Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The One-Eared Neko ❯ THE TRANSGRESSION ( Chapter 2 )

Part 2 THE TRANSGRESSION

Perhaps there was nothing left to discover in this world. That was one of the many conclusions that he came to about the general haze of birth, death, and the years between that constituted life. He'd done the things any normal human being usually did, and then some. He'd been blessed with a simple, wealthy, and healthy life and heritage, a smooth ride through school, and a girlfriend he had never had to chase for an instant. It should have been the best thing he could have ever thought of, but something in him was still twisted and unable to bend. Unable to believe that sort of wishy-washy reasoning. Perhaps he'd finally settled into some spot of bad karma he'd picked up somewhere and fallen into a slow, logical dementia. A mid-life crisis for a twenty-five-year-old man.

Although he risked presenting himself as a hypocrite, he turned to a bottle that night to begin to self-medicate this dementia. By no means was he an alcoholic or anything pathetic like that. It was just that the influence of beer seemed to help him find new things to philosophize about like any other human being. New ways to describe the slow disease he'd contracted by no fault of his own. Every human being drowned out their problems at least once in their life, anyway. He found a quiet, empty place with only the dim melody of country on the airwaves and a few men talking quietly in the back. There were more mouths in the glass than on the way to causing annoyance here. He had craved this quiet and he had craved a warm belly of beer to sugarcoat his dissatisfaction and discontent. And he had found it.

Heero sat down for a long, silent span of time. His jacket was under him while he sat on the barstool, his choice of beverage on a coaster in front of him, and packets of napkins and sugar in a bowl beside that.

He mused dimly on his life, finding only a large gap where he wanted to find answers to all the doubts that were living in him. But soon, he knew one of those answers. He wasn't helping himself by just sitting here. He glanced back and forth from the empty doorway to the empty booths and tables, then tiredly lifted his hand and grunted as the barkeep passed by. He ordered a goodbye shot, one which was fiery on the way down and must have been whiskey. And after that, once paid up, it was back to wandering for Heero Yuy.

It wasn't too cold to bear at least as he traveled the various streets with a little liquor under his belt. Not enough to cause him to stagger at all, but enough to create an effective influence. Places he'd normally hadn't give given the energy to think about suddenly seemed interesting enough to him that he stopped walking along his route and looked down the road. With little consideration, he found himself going silently through a circus ground, lit up festively in the dusky city night sky. It was in town for the Peace holidays only, a sign proclaimed on the fence. Strings of bare wire twisted with lights ran from every pole to every available tent, casting a cheesy atmosphere that was laughable. Funny, because he was a tad bit in blotto.

There were the usual guessing games with spots reserved for boisterous emcees and men with parlor tricks and rigged games in every color. He traveled through alone and unbothered, mostly because of the hour of night. Trash and food littered the ground. Tickets thrown to the wind scattered in the grass. Heero covered half of the grounds before he found much of a sign of human life. And of course, it wouldn't have been complete without a mystic gypsy tent. This is where he stopped and gave a snort of amusement.

From inside, he heard the fuzzy hum of a tape cassette playing bohemian tunes and a young man yawning. Also, cracking his knuckles very loudly. Perhaps the grounds had closed after all and in his haze he'd forgotten to notice it somehow.

Heero was about to stroll on, continue toward unknown places with feet light on alcohol, when the sound of girls talking and laughing came to his ears. Somewhere behind him, two distinct female voices were clamoring in his direction. And as he glanced momentarily back to perhaps pinpoint their location and be sure to avoid them, there was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Normally, it would have caught his attention and he would have noticed the man standing in the doorway of the gypsy tent looking at him curiously. But the warm, slow corruption of alcohol had dimmed his awareness, and he had spotted the two girls as well, focusing all his attention on them.

Just his luck, too. There was a very familiar blonde among them.

Meanwhile, the carnival employee hadn't moved. The young man glanced off in the direction of this stranger's blank stare, then back at the stranger himself and stood up fully. The fabric curtain slid off his hand and closed behind him.

"Hiya, traveler."

Heero turned finally, acknowledging that he was being spoken to. "Hmm?"

It was a young man about his age, standing there in full colorful bohemian costume. Plainly a drawback to his job, he wore the complete cheesy, flashy vest and white shirt embroidered with jewels, ears glittering with metal studs, a black bandana around his forehead to lift up his long bangs and another along the top of his head. He was roughly the same age as Heero, with a quickness to smile. Another carnival act? Perhaps so, or perhaps not. It really was hard to gauge properly with all that whiskey beneath his belt at the moment.

