Promises Under The Influence
by Uru-Chan

The shrill moan of an ambulance punctured the pre-dawn silence, startling the boy poised in the hallway. Sheets of rain thundered against the far window, the vibrant colors of the diner sign dribbling into the sill. The storm flung sheets of white-hot light at the Japanese pilot, pinning his shadow to the moldering wall.

I shouldn't be here, Heero growled, glaring at the crimson-slicked curve of his ankle. His gaze slid wistfully along the narrow V of the corridor, yearning for the sanctuary of his own bedroom. The pungent odor of blood drew his attention sharply to the task at hand. This is a mistake, he intoned emotionlessly, eyeing the trickling failure of his field dressing. I can't afford another. Numb fingers fumbled with the doorknob, squeezing rippled dents into it's surface. Baka; it's a simple mission. Just make it quick and quiet, and get the hell out. Heero's lip curled with determination. He entered the room.

Shimatta! Narrow cobalt eyes surveyed the vast minefield of clothing, toiletries, and second-hand manga. I ought to wake him right now and beat the shit out of him! Heero's gaze fixed on the iron bed in the corner instinctively, his mouth a fine line of fury. He strode purposefully toward the sleeping pilot, fully intending to grasp him by that ridiculous braid of his and throttle some sense into him. Instead, he found himself poised motionless above Duo, his lower lip clenched between his teeth. Duo, he groaned miserably. K'so; I've made another mistake...

Yellow light stained the mattress, bathing the violet-eyed boy with an aura of cheap eroticism. One deceptively slender arm stretched sensually above his head, the other buried in the unbound mass of Duo's hair. Heero's breath caught, eyes following the helpless angle of the boy's wrist, the gnarled sweep of fabric about his waist. One leg protruded from beneath the blankets, revealing the soft white curve of his inner thigh. The Japanese boy longed to clench that velvet flesh, fingers sliding up beneath the pale, threadbare fabric of Duo's boxers. His eyes glazed with the fantasy of possession, biting the pristine flesh, bruising it, proclaiming his ownership of this beautiful boy. Lust throbbed like the pounding of the blood in his ears, the insistence of the wound that had driven him here. If he'd taken the braided boy for satisfaction, he'd been unsuccessful. He was not satisfied, would not be until Heero had possessed Duo again and again and--

Iie! What's the matter with you? You were drunk that night. So you fucked him, it made you feel good--it's over now, you don't need him anymore! Find the goddamn kit and get out!

Heero rummaged furiously through a heap of t-shirts and boxer shorts, turning his back on the sleeping pilot. The sole of his right foot met the bristles of a hairbrush, and he bit his lip, trigger finger twitching reflexively. Just find it, just hurry up and find it before--

"Uhnn...Dare da--Heero? Is that you?" Duo flicked on the bedside lamp, propped up on his side and squinting sleepily.

"Ah," he grunted, fingers still clenching a handful of battered manga and a limp black sock.

"Ah?" the American returned angrily, swiping one bleary eye with the back of his hand. "Is that all you've got to say for yourself? Maybe nobody ever told you, Heero, but sneaking off like that after you bang somebody is bad manners to say the least. I mean, what am I supposed to think, maybe it wasn't good for you or something, maybe I said something dumb and being the literal bastard you are--Shimatta! Heero, you're hurt!"

"It's nothing," he returned irritably as Duo bounded from his bed, launching himself at the far corner of the room. "Just give me the kit and I'll--"

"Nothing??" the braided boy half-shrieked, yanking the kit from beneath a black t-shirt, emblazoned with the logo "I'm not lucky--I'm good." "Heero, you're bleeding all over my sock pile! Here," he demanded, shoving the Japanese boy toward the bed. "Just have a seat and let me take a look at it, K? K'so!! Man, Heero no baka, you ripped the stitches right out--what were you doing?"

"Carrying Trowa," he returned emotionlessly, fixing his gaze on the raindrenched window. If I keep my eyes on that bar-sign, I'll be alright. I'll just let him do it, and then I can go.

"What happened to Trowa?" Duo returned, eyes wide as he stripped the wrapper from a surgical needle.

"Bullet grazed his shoulder. He's fine."

"Maybe for you," the American snorted, busying himself with Heero's injury. "So why'd you have to carry him then, Baka?"

"Painkillers," the Japanese boy growled, annoyed by Duo's incessant prattle. "He'll be fine for tomorrow."

"So we're going out tomorrow then? Heero---hold still, damnit!" The short-haired boy yanked free from the American's grasp, synching the final knot and tearing the thread with his teeth. Fingers clenched at his shoulder, turning him roughly about, Duo's face thrust close to his.

