by Uru-Chan

Ninmu kanryou. Heero stood poised on the weed encrusted sidewalk, one hand clutching a lamp-post. His fingers worked angrily at the flaking surface, gouging the greenish paint. Not much of a challenge, were you Duo? he smirked contemptuously. Only that baka Peacecraft could've been more obvious.

Sixth street sprawled indecently before him, garish neon sparkling across his pupils. Leather-clad figures clustered beneath the awnings of clubs and fetish shops, smoke rising feebly above them. Pale wrists gestured enticingly from the allyway, boys hawking flesh amidst beer cans and syringes.

Khol-rimmed eyes observed him openly as he launched himself from the curb, amused and assessing. Heero glanced at his own black denim, the dark shirt snug beneath his bomber jacket.

Nani? What the fuck are you staring at? The Japanese boy stuffed his hands into the worn leather pockets, scowling his way to the far sidewalk. The chill vapor of his breath merged with the glare of "XXX" "Beer" and "24 hours", textures bleeding together in the darkness. Sound resonated through the paint-scrawled walls, blackened windows obscuring the club interiors. A door swung open in the distance, tumbling deafening sound, brilliant light, and half naked revelers into the street.

1251 6th St. Cobalt eyes narrowed as he scanned the metal plaque, mouth ticking slightly with anticipation. Nothing but a burned out hole in the wall, he noted, eyes grazing the crowd of garishly clad men. K'so! It would be one of THOSE clubs. Duo no baka; if I live through this, I'm gonna fucking kill you! Heero joined the queue winding about the narrow door, determined to ignore everything around him.

"You come here all alone, Pretty Boy?"

"Fuck off," the Wing pilot snarled, fingers curling unconsciously into a fist. A paint-streaked blonde gazed imperiously down at him, arms wrapped loosely about a long-haired boy. The latter wriggled impatiently, swiveling about to glare at Heero like a spoilt, pampered child.

"No need to get hostile, Kid. I was only making a statement. You ARE here alone. And you ARE a pretty boy." The older man tasted his lips, drawing his pierced tongue slowly across until the Japanese pilot flushed with rage. He grinned slightly, winking as they neared the doorman. The blonde and his pet were accepted quickly, the boy flinging a handful of jet haughtily across his shoulder. Snarling, Heero swiped the dark strands from his eyes, attempting to slip quickly along behind them.

"Hey!! Where the fuck do you think you're going?! You can't come in here dressed like that!" The Japanese boy tensed, clothes gripped in the doorman's fist, mouth drawn in a snarl of outrage.

"Omae o-"

"Now, now," the blonde's voice wafted from the entrance, already fading in the cacophony within. "No tantrums on the doorstep, eh kid? C'mon in and have a drink. Maybe we can wiggle that pole outta your ass." The man's fist relaxed hesitantly; Heero yanked himself free.

**I can see you rotting in my arms/ Without knowing you are caught in my web/ I will never betray you/ I survive to feel your every single cell**

"Yamero!" The low, nasal command faltered against a barrage of sound, scarcely registering in the Japanese boy's ears. His eyes locked on the red-clad hips before him, a tail of thick black hair swishing rhythmically against the boy's buttocks. Refusing to deviate from his target, he writhed his way through a maze of sweat-slick masculine flesh. Instincts overtaxed, his chest heaved slightly, eyes flickering rapidly beneath the staggering sweep of white and colored light. Streaks of gold and crimson burst between glitter-encrusted wrists, burnishing tall, gleaming boots. Above all else, the music, crushing and bewildering, pulsed an erotic counterpoint to the surrounding decadence.

***Sneak behind you to tie you up with silk threads/ I will never deny myself anymore***

"Sit down, kid," the blonde commanded, settling himself at the bar. "Lemme take a look at that tight ass of yours."

"I don't drink," Heero grunted irritably, grasping a barstool nonetheless. He locked eyes with the younger man as he sidled up to the blonde's knees, resting his head in the other's lap. The boy glared triumphantly up at him as his master responded, toying with the little bell on his collar.

"You don't drink," the man mused, ordering for Heero regardless, "and I certainly don't see a stiff like you shakin' your ass on the dance-floor."

"I'm looking for someone," Heero muttered, eyes narrowing as the boy butted the man's chest, demanding attention. The haughty expression on that pale, pretty face infuriated him, driving him to distraction. He could scarcely stomach the blonde's patience, fondling the little brat like a pampered animal. He found himself longing to grasp this irritating creature by his red-vinyl hips and thrust him across his lap. He wouldn't beat him mercilessly-just until those pert little buttocks turned as flattering a shade of crimson as his pants.

