Disclaimer: I only own Gundam Wing in my dreams.
Pairings: 1x4
Warnings: yaoi, underage teens engaging in sexual activities, suicidal thoughts.
Author's note: The biggest thank you ever to Miss M for beta'ing this story and for being so awesome. The title of this story is taken from the Red House Painters' song called "Katy Song."
"A chance for calm, a hope for freedom
Outlet from my cold solitary kingdom
By the forest of our spring stay..."
-Red House Painters, Katy Song
The figure moved through the darkness of the night with ease. He slipped through the shadows, his feet barely making a sound and his breathing controlled despite the rapid beating of his heart. Stealth was his forte; it had to be as it was required for his job. His eyes, a deep, dark blue in color, needed little adjustment to the lack of light. The night was his home. The only home for assassins like him.
He slipped easily through wide bars of the iron-gate, his fifteen year old body naturally slim and flexible. He paused once inside the mansion's perimeter, assessing his surroundings. He was in the lavish courtyard, the colorful bursts of flowers now rendered dull and grey in the dim moonlight, the marble benches glimmering subtly. He knew this courtyard well, knew the location and angle of every security camera hidden there, so there was little chance of being seen. The moonlight was his only possible enemy at this moment. He should have waited a few more days, waited for a moonless night, but he was so impatient in this. If he didn't do this now, he worried he'd never have the courage to.
He bent down low to the ground and crawled along the farthest wall, on the cusp of any video feed. His movements were precise and careful, just like he'd been taught. Now was not the time to falter.
He finally reached his target, a second story balcony window left wide open, bright, artificial light spilling into the night. Careless. Trusting.
A fatal mistake.
His climb to the balcony was lightning fast, helped by the wooden structure along the side of the building and years of instinct and training. He slipped into balcony, deadly quiet and stopped short of walking through the window. He ran his hands through his messy, dark brown hair, feeling unusually nervous. He was used to simple, clean-cut missions and was an expert in his field. One of the most sought-after contract killers despite his young age. He could kill a man in cold blood without a second thought, yet this...this was different.
Taking a deep breath, he walked in.
The bedroom was massive, its appearance made even more impressive by the relative lack of furniture or decorations. Clothes were strewn about the room, letting him know that the maid had not cleaned recently and that he should be wary of her arrival in the early morning. A few music and film posters lined the space around the headboard of the king-sized bed, indicative of the age of its occupant. Laid horizontally across the bed was another teenage boy, just like himself. Except this boy's hair was golden, and his eyes were a much lighter shade than his own. And when this boy turned to smile at the intruder, time seemed to halt altogether.
"I was wondering when you'd come in, Heero," the boy said, amused and carefree.
"Quatre," Heero responded.
The boy stood and walked towards Heero, no fear in his eyes, only a gentle fondness that always made Heero's breath catch in his throat. When they stood face to face, Quatre wrapped his arms around Heero's shoulders and the other boy struggled to remain focused. He had a mission, he needed to remember why he was here, so he thought about putting some distance between himself and the body he had come to yearn for so deeply. But then, Quatre kissed him, without warning or preamble, without demanding anything in return. A sliding of lips so tender, so unlike everything else in his life that it made Heero forget all about his mission. He forgot about everything that wasn't Quatre and his soft lips.
They had met by chance—Heero had snuck into a Winner Enterprises, Inc. function posing as a waiter to do some recon on a mark. He hadn't noticed Quatre, the heir to the Winner family fortune, mostly because the blonde had spent most of the night sulking in a corner. Heero had happened to walk by just as Quatre was standing up, excusing himself from an uncomfortable conversation too quickly. In his hurry, he had knocked Heero completely off his feet, the tray of hors d'oeuvres he had held sent scattering loudly across the floor.
Heero had been quite taken with Quatre's bumbling apologies, the way he had helped him to pick up the food, the way he'd followed him around with his eyes the rest of the night. Heero had tried to resist catching Quatre's stare, but to no avail. His mission had been a failure, all because some little rich boy surprised him with kindness and a shameless gaze. All because teenage hormones were raging in his body, so when he found the blue-eyed boy again, outside the party, he couldn't help but push him up against a wall and kissing him until they were both breathless and needy and Heero had never looked back.
That had been a year ago.
"I missed you," Quatre murmured against Heero's lips, pulling him by his wrists towards the bed. He was impatient; Heero's profession kept him away for weeks at a time. Though, it never made much difference. Whether he had seen him a month ago or the day before, Quatre always wanted Heero in his bed as soon as possible and Heero had to smile just thinking about how goddamn eager he always was. "Did you miss me?"