He leaned against the wooden frame hidden behind the fabric and folded his arms. The gold hoops and bracelets on his forearms rattled as he moved. "Everybody else is closed up. Sorry. If you want your fortune, you're going to have to come to me."

"It's no problem," he responded. "I wasn't planning on getting my fortune anytime soon."

The gypsy boy smiled effortlessly back. But it was strained. "That's too bad."

"Sure it is," Heero grunted. He looked briefly at the approaching blonde and her friend latched at her side and wondered how long it would take for their intoxicated eyes to recognize him.

The man dressed in the gypsy flamboyance moved back to the door without a sound of disappointment, more a sense of relaxation and night-weariness in the causal sigh he gave, and lifted the fabric curtain. Again, the metallic jewelry whispered as he moved. His voice was a casual baritone matched with a clean-cut face, giving the stranger one last friendly look as he left. "Alright then. Come on back tomorrow morning if you'd like. Good night."

Heero watched the curtain swing close, just happier just not to watch his girlfriend approaching from the opposite way in the cheesy lighting. There was one last flick of the wrist and short brunet hair between the folds of gold-embroidered red velvet and he had disappeared back into his tent to his tape music. Heero hesitated there. He didn't know whether to press his luck at avoiding his girlfriend by simply getting a walking start on her, when she was likely only to call him up while drunken. Mostly likely, he'd ignore the ringing of the phone and she would be forced to be leave long, well-meaning but still irritating messages that would torment him to no end as he sat listening through them. And she would also come straight to his apartment to straighten the entire matter out the very next morning and use the messages as points in her accusation of him. But there was another option at procrastination he could at least give a try. He moved back towards the tent.

Inside, Heero squinted in the dim lighting. He could barely see at first while his eyes adjusted but he could clearly hear the sounds of his girlfriend passing by without a clue. Trotting by, emitting less than flattering giggly noises with her equally intoxicated friend. All of this over the tinny sound of some old rockabilly song, which stopped abruptly. The gypsy boy stood across the tent, which only was ten or twelve feet around, with his finger on the button of the radio. He looked at Heero almost skeptically then pasted on a welcoming smile to greet him again. He lifted his hand and pocketed it, finding his position in a chair at a table ornamented by an obligatory crystal ball. The brunet man's face came into the light, revealing a pair of odd-colored eyes and a cherub-like face that was somehow starkly engaging.

"So, what made you change your mind?" he asked, his smile ringing with sociability. "Please tell me it was my wonderful powers of persuasion. I might be able to prove I'm worth at least minimum wage then."

There was something strangely homely and warm in his flashy tone. It was enough to convince Heero in the state that he was in that he should at least sit down. So he did. He pulled out the other fold-up chair from the blue-draped table and sat down unobtrusively. "Sorry. I'm just trying to avoid someone," he said. "I don't mean to be rude."

The gypsy boy shrugged. "Hm. Doesn't matter to me, traveler. I'm just happy for some company." The brunet man seemed an incessant well of smiling, for that's what he did almost in the place of blinking. He lifted his arms onto the table and clasping his hands around his elbows. "I don't necessarily enjoy being completely alone, you know? There's something awfully cold in living only for yourself."

Heero twitched and mused about the last sentence. It wasn't so bad, he argued back mentally though his face didn't budge.

Across the table, the man's smile spread. He lifted up one of his hands in greeting while the golden jewelry glittered under the cast of a single incandescent bulb swinging overhead. "Well, we should introduce ourselves, don't you think? If you're going to stay for a little while, I'd like to be able to call you something, traveler."

The Japanese man tilted his head slightly. Instead of making in general a pleasant expression, he lifted an eyebrow. Flat tone. The hand remained unanswered in the air. "I don't believe I said I'd be staying, actually." He folded his arms against his chest and continued, "There are things to do besides sit inside a circus tent and be dictated my future."

A crafty look crossed the stranger's face. "So you like to keep life unexpected, huh?"

His blue eyes dimmed in the other man's direction, neither from annoyance or contempt. The hole in his chest just ached a little. "Actually, I'd rather not," he answered. "Being foolish doesn't put a roof over your head or food on the table."

"Oh," the gypsy grunted understandingly. "But you'd rather not introduce yourself while having an intelligent conversation and avoid your girlfriend at the same time? Not only is it discourteous," he cooed playfully across the table, "but it looks like the signs of a closeted anarchist, my friend."

