Here a Captive Heart

Well this was a royal pain in the posterior to write and I apologize for all the terrible mistakes.  I tried as best I could to get the language sounding right, but I'll most likely have to comb through this and change it quite a bit.  I'm calling it good for now.  Any suggestions are welcome.

Did I ever mention I loooooooove Mark Twain?  Ah do.  I love him dearly.  This is my tribute to him.  We'll see if he's turning in his grave now eh?  ^__^

Characters are a bit out of character here, but it was fun anyway.  Enjoy.

Warnings:  Strong Language.

Here a Captive Heart

By Caer

Two boys floated lazily down the Mississippi River, unconcerned by the giant paddled sternwheelers that pushed their tiny raft to and fro on the slow waters as they basked languidly in the sun. 

"Heero?"  Quatre said, looking up at the clouds and smoking languidly on a self-crafted corncob pipe.

"Ah?"  Heero replied, with what remained of the broken Japanese he forgot more of every day.  He opened an eye to look at the fair blond boy, trying to fight the embrace of hazy day sleep that the water fought steadily to pull him into as it rocked the sturdy vessel. 

"If I 'da known there was all this freedom to be had, I would have run away a long time ago.  It just don't get much better than this."

Heero raised a sleepy eye to look at his traveling companion. 

Quatre was a toe headed youth with an affinity for trouble, but always to Heero's amazement, an innocent smile and watery eyes could get that boy out of almost any scrape.  The boy looked like a walking angel on earth, when in fact, he had the very devil in him he got into so much mischief.  More often than not, Heero found himself at the business end of the paddle because of Quatre's schemes.  He didn't mind though.  Quatre was his best friend, and they had fun, and the paddle was a fair piece better than the awful wailings his Pa used to fetch him before the Winner family took him in.

Lately though, Quatre had become more than a friend.  Lately, Heero found that he liked just looking at the ornery blond.  He could occupy himself for hours, just watching the willowy boy, all of his slenderness hidden by the dirty baggy trousers and billowy cotton shirt he practically hid inside.  His hair was wispy and straight and hung in his eyes most of the time unless Miss Ruth could catch him long enough to trim them.  His skin was pale, with just a few freckles dotting his nose, but otherwise smooth as alabaster.  When he wasn't full of vinegar and trying to act tough, he moved like a swan on water, graceful, as the day is long and Heero felt more and more that he needed to be close to the blond, as if that simple presence completed him somehow.

Heero reckoned he was in love, so he didn't need much convincing when the object of his improper desire climbed out the window onto the old oak and into Heero's window to convince him that they should run away.  Two hours later had seen them dragging a mess of provisions out to their well-used raft and an hour after that saw them on their way down the grand old Mississippi, laughing up a storm and going on about how they were free to make their fortune.

As daybreak neared, they figured it wouldn't be fitting to be seen in the daytime while school was on as folks might talk, sending the news upriver.  To their great fortune, they found a small island to spend the day on and they contently unloaded their raft.

Heero watched Quatre guiltily.  He couldn't help but take advantage of being alone with the graceful boy.  Quatre was on his knees, his feet curled under his bottom as he looked at all of the supplies.  The wind blew through his feathery hair.  He had his lower lip curled up under his top teeth, his eyes reflecting concern.  Heero stared, entranced as the pouting lip popped out, glistening with moisture and swollen from the pressure.  Quatre stood up and turned toward to the confused boy.

"Heero?  You reckon we missed packing the corn meal?"

Heero blinked and replied softly.

"No Quatre.  We must have done left it."

"Damnation."  The blond cursed, chewing on that cherry lip again in consternation.  "S'pose it's my fault.  I wrote it on my list and then gone left it."

"It's not important."

"Like stars it ain't.  We're considerable low on provisions now.  I…"

Quatre looked up, seeing an odd look on his Japanese friend's eyes. 

"Heero?  You feel all right?"

Heero moved forward slowly, swallowing again, nervously and nodding.

"Just fine."

Heero stopped in front of the blond, close enough that they were eye to eye.  Quatre's voice lowered to a near whisper.

"You look right pale.  Is something wrong."

A shake of the head and then… 

"He… mmph!"

Heero closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to those of the winsome blond.  He couldn't help it.  He wanted to do this for so long now.  He never really gave much thought to right or wrong.  All he figured was that those lips were the softest, warmest lips he could imagine and he wasn't far off beam. 

Quatre's widened as he got over his initial shock and he pushed the Japanese boy away roughly, drawing his slender arm back and  punching him, making the dark haired youth sprawl backwards in the dirt.

"What in the Sam hill do you think you're doing Heero?  Have you plum took leave of your senses?  I'm a boy for crying out loud!"

Heero, wiped the blood off the small cut in his lip and sat up, looking down.

"I'm sorry Quatre.  I… I couldn't help it I guess." He sniffed and dabbed his shirt on his bloody lip again.

"Jesus aged Christ!"  The blond shot out for good measure, turning and pacing a bit, before turning back to his best friend.

"I know I'm a might fair for a boy, but I ain't no Percy boy!"  He asserted, nodding grimly.  "I mean… what did you have to go and do a thing like that for?"

Heero looked down, ashamed now.

"It's like I said Quatre.  I just don't know.  That's what I felt like doin'… and… and I couldn't but help myself."