"Do you like him?" the blonde man inquired, his tone rich with amusement.

"What the fuck's the matter with him? Hasn't he got anything to say?"

"Kitty doesn't talk-do you Kitty?" Heero glanced away from the boy's response, gazing sullenly out across the dance-floor.

***Feed my soul to reproduce myself/ You don't even know, you don't even realize/ Feed my soul/ Feed my soul off of you***

The blonde man glanced down at Heero's fingers, startled by the trembling clatter of glass against wood. The boy's hand clenched the rim of the glass, slamming it rhythmically against the counter.

"You OK kid? C'mon, Man you're gonna break it."

"Shut up." Heero lifted the glass, scalding his throat with the amber liquor, his eyes fixed on the dance-floor. One hand raked at his hair, combing down to rest, cool and moist, against his neck. The blinding spectrum of light burned his eyes, thick shafts of color streaking a boy's naked chest. Black vinyl glistened wetly about his thighs, riding low across the youth's hips. Pale wrists locked above his head, fingers smearing the paint-streaked chestnut from his face. Duo's eyes remained heavy lidded, his lips parted, cheeks flushed with alcohol and exertion. Screw kitty, Heero hissed, shifting uncomfortably on his barstool. The only one I wanna fuck is you.

***Feed my soul/ Feed my soul off of you/ Feed my soul/ Feed my soul/ You don't even know me***

Duo's hips pumped vainly in the air, arms straining above him, his head turned ever so slightly across his shoulder. His mouth curved in a slight grin of encouragement, tongue darting out to lap the salt from his lips. Behind him, his partner's features twisted with lust, silver-clad hips mimicking Shinigami's thrusts.

Heero's fingers drummed with increasing force, threatening to shatter the empty glass. The thin mouth ticked slightly as fingers slithered along Duo's ribs, descending to clench his waist. The taller boy held fast to the braided pilot, thrusting against him in a blatant mimicry of sex.

Yamero Duo! the Wing pilot snarled abruptly; Kisama! Heero's tongue darted out to moisten dry lips, cobalt eyes glazed with the fantasy of possession. Images tormented him; wet slippery Duo, flushed and naked in the shower stall, Duo writhing in sweat-soaked blankets, groaning another boy's name as he came in his sheets.

This is the last time, Baka. The last time you disobey an order. The last time I let you tease me the way you're teasing that asshole now. I'm gonna show you what happens when you fuck with Heero Yuy. You're gonna beg me to stop, Duo, and then you're gonna beg me to do it again. I'll teach you not to play these games with me Shinigami; you won't sit down for a month.

***Beautiful game, it never.../ Beautiful game, it never ends***

The American's hands closed on the taller boy's, sliding them across his own slippery flesh. Silvery hips ground eagerly against the other's buttocks, face flushed at the delicious friction. The short-haired boy turned slightly, his dark feverish gaze sliding unerringly toward the bar. The pale mouth turned in a slow, filthy grin, sable eyes shifting abruptly to vivid green. Solo gazed triumphantly across the floor, lips moving in a silent challenge. "He's mine, asshole" Solo declared wickedly, fingers tightening on the braided boy. "I fucked him first."

Kisama!! Heero's fist contracted on his tumbler, splattering the counter with crimson and glass. He lurched from his seat, sending the barstool tottering noisily behind him.

"I see you found who you were looking for," the blonde man commented nonchalantly, fingers grasping the boy's upper arm. Heero's eyes rose with exaggerated slowness, fixing on the man's hand in utter disbelief. "Let me give you a word of advice. You kill your rival there, and you ruin whatever chance you've got with your pretty boyfriend."

"What do you suggest," Heero rasped, yanking his arm free with unnecessary force.

"Turnabout's fair play, Kid. He took Angel from you? You take Angel from him. You get the boy, and your rival there gets his balls cut off." Heero considered briefly, his features sharpening as he considered the pleasure of destruction with the pleasure of humiliation. Cobalt eyes slid furtively to the dance-floor, narrowing as he saw the proximity of the taller boy's hands to-

"Hey! Hey, where ya goin'?" the blonde man exclaimed, watching the Japanese boy shove his way toward the door. "Jesus!" he snickered wickedly. "Somebody's gonna get fucked tonight!"

***I can see you rotting in my arms/ Without knowing you are caught in my web/ I will never betray you/ I survive to feel your every single cell***

On to part eleven. Back to part nine.