A/N: For Cylina Nightshade, who requested "Things you said when you were drunk" and "Things you said when you were afraid" featuring 1x2x3. I am SORRY(ish).
A/N 2: Fic #99! Because I miscounted… Anyway, the next fic I publish will be #100!
A/N 3: Become a patron and get lots of awesome things like gift fics and early updates! Check me out on dot com backslash ClaraBarton. Please.
A/N 4: As always, thank you, THANK YOU Ro an Maeve for being great betas and lovely friends!
Warnings: angst, language
Pairings: 1x2x3
In Your Arms
Holidays, Heero couldn't help but think, were an excuse for parents to horribly embarrass their children. To punish them for all of the sleepless nights of childhood, all of the arguments of adolescence, all of the disappointments and aggravations.
At least, Heero was fairly certain that's what his parents were trying to do.
It was only nine o'clock on New Year's Eve, and already his mother and father were drunk enough that they were stumbling around the living room, trying to demonstrate swing dancing for their attentive, and equally drunk, audience.
Heero hadn't wanted to come - the neighborhood New Year's Eve party at the Maxwell's house had been the bane of his existence for as long as he could remember. Every single year, his parents made him dress up, plopped a stupid hat or equally stupid pair of novelty glasses on his face, and made him pose with everyone - the Maxwells and their son, the Bartons and their son and daughter - and then spent four hours getting as drunk as possible while all of the children milled about and wished they could be somewhere, anywhere else.
This year, at least one of them had escaped - Cathy, the Barton's daughter, had to work, had been completely unable to get out of it and she was so, so sorry, but the bar really needed her.
Heero wondered if she had begged for the extra shift. He would have.
But, since Heero was home for the winter break from college and his father had decided that Heero could earn some extra money working for him, repairing computers, Heero really couldn't use that same excuse.
Dinner had been weird, awkward as always, with the grown-ups drinking heavily and all of their underage children just pushing food around on their plates and staring at the rapidly-changing volumes of alcohol in the glasses around them. It would have been bad enough even if it wasn't for the bragging and the attempts to one-up each other - Duo, the Maxwell's son, was in his first year at MIT, and he had made the Dean's List and he already had a summer internship lined up with Space Ex. The Bartons, of course, hadn't wasted the opportunity to point out that their son, Trowa, had also made the Dean's List at Stanford, and had had two stories published in their literary magazine. Which had, inevitably, led to Heero's parents bragging about the fact that he, too, was on the Dean's List at Georgetown, and that he, too, had a summer internship lined up and had assisted on a study that would be published in the New England Journal of Medicine soon.
Heero's only consolation during the ordeal were the shared looks of misery on both Trowa and Duo's faces. This had been going on for years, and while none of them were surprised by their parents boasting and flaunting of their accomplishments, none of them were comfortable with it.
After dinner, the adults opened more bottles of wine and migrated to the living room, where an array of board games awaited them. Board games and hours of pain as, one after the other, each of the adults would succumb to the alcohol and their natural competitiveness, and become completely and utterly embarrassing assholes. It happened every year.
Heero's parents, though, had definitely brought their A-game tonight. Before the games could even begin, Heero's mother insisted on showing off the steps she and Heero's father were learning in their Wednesday evening dance class, and Heero had to look away, had to hide his face because come on.
He turned away from the spectacle his parents were making and saw Duo and Trowa leaning against the wall, as far away from the adults as they could get.
Trowa arched an eyebrow at him, and Heero gave him a pleading look in return.
"Mom, I think we might head up to my room and play some video games," Trowa spoke up, interrupting the enthusiastic response to Heero's parents' dancing.
"Oh, but we haven't even played Taboo yet!"
Every year, they managed to escape - but every year they usually had to put in at least an hour, sometimes two, once three, before they were released to go hide.
"It's okay," Duo spoke up. "I'm feeling kind of sick anyway." He forced out a cough that, to Heero, sounded ridiculously fake. "I think just sitting down and resting would be better for me."
"Alright - you boys have fun."
And with that, they fled.
On their way upstairs, Trowa stopped in the kitchen and filched a bottle of vodka that looked mostly full, and then led Duo and Heero to his bedroom.
"Oh my god," Duo groaned, as soon as Trowa closed the door behind them. He threw himself on Trowa's bed face-first. "I hate them so much. Why do they have to do this to me?"
