|
"Defying Gravity"A Romance in Three PartsWritten By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, yaoi, some language Summary: A multi part story of romance starting
with a turning point vacation, developing throughout a dangerous UC
mission, and moving ahead through the unexpected challenges of a summer
vacation. "Part Two: It's Back to Work"
Chapter 20
Duo's POV Okay, so this was it. The conference we'd been waiting for, preparing for, for months was under way at last and we were there. Mill was posing as a seller of "prime cuts", superior boys ready for induction into a private army. Who were the buyers? Who concocted the conference, or more accurately, the meat market? Who were the sellers that fed the hungry monster? Those were a few of the questions our team was there to expose. My code name was Scythe. My owner was Wind. My fellow pieces of boy-merchandise were: Wing, Sand, Tamer, and Shen. We all looked hot, lightly built, but well-toned and capable of doing more than turning heads. Mill, aka Wind, looked us over one last time before we left the confines of our room for the photo shoot. "You all pass. Tamer, smile." "Yeah," I cut in, "Smile, it makes people wonder what you are thinking." "Or if you're thinking," Trowa, snapped back. Then he smiled. Ignoring my witticisms, Wind continued to share his opinions, blowing up a storm, which is how he got his code name back in his OZ days, I'll bet. "Sand, relax. Wing and Shen, work those scowls into something more 'come hither', will you? I know you can do it." "Remember, if you get those old men by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow," I said, followed by an air kiss. Shen smiled. Wing chuckled. It wasn't wholly a joke, just my way of thinking. It was true. Anyway, we stood out as colony-born, because of our longer hair, which was preferred by some buyers, like our sponsor, Alric Gunter. 'Fei gave his loose hair a toss and Heero unbuttoned one more closure on his shirt. I pulled Heero closer so I could whisper in his ear. "When you smile, it shows in your eyes. Duck your chin, look up through your bangs, tilt your head like we practiced, and no one will suspect you're that famous terrorist." He nodded and glared, just to get my goat then we both laughed. I opened my mouth to say one more thing, but Mill, Wind, stopped me with an upraised hand. "Would you mind? I'd like to finish this," he said. "I don't mind that you are talking, Master Wind, so long as you don't mind that I'm not listening." Quatre, aka Sand, laughed, finally relaxed. My job here was done. I've discovered that the world is full of gorgeous men, who despite their good looks and perfect bodies are about as appealing as a two-day, dead carp. I've always found that there are pretty guys and there are sexy guys, and the two aren't necessarily the same. Pretty is a combination of hard work and God-given features. Sexy is an attitude. Sexy is the way a guy holds himself, and interacts with others. Sexy is in the eyes and the posture. Heero, Wing, was to me so damned sexy and enticing. He exuded an animalistic charisma that I had sensed the moment I set eyes on him when we were fifteen year olds, and found enthralling as my hormonal urges woke up. Later, when my barriers were torn down and I could see myself as a gay man, he developed into a completely irresistible man. Smoking hot. Mill, well, Wind, was tantalizing, but straight at his core. He could bend under pressure, but after the challenge was over, he was remorseful. There were times when I couldn't resist contact with him, but with Heero close at hand, those times had diminished to zilch. Clearing his throat, Wufei, Shen, indicated that I should pay attention and move up in line. He was so cool and collected looking. I knew a snarling dragon was just under the surface, but at the moment he was hiding it well. It was a good thing he was straight, because I was finding myself way too interested in his body. He was darker skinned and slimmer than Heero, and with that long, silky, black hair...gods... I was a mess of wildly discharging hormones. "Scythe? Keep moving." Quatre's soft voice woke me out of my lustful imaginings. Quatre, aka Sand, was such a good heart. He looked supremely beautiful and effeminate at the moment. He didn't usually. I loved the guy- like a brother. Sex did not belong in our equation. He knew that. I knew that, but, man, he was one sweet lay. He taught me something about blowjobs and pressure points, which I wanted to use on my guy, sometime. Sometime when he wouldn't associate it with Quatre