Heero grunted, having to draw his face in to resist a defeated smile. And he wouldn't let it slip that he'd been outwitted, if only momentarily, by a young man in a frilly bohemian outfit. In order to do that, he covered it with the original disapproving frown he'd used in the presence of his girlfriend. Especially her arm unwelcome onto his elbow. But she wasn't there anymore. There was no perfume in the air, just a false gypsy across the table with a feline smile.

"An anarchist?" Heero asked finally in return. Skepticism was of no expense here.

Violet eyes shot back a half-pointed glance. "All I've been asking for is a simple hand shake and introduction. I think you're man enough to bring yourself to that, at least. Or am I wrong?"

"If you feel you must." Heero leaned up and accepted the handshake, introducing himself plainly as himself, Heero Yuy, and received another one of those bleach-clean smiles in return. It was all he could do to not make himself seem unmannered in the presence of a bohemian, so he obliged him in the tiniest bow and returned to his seat. The gypsy, however, made his contentment widely known with an equally spacious display of teeth.

"You can call me Duo." He chuckled to himself and leaned back in the bare metal chair. Comfortably hooking his hands behind his head of shoulder-length, unbound brown hair, he slipped back into that familiar muse of a smirk. "Your fortune-teller for the night."

"I haven't asked for my future."

He tilted his head. "What if I said it was free after midnight? A one-night special, just for you."

At that, Heero was prompted to glance down at his watch in the dull yellow light. The second hand ticked faithfully away as always, while the minute hand was just shy of the Roman numeral for 12.

"Eleven fifty-five," he said complacently.

"Who keeps track of time at an hour of night like this?" Duo joked, puffing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "Men such as yourself are usually a little on the bottle as well, right? Well, I've had my share of drink, so we'll just say it's midnight for the record. How 'bout that?"

Heero paused. "You talk too smoothly to be intoxicated."

"And you look too good to be avoiding a pretty girl," the gypsy shot back effortlessly.

For a moment, there was a stumble in Heero's chest and a nervous flutter in the bottom of his stomach as he wondered if he'd just been complimented. And if he had, why was he getting so unnerved? Perhaps it was just the alcohol seething, or the bright, lethal precision of the fortune-teller's smile across from him. Whatever it was, he brushed it off and retained a safe distance upon his face. Something in him always had told him that the second you seem vulnerable enough, that's the second you lose the game which you're playing. He didn't shift in his seat. He didn't flush, not even slightly, but there was an uncomfortable knot still within him when opened his mouth to speak.

Duo beat him to it. He smiled lushly as he sensed the defeat from the dark-haired man across the table. Smelt it.

"So, whaddil'ya have? A glance into the crystal ball, or maybe a palm reading?" He shifted forward, folding his arms decorated like a jewelry pawnshop on the table. "Hm, Heero?"

"...Which are you better at?" He asked with a sigh of defeat.

"Palms. Crystal balls are just fancy glowing snow globes."

Heero snorted, but in the fashion of a gentleman who knew when he was beat out, lifted his hand from his arm and put it on the table. His palm was pale and lanky in the light, hands that had precisely obeyed rules and never been cut by punishment. Duo, the odd gypsy boy, grinned in response. He rummaged through his pocket and dropped some of his own money into the upturned bowler cap on the floor filled with tips. Then, adjusting his seat so that he could reach across the table, picked up the customer's hand and began to read. All the while, the air was thick and silent and the dark-haired man watched him move silently.

Duo cupped the back of his hand into his own palm, which was cold from the night air, and lightly ran the fingertips of his opposite hand along the length of his fingers. They twitched momentarily and caused a little secretive smile to break out on the brunet gypsy's face. By now, Heero already doubted his decision to give his hand to this stranger and doubting how well he could deal with any physical contact under the influence of alcohol. Especially since the way the other man's fingers ghosted along was so unnerving and every movement would cause his breath to find a new catch in his throat.

The gypsy seemed to find something satisfactory about his long, bony fingers and murmured happily under his breath. He left the fingers and traced down to the faint lines of his palm. Swept along every line, carefully reading every crease and curve with his own skin. Tracing the lineage and love line, the health and happiness imprinted into his hand. Relishing every restless, uneasy twitch it merited.

And then his voice kicked in, a low murmur of mysticism and eroticism.