Trowa shook his head in sympathetic agreement. He took the cap off of the vodka, took a rather healthy sip, and then passed it over to Heero.
Heero drank deeply, the cold burn of the vodka helping to push away his own aggravation, and then sat down on the floor in front of the bed.
Duo lifted his head, rolled over, and grabbed the bottle from Heero before he could take another sip.
"You'd think we were competing for the fucking Nobel Prize, the way they go on and on about us," he muttered around the mouth of the bottle.
Trowa sat down on his desk chair, straddling the back and resting his chin on his folded hands.
He nodded sagely. "Just wait until Heero finds the cure for cancer - then we're really going to be screwed."
Heero snorted and grabbed the vodka back from Duo. "I'm sure that by the time I do that, you'll have written the next great American novel and Duo will be living on Mars or something."
"If only. It'd get me out of these stupid family things," Duo muttered.
Trowa took the vodka from Heero, drinking long and deep, and Heero watched his throat muscles work above the collar of his turtleneck as he swallowed.
"I thought you'd be more tan," he said, apropos of nothing.
Trowa arched an eyebrow, and then held the bottle out of Duo's grasp when he reached for it.
"Why?" Trowa asked, before taking another sip and then relinquishing the bottle to Duo.
"You've been in California for five months."
"I haven't spent the entire time at the beach. I have gone to classes occasionally."
"How else would he have made the Dean's List?" Duo pointed out with a smirk. He passed the now half-empty bottle of vodka to Heero.
"God, remember our first year of high school and-"
"Trowa made the baseball team and the basketball team," Trowa mimicked.
"That's nothing compared to Heero winning a state championship in wrestling and setting a record in cross-country."
"Oh, but Duo was the leading scorer on the soccer team, and a scout from Chapel Hill is going to keep an eye on him."
It had been pretty bad last year, too, when they had all been waiting to hear back from college admissions.
Duo giggled suddenly. "You remember- oh my god, do you remember the year Tro broke his wrist and- oh my god, Ro, your dad told that story about refusing to take you to the doctor for two days when you broke your wrist, and how you tried to set it yourself and he was so damn proud like- like he wasn't an asshole for doing that to you."
"Hn." Heero remembered. He remembered sitting there while Trowa and Duo stared at him, horrified.
He passed the vodka back to Duo.
"I think my favorite is still back in eighth grade," Trowa said, with a soft smirk, as he accepted the bottle from Duo.
Heero shook his head and leaned back against the bed.
"When they compared how hot our dates for the Winter Formal were?" Duo asked incredulously.
Trowa nodded, his eyes glittering in amusement.
"That was pretty good," Heero had to agree.
He had taken Zechs, the older brother of their friend Relena, who had been a sophmore in high school at the time. Trowa had taken Quatre Winner, the richest boy in school. Duo had taken Chang Wufei, a Chinese exchange student whose father, it was rumored, was a billionaire. Listening to their parents go on and on, you would think that they were discussing medieval dynastic marriages instead of thirteen year olds going to a school dance.
"You still keep in touch with Wufei?" Trowa asked Duo.
Duo nodded. "Yeah. He's actually at Oxford now. I'm going to try to go over for Spring Break and hang out with him." He grinned at Heero. "And how is the love of your life, Zechs the Asshole?"
Heero rolled his eyes.
His parents, of course, didn't know that Zechs had been an awful date, had thought that kissing Heero wasn't all he should get to do after having to hang out with a bunch of middle-schoolers for two hours, and it was only after Heero punched him in the face that Zechs realized that no didn't mean try to convince me by reaching for my pants.
"No idea. Relena's good, though. She's at Yale."
"Oh, that's right. She thought Columbia wasn't Ivy League enough for her."
Heero was passed the vodka once again, and it was almost empty.
"Last sip," he said, and held it up.
"All yours," Duo said, and Trowa nodded in agreement.
Heero finished off the bottle and set it down beside him.
"God, just imagine - in fifty years, they're still going to be at this shit, in some retirement home, bragging about who has the most grandkids." Duo rolled over again and propped his head on the edge of the bed, beside Heero.
"Whose grandkids ran the fastest mile," Trowa added.
"Whose grandkids made the honor roll," Heero contributed.
Trowa shook his head. "That'll be between you two."