or Gunter. My guy. Yeah, all roads led back to Heero. I skipped to his side and whispered into his ear. Heero was often a difficult man to read, and he knew it, too. His often single-minded dedication to a task led him to exert monumental control over his features and to lock down his emotions. I think that in direct response his reactions were sometimes explosive and unexpected. Like, as we were marching along to this photo shoot, he broke his stoic mold and laughed so loud Trowa skipped alongside me to see what was wrong. "I just told him to 'never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself,' and he cracked up," I told him. Trowa, Tamer, burst into a wild laugh. There's another odd, but sexy, duck. Really sexy when his eyes shimmered and his cheeks heated up. Sex could do that, but so could a good laugh. Not my type, though. See, love is a matter of chemistry, but sex is a matter of physics. I'm into applied science, which is interesting because our mission at this point definitely took on an experimental angle. There was this guy, an Adonis in the pool who carried me to safety as if I were a feather-weight. Heero had noticed him, too, and that rocked my world, so I sent him away to cool off. Adonis disappeared in a current of white water. I knew I'd see him again, since I figured the preponderance of pretty boys in the pool were others like us about to go the sale block. When Adonis caught my eye the next time, he was talking with a friend of his, one of his mates, presumably. Wind and his charges, including me, were standing in line waiting our turn to be photographed. Adonis was a few bodies down the line from us. His stance was relaxed and cocky. While he talked, he absentmindedly ran his hand up and down his stomach muscles lightly stroking the contours, unconsciously enjoying the feel of the satiny shirt material stretched over his iron frame. His friend was leaning with his back against a mirror, and he was standing closer than most men would allow, brazenly invading his friend's personal space. His deep brown eyes sparkled as he laughed; his smile was a little asymmetric, and reeked of self-confidence. Wind, his platinum hair long and loose, catching attention from all the younger men, stood next to me and Heero, Wing, darker, glowering, with his hand on my waist tensely in position behind me. I noticed they were watching Adonis, too. "I think we've got one here, Wind," I said. "Pardon? 'One' what?" Mill asked, definitely puzzled. The seeming non sequitur must have thrown him for a loop. I forgot that I sometimes left out parts of my logic making it difficult to follow the path of my thoughts. "An alpha-male." Heero's words hung in the air between us. He knew what I meant; he could follow me anywhere. "Ah," Mill sighed in understanding. "Yes, a few years back, after reading some papers on the structures of the societies of animals who travel in packs, I began to wonder if there were analogies to humans. Careful study and research led me to the conclusion that there should be individuals, rare though they might be, who were able, somehow, to totally control the society of individuals around them—the human incarnation of the alpha-male. I was sure they existed; I encountered several males with many of the right qualities, and, now, not only do I think they exist, but one exists in this very room." "He will bias the judges, er, buyers," I said. "Possibly," was all Mill would add in the public forum. Boys we'd befriended in the pool called out greetings as they joined the lineup. Some waived. The group limiting Adonis' movements, probably his mates, were all clean cut, chiseled, and with the easy going coolness that comes from having complete confidence with one's body. Together, they looked like the embodiment of the Nietzsche-esque philosophy of "might makes right" take on an uberalles-4Hclub. The Adonis alpha stared at me from the center. Alone of the group, he said nothing—just raised his head a fraction of an inch in a nod of condescending acknowledgement. Having glanced at him, I found myself, as at the pool, unable to look away. It was as if I was being somehow compelled to watch him. The analytical side of my brain recoiled. What was it about him that was so binding? It certainly didn't look like he was doing anything unusual. And yet, he was somehow exercising power. While my analytical side wondered, the rest of my brain went entirely blank. I was captive to my eyes, which were captive to him, which would be really funny if it wasn't happening to me, but to someone like, say, 