"You come from a long and noble family line, but your life line is so faint…" His finger started from the base of the man's palm, curving up the center until the base of his fingers. Fiery warm. "Something haunts you and causes your life to shorten and tighten up. I wonder what it is?" the fortune-teller said with a misty smile. "But your health is strong, I can tell."

His ring finger traced horizontally across his palm, the most madding light touch yet.

"Very strong." He pressed harder, voice dipping lower. "It's unusually pronounced."

Heero tried to swallow but his mouth was getting too dry and tense.

"...So what's bothering you?" The gypsy's feline touch, melting and brushing along his hand like fire, suddenly slid up to the side of his hand, just below the knuckle of his pinkie finger. He smoothed his fingertip softly against the skin, counting the niches and creases like a fanciful mathematician. "Oh my… only one child in your future… You don't seem to be very lucky in the romantic persuasion as well."

His finger caressed along the last line in the center of his palm, a short little arch.

"You're always searching for something… and never grasp it," he whispered huskily. "Poor boy."

And suddenly Heero gasped in a short breath, finally remembering that breathing was necessity. Beyond that, there was undeniable warmth in the very bottom pit of his stomach that ached up through his ribs. He thought of the alcohol, but he knew he had only had a few drinks and that final shot of whiskey. Not too much. It wasn't the allure of the bottle that was finally taking effect. The gypsy boy looked up at him briefly, then back down to his hand. Finally, he opened his mouth again with another diamond smile.

"Such a strange reading…"

Heero groaned restlessly, closing his teeth tightly. His eyes were always watching the Romany's hand and it's devious little dance along the inside of his palm. Playing, toying. And beneath the table, the heat of another leg pressed against him, the ankle wrapping around his own. It was maddening, so maddening. The liquor in his stomach couldn't have mattered in the least anymore; the simple husky tone coming from the fortune-teller's mouth aroused him endlessly, playing with him like a cat would gently paw at a helpless mouse just before the kill.

Heero's eyes drifted closed as the warmth of the gypsy's hand traveled up to his wrist, brushing against the fabric of his sleeve, and the warmth of the gypsy's leg toying with his own traveled further and bolder as well.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the deep, consuming depression within him just imagining things, but he swore he felt breathing on his chin. That's when the sensation of the gypsy's lips pressed against his mouth and the fiery warm handprint around his wrist squeezed. Closely. The lips first kissed lightly, moving around his mouth with a feline grace, and demurely pressured for a response, then finally grinned against his skin when they won out. Heero buckled into him without thinking, begging him back with his mouth.

Meanwhile, the knee had invited itself quite happily to rub against the inside of the Japanese man's thigh and caused him to gasp in suddenly. That's when he felt the short-lived rhapsody of the fortune teller's tongue heatedly delving into his mouth like a hunger itself. Heero moaned from the pure joy of it, and instinctively raised his hand to press against the back of the Romany's head. He wanted more. More of he gypsy boy in costume now seducing him so successfully, leaning over the table to find Heero's mouth with his own, causing him arch against the back of the chair with such force that it dug into his skin, still gripping his wrist and stroking his fingertips lightly around it.

As his hand found the back of his head and the luxury of his thick chestnut hair, and as his fingers traveled to touch the headband and strange texture of hair beneath it, the seduction was abruptly ended. The lips ripped from his mouth and all sources of external heat on his body fell away so fast that his head spun. The chair legs began to tip precariously beneath him. He tried to grasp at the fabric of the table but failed and found himself splayed on the cold ground. Above him he saw the swinging incandescent bulb, and sixteen swirling after images of that same light bulb.

The gypsy boy suddenly stood over him. Flushed and breathless, but with a strange crossness soured on his face. His eyes flashed oddly above him and convinced the fallen man that the alcohol was starting to take effect. "I'm sorry, Mr. Yuy," he said hurriedly, losing the softness but none of the sexual allure of his voice while being irate. "You have to go now."

"W-wait--!"

Two hands pulled him to his feat and then pushed him through the fabric curtain before he had the chance to steady himself. Being so rudely excused, Heero staggered out into the cold air only to find his legs still not beneath him and to be reacquainted with the ground. The brief burst of passion still rung in his head like a line of a hundred church bells, and he rolled over onto his side as his eyes slowly began to shift into focus. He lay staring at the closed curtain with a strain in his throat for some time before he stood up and staggered off in the direction of his apartment, with a very painful reality hampering his walk.

Next Chapter: August 11