

~Allein - du bist für ihn wie eine Nutte~

 

Cut and burn him while I thrust like a piston into his ass?

 

~ Allein - ich will jetzt nur noch dich ~

 

He was going to let me do those things to him... for some money?

 

“So, what'll it be? You still interested?”

 

He was no cop. He was the real deal. I was shocked that I had actually openly proposed anything like that to anyone, and doubly struck by the positive response. I gazed into his eyes for just a moment, just wanting to do that for. But tranquility lasted for only a moment, and the urge to do more welled up like a demon.

 

~Allein - komm bitte wieder zurück -rück -rück -rück -rück -rück~

 

I looked away, answered softly, “Yeah.”

 

“You got money?”

 

~Eines Tages find ich dich auf der Straße liegen,~

 

I was about to answer. Crazily, for no logical reason or sensible cause, I was about to tell him that I'd pay anything. Well, there was a reason… It was about 7 inches long now and the tramp was teasing its tip with the hand he had in my front pocket. I'd pay anything.

 

The music seemed far away, the shouts of the rich blonde and the cashier as well.

~Mit nem Messer in der Brust

Und in mir weckt sich der Frust~

 

Anything.

 

“YOU HAVE TO TURN THAT THING OFF!!!”

 

~Ich heule Tage lang~

 

“SHUT THAT DAMN THING OFF!!!”

 

~Denn jetzt bin ich FÃœR IMMER A L L E I N !!!!!!!~

 

The tramp blew a large, yellow bubble, popping the gum over the top of his lip. He winked.

 

“HOLY SHI----“

 

Somehow I'd become struck horribly oblivious of the ensuing danger around me. The blonde stepped backwards onto my foot, knocking into me. I spun away, stumbling back, torn from the beautiful stranger. The jumble of lotto tickets spilled out of my pocket as my right arm shot out to help stabilize and prevent me from falling over.

 

I whipped around.

 

The cashier was afflicted with terror, shaking. The boombox was now sitting on the ground in front of the doors, the only entrance or exit. The blonde cursed and froze like morning dew to the winter wind.

 

The boombox man had a mask on, covering the other side of his face. His eyes were green, glued on me, the blonde and the beautiful tramp. He clutched a pistol in his left hand. Berretta, 10 shots, 9mm, semi-automatic, all black

 

Where is my gun?

 

How could I have been caught off guard?

 

I twitched towards my overcoat's folds.

 

“Don't,” A firm command.

 

Click, the sound of a gun's safety being removed.

 

“Fuck,” The beautiful, monstrous, purple-eyed youth with the long chestnut braid behind me.

 

“Hn,” Me, Heero Yuy, the best there is, one-upped by some random burglar. What else could I say?

 

-end “Fate is a Pack of Cigarettes” Part A of Page I in

Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation (and how these four s words are intertwined)

 

Next: “Fate is an Armed Robbery”

 

ID Notes:

As this is an AU, you will notice that the characters from Gundam Wing are portrayed differently. Being an AU, they wouldn't have grown up in a world with mobile suits, space colonies and lots of things that shaped their personalities into what you saw in Gundam Wing. OOC? Well, yes and no, since they're not quite the same characters from the anime. More on this at my site.

 

WhenShootingStarsFall.com

 

But for now some quick Identification Notes, obviously you'll learn a lot more about the characters as the story progresses.

 

Heero: See his quote.

Duo: Poor, mischievous youth.

Quatre: Wealthy young businessman.

Cashier: Um, this guy is a nobody. He's not even going to have a name

Trowa: Yes, the guy who entered at the end is Trowa. His situation speaks for itself.