'Fei. He had short-cropped, light brown hair like mine but without the gold highlights a little longer on top than on the sides and back, where he had had it razor cut. His eyebrows, perfectly spaced under a strong forehead, were designed to draw your attention into his thick-lashed dark brown eyes. His eyes were of infinite depth, and staring into them, I felt lost, selfless, and consumed. So trapped by the intensity I saw there, I hardly registered when his lips curled into a sinister, knowing, triumphant grin. Through the iron grip on my waist, I could feel Heero shudder. He felt the pull of the Adonis, too. I reminded myself that this was not a good state to fall into. I would have to remain an indifferent, impartial observer. But this should not prove too difficult, I argued to myself, because I was no psychological lightweight. Hey, I passed at the top of my class in that prestigious Gundam training program of one! I, more than most guys my age, understood the methods men used to emotionally control each other. I had never succumbed to an OZ interrogator. Understanding the process, my inner voice reasoned, gave me an unassailable advantage. He could not control me if I understood his tactics, and without his control, I could be free to do what I had come to do: observe, steal, report, and get the hell outta here. I determined, to begin with, not to look him in the eyes until I could figure out where he derived his power. "Hi, haven't we met before?" I retracted my eyes and turned to observe the sun-beam of light addressing me. I didn't know him. "Perhaps. I'm the receptionist at the VD Clinic." The stranger's eyes widened and his smile faltered before the idiot caught on and chuckled. "Ho, ho! Good one. Naw, remember me from the pool? I'm Claus." No, I didn't, but hey, if I'm talking to you I'm not mesmerized by Adonis. "Ah, hi. I'm Scythe. This is Wing." Who is looking you over with the intension of determining how important it is that you live. "Hi, Wing. You were awesome in the water fight." "Hn." Of course he was. "Those are awesome collars. You all match. A matched set, huh?" "Yeah," I said, because Wing had gone mute. Claus was a pretty good-looking young man. Farm-boy wholesomeness permeated his good-natured face. He parted his blond silky hair at the side, reminding me a great deal of Quatre, Sand, if his hair weren't dyed or five inches longer than usual. Like the rest of the boys near him, Claus' hair was cut relatively short. I wondered what it was about his group that made them all cut their hair short. He had a small nose lightly dusted with freckles across its bridge and full red lips. His smooth skin, unlike many blonds, had an even, golden tan despite the freckles, which served to create a wholly appealing, friendly, and open image. He wore a cobalt blue sports coat which set off his blue eyes perfectly. The collar of the white shirt underneath lay open, showing off the junction between his chorded neck and his cut upper chest. "So," I said, holding up our side of the conversation. "You from New Germany?" "Yeah, how'dya guess?" Claus asked honestly. "Uh...lucky?" I grinned to pass off my acuity. I could place a face pretty good, but these guys were child's play. They were the quintessential New Germany hunks, as opposed to the NG street sluts. "Sure are!" he laughed. "These are my Master's 'others,'" Claus said gesturing toward the short-haired guys filling my view. It was an interesting assortment of young men, and listening to Claus helped pass the time. "That's our most gregarious one, Alard, who talks endlessly of snatch and things sexual, and over there is Etzel, who never passes up an opportunity to crack a joke. You remind me of a combination of both!" "Oh?" I said. "Heh, heh..." "The others are more reserved. Nikolaus, he's the one laughing." Nikolaus was clearly engaged by the lively conversation between Alard and Etzel, while himself offering few words to it. "Hans is so demure," Claus said. "And Gerd is such a pervert." At that moment, I watched a rosy blush regularly breaking out on his fair skin in response to Gerd's continuous reference to genitalia, hand gestures included. "That's, um, Dierk standing with Raban." Dierk. Adonis had a name and it was Dierk. He stood detached, listening to the conversation without participating in it. Raban was on the other end of the visual spectrum, at stunningly handsome, but more lightly built. He leaned, back still to the mirror, equally disinterested in and non-contributive to the banter of their friends. While his attention was, ostensibly, on