The question was a whisper leaving Quatre's lips as the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he tumbled into it, somehow managing to be a graceful mess, a paradox that kept Heero on his toes. And on his knees.
"Of course. You know I missed you," Heero whispered in reply as Quatre lifted his black t-shirt to press open-mouthed kisses on his abdomen, his sides, the delicate skin below his navel. Heero moaned softly as Quatre began to unbuckle his belt, his hands desperate and needy. Heero buried his hand in the soft, blonde mane, so different from his own knotted shock of hair.
It would be so easy to feel inadequate with Quatre, a boy who had both the support and guidance of a loving family and the best social training money could buy. This whole thing would be easier if Quatre looked down on Heero, treated him like a servant or a fetish. Then, Heero could walk away.
Instead, Quatre adored Heero with such sincerity that it made the assassin's head ache with its implications. He never once judged him after the foolish drunken confession of what he did for a living came tumbling out of Heero's mouth. It was the confession of love that came with it that Quatre latched on to, and Heero would have been a liar if he said he hadn't been grateful. Quatre was so open and genuine, so willing to look past what Heero did and focus on who he was. He noticed Heero's fondness for animals, his aversion to enclosed spaces, his different types of silence. Quatre was head over heels for the boy and in turn, Heero was filled with such a strange feeling of longing and dread at what Quatre Winner's innocent charm seemed to be doing to him.
It was perhaps ironic that Heero was thinking of Quatre's innocence - a trait he appreciated and envied equally - as the boy was currently sucking him off with practiced ease. His cock engulfed in the heat of Quatre's mouth made Heero's knees tremble as his hands fisted in the blonde's hair. It seemed that was all his hands could do; when they weren't wrapped around the grip of a pistol, they were clenched tightly into fists. The only time they had ever unclenched was to hold this pretty boy's hand as they walked through a market, incognito and in love.
Heero's entire fifteen years on Earth had been spent under the training of a man named Odin Lowe who he assumed was his father, although he had no evidence to back up his suspicion. The man displayed no love or affection towards him, only occasional pride at his skill. He was his mentor and boss, the man who taught him to become emotionless and cold. He'd scarcely known Quatre a year and he was already unraveling all of Lowe's work.
Quatre was nothing but a spoiled rich boy and there was no reason a pretty face should make Heero question everything about his existence. Recalling what he was here to do, he pushed at Quatre's shoulders until he pulled his mouth away from his dick.
"Wait," he breathed, trying to compose himself, but when he looked down at Quatre, eyes wide and bright, his lips swollen and parted, beckoning him, Heero hesitated.
"I can't wait, Heero," Quatre grinned, kneeling on the bed to come face to face with Heero again. He cupped Heero's face in his hands, the kind of gesture that made Heero's heart ache and his mind short-circuit because this simply couldn't be real. How could someone so joyous and good love someone like him? Someone so calculating and dark, a soldier of death.
"I-" Heero began, but never finished.
"I've been so worried about you," Quatre said, voice wavering, "it's been so long. I've had my window open every night for weeks now…I missed you so much."
"I know." Heero hands sought out Quatre's waist. "I'm sorry."
"Please, Heero," Quatre began, and for a moment Heero thought this was finally going to be the moment that he would beg him to leave his life of crime. And, just maybe, Heero would, because he was stupid and fifteen and though the logical part of his brain told him teenage love affairs don't last, another part of him told him that this was the one good thing in his life and he'd be a fool to ever let it go. "I need you inside me."
Quatre fell back onto the bed then, his grip on Heero's face dragging them both down. Heero kissed Quatre hungrily, his hands moving quickly to rid the blonde of his private school uniform, unbuttoning his blazer and tugging off his shirt to reveal pale, unscarred skin.
Heero always kept his shirt on during their encounters, ever since the first night, when Quatre had gasped in horror at the numerous scars criss-crossing his chest and back. The way Quatre had shut his eyes and kissed each and every inch of marred skin so lovingly had made Heero's eyes water for the first time since he was a child and he'd never risk feeling so raw and exposed again. Quatre understood. He always did.
Heero's mouth trailed down to Quatre's neck, sucking at the skin a bit too harshly, bruising the skin. Marking him. His lips blazed a trail down the other boy's chest, latching on to a nipple, making Quatre's spine arch as he sighed. Heero continued kissing his way down, relishing in the sounds Quatre let out, breathy moans and sharp intakes of breaths, the way his body tensed underneath his mouth and hands.
When Heero reached Quatre's trousers, the blonde sat up so quickly their foreheads knocked together.
"Sorry," Quatre apologized, rubbing at his head. "Just hold on a minute."