"Baka! You bastard!," the violet eyed boy exclaimed, peering desperately from beneath a thick fringe of bangs. "You left and you didn't even say goodbye! You left me!"

"I've left you before," he replied simply, uncomprehending. "It was a mission."

"That's different! That was before--before we--"

"Before we what?" Heero's fingers snatched at a long lock of chestnut hair, coiling it thoughtfully about his fingers. "Tell me, Duo. What would you have done if I hadn't come back? If I'd been shot, if Wing was gunned down in battle, if I self destructed--"

"Iie! Don't say things like that," the American sputtered angrily. "I don't want to think about it! Nothing's going to happen!"

You're right, Duo. Nothing's going to happen. I won't let it. If I hurt you now, you won't feel a thing later on. That's the way it has to be. Because one day, I'm not coming back.

"You're here now, Heero, you're safe, that's the important thing." Duo wound his arms around the Japanese pilot, his breath scalding the others cheek. "It's alright, whatever you want," he murmured, tucking his head in the crook of Heero's neck. "As long as you always come back to me."

"Duo--Stop." Iron fingers pried the braided boy loose, thrusting him at arms length. Cobalt eyes regarded him with something akin to pity.

"What's wrong? I-I don't understand--"

"That night...."Heero began, the words sour against his palate. "That night when we...when we...."

"When we made love," Duo supplied furiously, muscle tensing beneath the Japanese boy's fingers.

"Call it what you like," he replied callously. "It won't happen again."

"Iie!" The violet-eyed boy cried, yanking free of Heero's grasp, setting a small distance between them. "Iie! I don't believe you! You said I belonged to you, you promised--"

"I was drunk, Duo. We both were. I'm sorry; it never should have happened." Wide violet eyes glossed with moisture, the delicious mouth trembling slightly. I wish...

"But--but--"

I wish things could be different, Duo.

"Demo, you liked it, Heero, I know you did--"

"That's not the point," he responded wearily, calculating the distance to the hallway. Impossible to escape with the flushed and tearstained vision before him.

"Then what the hell is the point?" Duo snarled, surging forward to clutch a fistfull of Heero's green tank. "Is that all it was for you, then?" he raged, voice raw with betrayal. "You had a few too many and you figured Duo Maxwell would spread his legs for you, is that it?"

"Duo--"

"Well, that wasn't it for me, Heero! I've been alone my whole fucking life, everyone who loves me dies on me, everyone! I gave myself to you, do you understand me Yuy? I gave myself to you, and you promised--"

"Duo!"

"God damn you Heero Yuy! Ai shiteiru, you fucking bastard!" The Japanese boy reacted instinctivly, the words of a dream-wraith echoed by the furious boy before him. Ai shiteiru, Ai shiteiru, anything you want, Heero, anything...

"Iie!" His fist trembled, jutting in a wide arch to crack against the braided boy's cheek. The force of the blow flung Duo back, the carpet burning streaks against his naked back. He lay stunned as Heero examined the angry flesh of his fist, dark features drawn in torment. Regaining his senses, a sobbing, frightened Duo fled the bedroom, vanishing in a cloud of chestnut hair.

Now I understand, Heero mused emotionlessly, sinking gradually to the carpet. I know why I didn't dream that night with him. He clenched at the warm fabric of Duo's blanket, pressing it's scented warmth to his cheek. I took him, so it wasn't a dream anymore. I was so weak; he was so beautiful--I couldn't help myself. Why couldn't I leave him alone? Heero closed his eyes, inhaling the unique fragrance that was Duo, despising himself for this regression. Again, I'm killing an innocent.

The steady throb of the rain dulled his senses. Again he gazed at the yellow expanse of Duo's bed, still creased by the shape of the absent pilot. "He'll come back," he murmured tonelessly, fingers tracing patterns on the threadbare mattress. "He won't botch the mission." Heero rose unsteadily to his feet, unconsciously clutching Duo's blanket.

'Are you lost, niisan?' 'I've been lost all my life.'

The slaughter of innocents, he noted bitterly. It's all I'm really good for. Shadow devoured him as he padded out into the hallway, slowly closing the distance between bedrooms. The door creaked shut, and he collapsed, fully clothed against the hard surface of his mattress. So tired...Please, no dreams tonight. Heero pulled the gnarled blue blanket to his chin, weariness shuttering the glazed cobalt eyes.

Ai shiteiru, Duo. Omae o korosu.


On to part six. Back to part four.