his hands, it was clear from his body language that he was focused on Dierk. He glanced at him often, and I found him trying to imperceptibly mimic Dierk's stance, gestures, and attitudes. Each member of that "harem" was strikingly good looking in his own way. The majority of them were shades of blond, and I was quickly becoming lost in sea of handsome faces and Germanic names Claus was assigning them. "Oops! Picture time," I said to him, as excused myself. "Later, Claus." I tore myself away from the eye candy and smiled on cue, slinging my braid to the back, then back to the front when told to. It helped identify me, so I had to show it off. Wing didn't smile on the first try, but remembered his practice moves for the second take. We moved on to wait for the rest of our team, who performed as expected in front of a camera. Sand beamed comfortably, Shen appeared confident and composed, and Tamer smiled shyly. Next, Wind and the other 'masters' were pealed off to someplace else. We 'boys' listened to instructions then we were paraded around, down a cat walk, asked to remove our coats, but no more, and then told to join the previous guy in a line up on stage. Mostly, we waited. A half an hour or so later, we were told, "You will exit left and wait to be called." More waiting. Following the boy in front of me, I walked my weary way back down the hall to a large common room near the entrance to the building. There were a few tables, some couches, and a wall mounted TV. Most of the guys were in there, thirty in all. A poker game was in progress, with Gerd loudly announcing the face up cards he was dealing around the table. Nikolaus sat reading the paper, and Hans, Alard, and Etzel were watching a sitcom. It looked like what I imagined a generic frat common room would look like, but without the cigarette smoke, empty bottles, the mess, or the occasional ugly guy. From the expression Wing wore, I could tell that he disliked them all. They didn't seem dying of curiosity to know him either. Occasionally, someone would be called back for a photo re-take. Two boys were called and never came back. I guessed they were rejected. My Adonis was there, naturally. There was something about him, something I still could not name or understand, that acted directly on one's animal brain. Heero reminded me of a tightly wound cheetah tracking his prey. He was studying Dierk closely then his eyes were on me as he cozied up to me and pulled me into a relatively unoccupied corner. I was hoping for some loving, but he was all business. "I have identified a series of behaviors that helped convey his power: his stance and hip rotation, the way he manipulates the tilt of his head, his ability to actively hold one's gaze without looking away. His pupils do not contract when he looks you in the eye - a completely normal and instinctive defense mechanism that everyone, except Dierk it seems, possesses." "Yeah, but those were only symptoms of his ability, not the cause. They were the mechanisms, and only a few ones at that, with which he exercised his domination. Chemical. When he touched me the feeling was overwhelming." "Chemical. Maybe it's drugs. We will have to search his room." "We? You mean me. Oh, man—" I could feel a good whine coming on. "Sand can contact his Maguanacs for assistance. Tamer, Shen and I will distract him." "Him? Dierk?" "Yes, Dierk." Shen appeared. "Shhh! I heard my name. Keep your voices down." Wufei's hissed warning told us we weren't being as quiet as we should. Heero told him about our planned break in. 'Fei balked. I kept the locations of Tamer, Sand, Dierk, and Claus updated in my mind. "Reduced to thievery? We should stand for values of justice that must remain, or all would sink into a purposeless hell," Wufei whispered. You know, he really ticked me off sometimes with his hard-headed, arrogance. Heero fended me off and explained that I would be stealing illegal drugs, theoretically, in order to even out the odds. "Okay." How could he and 'Ro distract the Adonis? "Tamer's clever," I mentioned. Not my problem, though. "When we're released from our cages here, I'll head out." First, I found Quatre, Sand. He got the gist immediately, knowing his role was to intervene to get his corps to act on our behalf and to keep guard outside Dierk's room while I did my job. Next, I tapped Claus for the room number where he and his "mates" were staying in the ryad. He was excited that I might sneak over for a visit and gave me the number without a second thought. I connected once more, spreading the location to my comrades