He wandered over to the far side of the bedroom, leaving Heero sprawled on the bed, his dick making an obscene tent in his briefs. Suddenly, loud symphony music filled the air and Heero smiled, knowing exactly what it meant. The classical tune would convince his family that Quatre was wrapped up in studying and not to be disturbed and the volume of the music would keep Quatre and Heero's cries unheard. It seemed Quatre really had missed him.
Heero pounced on Quatre as soon as he was back on the bed, unable to control himself when he noticed that Quatre had rid himself of all remaining clothes on the walk back to the bed. He kissed greedily, biting at Quatre's hipbones and laving the sting with his tongue. His mouth found its target at last and he licked a long line along the shaft of Quatre's cock, from base to tip, before swallowing him down. Heero swirled his tongue around the head, his hand wrapped around the base. Quatre cried out, loud and uninhibited, his hands finding their way to Heero's hair. Heero bobbed his head up and down, changing his speed, his eyes open and resting on the sight of Quatre, panting and groaning. Heero hummed around Quatre's cock and the sound the other boy let out was ungodly. Heero needed to fuck him, he couldn't even believe how much he needed to fuck him. He felt desperate, driven mad with hormones and rage and lust. And the strange lightness in his chest he could only call love.
He pulled off Quatre's dick, ready to search through the nightstand for their bottle of lube but Quatre was already handing it to him.
"I need you. Right now," Quatre moaned and Heero was powerless because as heady as his own confusing emotions were, knowing they were reflected and returned by the boy who inspired them made him damn near crazy.
He prepared Quatre carefully. His fingers coated with a generous amount of the substance, Heero was gentle and took his time, never wanting to harm his precious boy despite the way he kept pushing himself further onto his fingers wantonly. No, Heero would always be patient with this. His hands had suffocated the life out of men, they had broken through bone and muscle, they were forever stained with blood, but they would not hurt Quatre.
It was only Quatre's begging that convinced Heero he was ready. He slicked himself with lube and settled between Quatre's opened legs, lining himself up with his entrance. There was no need for protection, they were each other's first blow job, first fuck, first time falling in love with the wrong person. Heero pushed in slowly, letting Quatre adjust to him inch by inch until he was fully inside. They both trembled. Heero strained with the effort it took not to pound into Quatre and Quatre with the mix of pleasure and pain.
Heero's hips twitched automatically and Quatre met the thrust. His arms wrapped around Heero's neck and his legs wrapped around his waist, bracing himself. Heero began thrusting earnestly, always too impatient with this part. He always got so swept away by the tight heat of Quatre's body. Quatre, in turn, reveled in the feeling of Heero pumping into him, his strength barely contained. Quatre was always so pliant, so responsive, each flex of Heero's hips made him moan and cry out into the night.
They tumbled closer and closer to the edge of the bed and their own climax. They were only teenage boys, how long could they last? Quatre's moans became louder as Heero cock reached that spot inside of him that made his whole body thrum with pleasure. Heero thrust deeper and deeper, hitting the spot repeatedly, mercilessly, until Quatre squirmed and bit his lip, spilling white and sticky between them. Heero nearly came apart knowing he'd made his love come, untouched.
Quatre's lips found Heero's ear, nibbling lightly on the lobe before whispering, "I love you, Heero Yuy."
It overwhelmed him still, to hear those words said aloud. Heero's only response was to pump harder and faster, hips stuttering until a single, deep thrust and a loud grunt signaled his own release.
He pulled himself gingerly out of Quatre, wiping their stomachs crudely with the handkerchief from Quatre's uniform before burying them both underneath the blankets. He wrapped his arm around Quatre's waist, pulling him close and kissing his shoulder. Quatre let out a pleased hum in return. The feel of naked skin against naked skin under a warm and cozy exterior was still novel to Heero and he found himself drifting to sleep. Here, he felt safe and suddenly, the reason for his visit came back to him, crashing into his fantasy world.
"Quatre, we need to talk."
The blonde turned around to face him, obviously shaken by the seriousness in his voice. "What's wrong?"
"We can't do this anymore," he stated, the words feeling bitter on his tongue.
"Don't say that, Heero," Quatre said dismissively, as if it was just a misunderstanding.
"I'm putting you in danger."
"I don't care, I'm not a child."
"You don't understand," Heero said.
"No!" Quatre's outburst surprised Heero. "I do understand. I understand what you do and I don't care. I still love you. Nothing else matters."
Heero thought of all the nights he'd spent in this room, learning about his body and how it could give pleasure instead of bring death. He thought about the afternoons he'd snuck Quatre away from his private school to stroll the boardwalk and how content he had felt just to walk alongside him. For a moment, he believed Quatre. He believed that nothing else mattered. But reality came crashing in, like it always does, and he thought about what could happen to someone like him if his weakness was discovered.