"What makes you say that?" Duo asked.
Trowa shrugged one shoulder. "I don't… I don't think kids and all of that is really in my future."
"All of that?" Heero echoed.
Trowa nodded, but didn't elaborate.
"You kidding?" Duo scoffed. "If you don't get married and get yourself some poor little kids, how are you going to horribly embarrass them in front of their friends every year?"
It was meant to be a joke, but Trowa's answering smile was more than a little sad.
"Tro?" Duo moved off the bed and started towards Trowa, but the other boy held up one hand and shook his head. "Shit. He's at it again?"
Trowa just swallowed hard, his jaw locking.
"Let me see," Heero said.
Trowa glared at him, his eyes filling, and he shook his head.
"Trowa."
"It's fine."
"Okay, but last time you said that it turned out you had a broken rib, so when you say things like it's fine, we don't exactly trust your judgement," Duo argued.
Trowa glared at them for another moment, but when neither of them backed down, he sat up straight and pulled off his sweater.
Heero looked over his bare torso, trying not to get distracted by the play of muscles in Trowa's shoulders and arms as he dropped the sweater to the floor.
There was a bruise on his stomach, just above his navel, and another lower, disappearing under the waistband of his jeans.
"Lift your chin," Duo instructed, his voice tight.
Trowa hesitated, but then he did so, and Heero swore.
It had been in shadow, a moment ago, but now Heero could clearly see the purple imprints on Trowa's neck.
Heero clenched his fists tightly, and he kept his mouth shut as Trowa met his gaze.
"For fuck's sake." Duo wasn't able to stay silent. He moved closer, and reached out towards Trowa, who flinched. Duo dropped his hand and stepped back.
"I'm sorry," Trowa whispered.
"What? No," Duo was adamant. "Do not apologize because that sick fuck- Tro, no, I'm sorry. I just… I just wanted to hug you."
"Oh."
Duo stepped close again, and he slowly wrapped his arms around Trowa's shoulders, pulling him close.
Trowa was stiff and still for a moment, but then he buried his face against Duo's chest and wrapped his arms around his waist and held on tightly.
Heero watched them, his anger fading to a dull roar as Duo ran one hand through Trowa's hair, soothing him and mesmerizing Heero.
"Fuck them," Duo whispered. "Fuck all of them." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Trowa's temple, and Trowa tilted his head back, moved so that his lips were brushing against Duo's.
Duo shifted away slightly. "Are you sure?"
Trowa pulled away, recoiling from Duo's hesitation. "Forget it."
Duo made a frustrated sound, and looked over at Heero for backup.
The first time, they had been fourteen and had hidden up here, and Duo, snooping around Trowa's room, had found his porn stash and insisted they look at it together. After fifteen very uncomfortable minutes, Trowa had been the one to suggest they all just take care of the obvious together.
We're still just friends, Duo had insisted, afterwards, his face flushed. Just friends.
They had dated other people - Duo had even dated a few girls, in high school - but every New Year's Eve they ended up together tangled in Trowa's narrow bed, trying desperately to forget about the people downstairs.
Last year, it had been Heero who, tentatively and slurring a little from the rum they had stolen, said he wanted his first time to be with them, that he wanted to feel Duo inside him.
But last year, Trowa hadn't had his step-father's fingerprints on his throat.
"He's not saying no, Trowa," Heero pointed out. "We're not saying no," he added quickly.
Duo nodded emphatically.
Trowa drew in a harsh, ragged breath, but it was clear he didn't believe them.
"C'mon," Duo stepped back and tugged at Trowa's hands, pulling him out of the chair and guiding him over to the bed.
He gently nudged Trowa down and then climbed into the bed behind him, wrapping his arms around Trowa and spooning against his back.
Heero got in on Trowa's other side, sliding one of his legs between Trowa's and one arm over his waist, catching Duo's hand and holding it.
Heero stared at Trowa's face but he had his eyes closed, and his breathing was shallow.
"This is the only thing I'm going to miss, when I never come back here again," he whispered.
Heero looked past Trowa, to Duo, and saw the tortured expression on his face.
Duo leaned closer to Trowa and pressed a kiss to his neck, just beside one of the fingerprints.
"Me too," he admitted.
Heero nodded, unable to say the same, but feeling it so keenly it hurt.
Duo grimaced.
"Happy fucking New Year."