before an authoritative figure announced the weapon testing schedule and dismissed us. Heero and Trowa had twenty minutes to spare until they had to change clothes and report to the weapon testing room—nothing like a little more time pressure on top of every other problem. On the way out of the common room, Trowa started babbling about beautiful, exotic blossoms, grabbed a vase of flowers and spun suddenly, spilling the water and flowers over the kid behind him; who was, of course, Dierk. I couldn't recall ever seeing Trowa act so outrageously gay, so I knew he was acting. It was our cue to move. Trowa gushed with an effusive apology, while Heero and Wufei joined Quatre and me in a mad dash down the hall. More mad than dash. The crush of the other boys slowed us down. Heero and Wufei formed a wedge and squeezed me through. "We'll hold off the roommates," Heero said. "You do that," I grumbled to myself. Quatre slipped past as well and turned down a side hall after spotting Habib, or Halim, or possibly Amid. I never was properly introduced to them all. Their help would be critical to get whatever I confiscated out of the building to be tested. We would need the results tonight! I felt a powerful wind blow me to the side. While still awhirl in the resulting eddies, I observed Dierk enter then slam the door to his room. "Damn." I pressed my ear to the door to Dierk's room. Silence. Slowly, I cracked open the door. Empty. I slipped noiselessly into the room and crept over to the closed door on the far end. Water pounding. Dierk was taking a shower. I'd have a few minutes. "Shit." The room was a mess. Clothes on the floor. Leftover trays of food, books, dirty towels, mess everywhere. Strangely, I felt the need to clean up as I searched. Tossing clothes and towels in an empty hamper was a start. Certain items made my skin crawl. They all came from one part of the room, near one bed, Dierk's, I reasoned. I piled dishes on trays and stacked them outside the door. Quatre had just arrived at the door. "I'll knock if anyone comes. Just hurry. Here's a bag. Fill it. I'll get it out," Quatre said in a hushed tone. I didn't bother telling him about Dierk. No time. Back to searching and sorting. As I straightened the bookshelf, I caught a glimmer of light in the mirror. Bottles stashed beneath a bed were reflected in the mirror behind me. A break! "Yes!" I scooted under and grabbed everything I could, cramming the bottles and boxes into the bag Quatre had supplied. I heard the shower shut off. I skittered crab-like to the door and passed Quatre the bag. I was about to make a run for it, when I turned and gave the room one last once-over, and saw my name badge stuck to the floor at the base of the bed. "Damn," I growled, while shutting the door behind me. "Go on. I'll be just a moment." Good, dependable Quat disappeared with the treasure. I stepped back, opened the door, and froze. Dierk, wrapped in a skimpy towel, looked up from a magazine. Staring at me from his bed, only his eyes moved. His lips tightened imperceptibly and curled slightly inwards. I was the proverbial "deer caught in the headlights." Blinded, I was unable to move. Time ended, and the universe ceased to exist. There were just his eyes. I have no idea how long I stood there in the doorway, frozen in my glimpse into his room. I only know that he must have told me to come in, since—despite being trapped in a mental place without language, without thought, and without will power—my body turned and my legs propelled me forward. The movement helped break the spell somewhat. I found my voice. "The help around here is for shit. Thought you could use a little TLC, you know, as a way of saying 'thanks' for the save in the pool. Anything else you need, tonight?" I asked, adding a grin. Else. I had said, "else." He must have noticed that I'd cleaned the room. He must have. He was holding my name badge. "Yeah," he said, casually flicking the magazine and my badge aside onto the floor I had just cleared. "Rub my shoulders." I can not walk to his bed! I must not! I was defenseless before him already, and had become completely compromised. If I was to be able to retain even a shred of objectivity, if I was to salvage anything of the mission, I had to find a way to stay strong. As a Gundam pilot, I was trained to endure pain, to work beyond what is physically possible, trained to ignore the messages and imperatives my body gave me. Most of the boys here were our age and had been trained to kiss the asses of arrogant, self-absorbed "masters." I was hoping Dierk was expecting me