"Because of you, I can't do what I do," Heero murmured and his tone was distant.
"Then stop."
The words hung heavy in the air, Quatre's light eyes boring into the cobalt of Heero's. He had finally asked, and Heero had no answer for him. Heero sighed and began to shift, making to leave the bed, but Quatre stopped him, his grip much stronger than Heero anticipated. He surrendered and faced Quatre again.
"It's not that simple."
"Heero, whether you stop or you continue, your life will still be in danger. And I will still be there. I will follow you, no matter where you go."
Quatre's reasoning was both wise and naïve, childish in its devotion yet sound at its core. It was what Heero both longed and feared to hear.
"I can't drag you into this..."
"Heero, if you want to get rid of me you're going to have to put a bullet through my head."
Heero's felt a lump in his throat and his eyes narrowed. He had considered dealing with Quatre the way he dealt with most of his problems. He had even practiced by pointing a gun at the only photo he had of the boy, a strip of photo booth pictures taken on the boardwalk they frequented. But even the grainy, black and white image of Quatre's smile had tortured him. He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it.
"Quatre, you have a chance at a good life. You can have a beautiful wife and lots of children, you can be happy."
"I don't want any of that. I'm happy with you."
The way Quatre's eyes started to water made him want to die. So, he dropped the subject. He lay on his back so that Quatre could rest his head on his chest, a welcome weight.
"Do you love me, Heero?"
"More than anything," Heero answered without thinking because it was the simple truth.
"Then don't leave me, ever."
Heero didn't answer. He didn't promise. He couldn't bear to lie to Quatre, making a promise he knew he'd break. He knew his presence in the boy's life would only bring him tragedy. He couldn't allow harm or ruin to befall this remarkable boy who had changed his worldview with a slight of his hand.
"I will love you forever," Heero said instead, another unchangeable truth, as his arms tightened around Quatre.
Quatre fell asleep in his arms with a content smile on his lips and Heero watched him until the early dawn. As the sky lightened, Heero pressed a soft kiss to the sleeping boy's forehead and left the bed, tugging on his discarded clothing and searching the room for a pen and paper.
He left a short note he hoped explained it all and left through the opened window, as discreetly and expertly as he'd come.
The long walk through the wealthy suburbs back to the city slums where he lived seemed interminable to Heero, his heart weighing heavy in his chest. He missed Quatre already.
When he walked into his apartment, Lowe's lifeless body lay just where he'd left it, slumped against the couch, the blood that poured from his temple now drying in the cold air. Killing him had been easy for Heero, he'd almost enjoyed it, finally freeing himself from the man's tyranny. He'd had no choice, despite how careful Heero had been, Lowe was the only person who might have known or suspected about his involvement with Quatre. His closeness to Heero was his death sentence.
He sat on the couch opposite the dead body, grabbed the pistol and held the silencer up to his own temple. This part of his plan was considerably more challenging than he'd imagined. Before Quatre, Heero's life had held no meaning and he'd been prepared for, almost hoping for death. But then, he had fallen in love and that person had loved him back and now Heero's life was both thrilling and terrifying. Now, there were consequences to his actions. Now, someone would mourn him.
He closed his eyes. He imagined a sweet smile, a coy look, from the boy who'd changed everything as his finger rested on the trigger. Just one motion, one small flex, would end his life, his suffering and ensure that no one would ever try to get to him through Quatre. He would be safe forever.
Heero didn't pull the trigger. Perhaps in self-preservation mode, his mind had drifted to thoughts of innocent, harmless Quatre discovering his lifeless body. Surely, his reaction would be severe, Quatre did have the flare for dramatics that all teenagers possess, and Heero worried for the first time that he might try to harm himself. And Heero would never forgive himself for that.
He put the gun down, and walked into his room.
His feet felt heavy, like lead, as he gathered up his few belongings and weapons, shoving them into a backpack. He went to change his shirt and realized that he'd put on Quatre's instead of his own, the private school emblem sewn into the top left of the polo shirt. He thought about burning it, since it was evidence, but decided to keep it. This shirt and the strip of photo shop pictures would serve as a reminder that Quatre was real, he had existed, and he had loved and been loved, even just once.
It was enough.
Heero stepped out into the sunlight, and walked towards the train station. He didn't know where he was going, just that it would be as far away as possible from the boy he loved. In the bright early morning, everything seemed new, everything seemed possible, and it made Heero's heart seize in his chest. His life would be different now, he would try to be the man Quatre believed he could be. And maybe after a long life of good deeds, decades spent atoning for all his sins, he would be rewarded with a peaceful death and the chance to see his love's smiling face one last time before the darkness took hold.
A boy could dream.