to have those credentials. Still, my body was not responding to my superego. I needed a way out, and my only hope was to use the part of me I had been exercising since birth: my intellect. Keeping my eyes on the basket of dirty clothes, not him, I found an empty chair, rolled it into the center of the room, and waited for him to come sit down. His mouth formed itself into an asymmetric, tight-lipped grin as he swung his legs over the bed, rose, sauntered the few steps to the chair, and sat before me. It was so small, this victory of mine, but it felt, at the time, so complete. I had made him move. I had made him come to me. I had avoided his bed, and with it, avoided losing the last of my restraint, of keeping at least some shred of dignity. And yet I had seen the grin. I had seen, through the corner of my eye, the comprehension in his face, the complete understanding of the situation, of my move, and the decision of how to react to the challenge. I had seen the total confidence that he would win. How could this kid understand all of that? How could he know? He sat before me, bare-to to the waist. I looked down on his cropped hair, his chorded neck, the etched definition of his muscles. I shut my eyes, determined to keep my head clear, determined to return to the realm of the analytical where I was safe, determined not to feel but, instead, to understand. I had studied the "perfect soldier" often enough. I could be the "perfect soldier," if only for a few minutes. I brought my hands to his shoulders. They were warm. No, they were hot. No. They emitted heat. His metabolism must have run very high, I thought, and of course, that made sense with drugs coursing through his system. His deltoids, even relaxed, were unexpectedly firm. Massaging them was like kneading a 15 pound block of plasticine, which I have done in the past making bombs. His skin made my fingers tingle again, in the same way his clothes had, but more intensely. With crushing clarity, I registered the next symptom, the next in his litany of mechanisms of control, the chemical component, just as Heero had surmised. Something was being excreted now from his skin, in his sweat, into his clothes, and onto my hands. And with that realization, despite myself, despite everything I knew and understood and had studied, despite my hopes and expectations for the mission, I knew I was lost. To be safe, I should not look at him, should not smell him, and should absolutely not touch him. In short, the only way to be safe from him was to be away from him. Fuck. I fought the invisible power drawing me to him. I fought as I felt my hands change from kneading him to needing him. I fought as they began to caress, to explore. I fought as they swept over his shoulders, down the front of him. I fought as my fingertips found the hairs that ringed his aureoles. I fought as they sought out his nipples, feeling their texture, their electric charge. I fought as my nose, now near the back of his neck, breathed in the crudeness of him. I fought, knowing the fight was in vain. He took my left elbow in his right hand, and brought me around to the front of him. All he needed was the slightest downward pressure—a mere suggestion of a gesture—to bring me to my knees before him. His smell roiled in my blood, his skin burned my hands, and his eyes—his eyes. He looked down at me, and I became, again, lost. Here was his punishment for the affront of making him move. Here was his revenge for my attempt, feeble as it was, at independence. He let go of my elbow, and spread his knees lazily before me. He hooked his thumb in the waistband of his sweats, and pulled them down, hefting out his cock and balls. But I did not see them, trapped as I was, in his eyes—his eyes. "You want these." It was a statement, not a question. Still, it required a response. My mouth had gone Saharan dry, like the grand desert right outside our door, and, knowing I should not, could not, must not, I felt my head half nod. My reward was his grin. His victory. The self-satisfaction. But it was not enough for him. "Tell me," he commanded, sotto voce. I tried as hard as I tried not to. No sound came. It was not because I thought better of it. I could not think, because I had not had the presence of mind to breathe. He took my hand, and brought it up under his crotch. His dick, full and long though still soft, singed my palm. He curled my fingers around it. I knelt there with my own agonizingly hard and aching cock and stared into the eyes that were staring into my soul. My hand felt the weight, the substance, the sovereignty of his manhood. Soft, it was almost as large as mine was fully erect. "Tell me," he said again, bringing his hand up under my chin. His semi-extended finger made contact with the skin there. By applying the slightest pressure, he raised my head a fraction, increasing the directness and effectiveness of his gaze. His touch, so gentle but at the same time compelling. It was also reward. It was a caress. He had touched me and the touch was electrifying. My ego crumbled. There were words uttered in an arid, breathless, hardly audible voice. I recognized the voice as mine, but not the words I was hearing. "I want it," that voice said. "You want what?" "I want you. I want to suck you. I need it," I forced out, and seeing that he was still not satisfied with the answer, I heard the voice plead hoarsely, "please—" I had no will. I had no power. In the presence of this man, this animal, I had no self. Captive in the prison that were his eyes, he held me immobile, incapable of any thought that was not a consuming, devastating hunger to submit to him, to serve him, to be possessed by him. And he saw that. He saw my will disintegrate. He saw my ego collapse. He saw my need, which is to say, he saw his complete and unqualified victory over me. He had expected it, he had engineered it, and because he wanted it—solely because it was his desire—it had come to pass. "...p-please..." I repeated, hesitantly, gasping for air. His upper lip curled up in a mirthless grin. There was a sparkle in his eye, but it was not of delight—it was unspeakable. It was cruel. "No," he said coldly, and pushed me away as someone knocked on the door, possibly Quatre. For a moment, my head cleared. In an instant, I formed a plan of escape. The door opened and a roommate I recognized as the one who copied Dierk's moves, Raban, stepped inside. I clasped my sweat-infused hands together and ran from the room before the door closed. Quatre was there, waiting for me and looking sick. "D-d—Scythe!" I shook my head and he just fell in beside me. Running helped overcome my rising rage. Rage at how he had humiliated me. Rage that I would have let him. And rage that the first thing I wanted to do upon my return to my room was engage in the most violently explosive solo orgasm it had ever been my shame to indulge. But while running, the rage slowly turned over to steely resolve: I was taking this guy down. I didn't care what it would take. I had begun to undergo a paradigm shift. Along the way I told Quatre a few of the details, what I could say without screaming and still letting him now I was physically okay. "Do not talk to me," I roared as I shouldered my way into our room. "Sand, get me some absorbent paper. I don't care what kind. I got this asshole's sweat on my hands and it's full of chemicals." There was a coded rap on the outer door. Quatre rushed to my side, unrolling a sheaf of paper towels. "The Maguanacs have already taken away those drugs you collected," he said. "But Amid is back to see if you need anything. They want to know if there is—" "Good. He can take this too." I finished wiping off my hands and rolled the papers into a tight tube. Trowa appeared, opened a plastic evidence bag into which I dropped the soiled roll, and he zipped it closed. Quatre took the packet. "Sweat for analysis," he said to Amid. "Same as the drugs. We need the results, and a cure, ASAP." "We have the finest technicians and laboratory at your command," Amid said. His earrings looked heavy enough to anchor a small boat and jangled when he bowed low, hiding the parcel on the rolling cart he used to deliver food. "All will be done," he said then exited with haste. Quatre collapsed on his bed. "We did it," we said simultaneously. "Thanks for the knock. Saved me, bud." I was about to ask about the others, when Heero and Wufei entered the room just returning from weapons testing. Trowa asked them how their tests went, giving Quatre and me a moment to gather our thoughts and catch our breaths, As they told us about their ordeal, I stripped out of my nice clothes and into a t-shirt and shorts, listening carefully to every detail of the testing, how they did, what we could look forward to, and how we could succeed; well, at least Quatre did. I was still too wound up to concentrate. Wufei wanted to know what had happened with Dierk, and I gave them the short story. "I got caught straightening the room. Dierk was there showering. Listen, I got the stuff out okay and he didn't notice and I'm here safe and sound." "But—" Wufei started. I could tell he wanted to fill in the gaps in my story that were big enough to fly a Gundam through. Heero noticed I was about to blow and saved me. "You, Barton, and Winner are up in two hours, if you want to spar." "Ah, thanks, but what I need is a run. Alone." He nodded solemnly, moved aside, and let me leave. I unlocked the door to the outside. I started running. I needed to clear my head. Blindly I ran and ran, kicking some guy out of my way, except he remained in place, stopping me with a mind-jarring wall of muscle. "Shit!" Claus said. "What the hell was that for?! I feel like I just stepped on a mine and got my leg blown off." I recognized the voice as that of a friend. "Sorry. Bad run-in with Dierk," I mumbled. "S'Okay, then." Claus shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders in demure apology. "Yeah, missed meeting you at the room. Couple of your mates showed us the billiard room." God he was cute. He turned to renew his saunter down the path. "Sorry. I overreacted. I need to get all this anger out of my system." He nodded. "Go ahead. Catch ya later." I spent half an hour in a warm up run around the pool emptying my mind of him. Since Heero introduced me to running, it had become somewhat of a Zen experience for me. I found that the day's cares and troubles melted away as the blood moved from my brain into my muscles. It felt really good to be able to spend an hour and a half not having to think, plan, or problem solve. I set my pace a little faster than I was used to. Four miles later, I was a little winded, but enjoying the beta-endorphin rush I always got after a good run and blissfully brain dead. All distractions had left me. I was ready to change my clothes, again, and go play soldier boy. Heero and Wufei had blown out the stats for the weapons demonstrations. A hand gun was like a natural appendage for Heero. He nailed all the targets in a simple course, cleaned his gun, and returned it five minutes before the next boy finished with the target practice. Wufei handled the sword as if he'd used it all his life, which he had. All Trowa, Quat and I had to do was keep even with the multitudes of other boys, but we ended up showing off. Trowa rewired a security alarm to set off a charge so he didn't have to do it manually. The observers had no idea it was even possible. Quatre took apart two laser rifles and re-constructed them into a single double-barreled super-soaker in less time than the competition deconstructed one. When my turn came, I ran the gauntlet: defusing a bomb, firing on targets, evading a barrage of what I think were actual bullets, and climbing, crawling, slithering, and rolling to avoid obstacles. I won. Yippee. And then, there he was, Dierk. He had just arrived. Thankfully, I hadn't been distracted before my turn. His exquisite beauty rushed at me like an express train, and, with all the blood in my legs and without the ability to think, I stopped short, gaped, and stared. By the time my wits returned to me, it was too late. He was staring at me stare at him, an evil, condescending grin spreading across his lips. He ripped off his outer shirt, revealing bulging muscles and a glued-on black tank. I was caught red-minded, as it were, and from his narrow-eyed cocky examination, it was immediately evident that he knew exactly what I was thinking. I could actually feel myself blush under the knowing scrutiny of his gaze. He got up off the bench, and walked toward the door on his way to the water fountain. Despite the ample width of the entry way in which I stood, he walked directly at me. Just in time, I took a side step to avoid him running over me, and as he passed, his arm grazed mine, easily pushing mine out of the way. The sweat that rubbed off from his muscle cooled on my skin, and a chill ran down my spine. We'd better get a serum against men like him, and fast. Trowa and Quatre stood by me, near to swooning as well. Together, we made it back to our room. Contact with him was a killer, for sure. Rashid greeted us at the door, returning the bag of purloined bottles. "That was fast," I said. "Analysis is underway. These may be returned, if you wish. No fear, the contents have been replaced with inert ingredients. The owner will not notice, but the system changes should become apparent by morning." Once again, I agreed to switch out the bottles. Heero led the others to rout Dierk's other inmates from their room for another swim in the pool before dinner, while I slipped in, replaced the bottles under Dierk's bed, and left to join them. If he hadn't noticed their absence earlier, then all would be well.
|