"You couldn't help…" The blond gave him a cockeyed glance.  "I don't get it Heero.  Are you a faggot or something?"

Heero looked at Quatre, horrified.  Soon, though, he couldn't look the delicate boy in the eyes.  There wasn't any other explanation.  By now, he had pulled his knees closer to himself, crossing his arms over the ripped trousers he wore and staring down at the dirt between his outstretched legs.  He choked a little on his next words.

"Well, Quatre… I… I reckon I am.  Cause I don't like girls much, but I like you."

"Well… tarnation Heero!"  Quatre yelled.  The boy always yelled when he was worked up.  His words got right blasphemous as well.  "I mean… great guns!  What are we gonna do now?"

Heero dabbed his lip on his sleeve and shook his head before burying it in his arms.

"I don't know Quatre.  I don't think your Pa's gonna take kindly, having a f… faggot staying in his house."

Quatre looked at his friend with angry concern.  He kicked the ground and walked closer to the disturbed boy.

"Well now, don't go talking like that.  We just won't tell him.  I mean… It was just a little kiss right?"

Heero sniffed.  "Yeah."

"Right.  It weren't hardly nothing at all.  So… no one ever has to know."

Heero nodded, still looking down.

"Quatre?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you hate me now?"

"I…no!"  Quatre said avidly, kneeling down on his bare feet.  "I mean… you may be a faggot and all, but… Ruth's a Nigger and I love her like she was my own Ma, and what about Rashid?  He's an A-rab and my Pa works with him just fine.   I just don't think it's right not to like someone on account of they're different.  Besides, you're Japanese, and that didn't stop me from liking you.  And it didn't stop Pa from taking you in like you was his own flesh and blood" The blond put a hand on his friends shoulder.  "I just don't think it makes no bit of never mind.  You're my best friend no matter what."

"Blamed if you ain't the salt of the earth, Quatre."  Heero said quietly, giving Quatre a hug, which Quatre returned a bit uncomfortably, before pushing his friend away.

"Heero… you're not gonna try an' kiss me again are you?"

Heero shook his head violently.

"No sir.  Not if you don't want me too Quatre."

"Well good."  Quatre said, pulling Heero back up to his feet.  "Then that's settled.  We should probably set up camp and just forget this."

Heero nodded, but still looked a bit worried.  This alone made Quatre awful nervous since Heero barely looked one way or the other when it came to feelings, but now, he looked right sad.  He was awful quiet when it came to feelings.

"You ain't gonna rat on me are you Quatre?"

The blond boy shook his head with vigour.

"No sir Heero.  You're practically kin.  I swear on my Ma's cold grave that mums the word.  So don't you go worrying none."

Heero nodded once more and moved silently off to unpack the gear to set up the tent.

*****

Quatre picked his way through the young saplings that clustered all over the island, collecting firewood for the night.  The wood piled up fairly quickly since often the weakest of the boughs were systematically swept from the trees whenever the river rose. 

The wood began to pile to fair proportions as Quatre thought about Heero's actions today.  What was he thinking?  He was setting himself up for a life of loneliness and hatred.  Would he be able to keep this secret?  If folks knew Heero was that kind of different, who knows what terrible things the might do?  He had heard of men being hanged, flogged, burned to death, or even castrated for such a crime.  Quatre gritted his teeth.  He wouldn't let that happen.  He was going to help Heero to get cured of this.  There was no way he would let his best friend become an outcast.  Quatre was going to learn him to be a proper individual.  After all, that's what best friends were for right?

He paused.

He put more wood in his stack and stood up, touching his lips for a moment, the grit from the wood making his finger feel rough.  Quatre rubbed the dirt off on the old trousers that were too big for him.  He touched his bottom lip again.  It was soft.  Heero's lips had been soft against them… soft and warm. 

Quatre flung his hand down angrily.

"Hang it Heero!  What for did you have to go and do such a blamed fool thing?"

But he had, and as much as Quatre wanted to deny it, no one had ever touched him like that before.  He had never even kissed a girl for Pete's sake.  Well, who would want to anyhow?  They weren't nothing but trouble.  That's what his Pa always said.  Truth be told, now that he was looking at it in hindsight, it weren't such a horrible thing, what Heero did and the implications of that string of thought made him wonder.  It also made him feel downright guilty.

When he returned to camp, he was in foul sorts.  Heero watched the boy as he came and dumped the wood by the already comfortable fire, grumbling all the way.

"What are you looking at?"  He snapped.

Heero looked down and turned away.  He went and put the fish they had scared up earlier on the open flame to cook.  Quatre looked at him when he knew Heero wasn't looking back.  He wasn't fully Japanese, and Heero claimed his Ma had been English and his Pa, Japanese.  The result was a lithe boy with skin that was a slight piece darker than a full blood English, with Chocolate brown hair

that feathered over his eyes in waves.  Heero was always so quiet.  Quatre would rib him about it, but blamed if he didn't like it.  Heero would always turn a kind ear.  He would always go along with any new scheme Quatre cooked up, no matter how harebrained.  That's one reason Quatre had taken kindly to the strong Japanese boy in the first place.

There was something else too.  Now, Quatre had one active imagination, no doubt about it.  His mind worked any time of day or night and didn't get no rest.  Now, the problem with such an affliction is that his imagination would keep a working through the night and the active blond would awake with horrible nightmares.  On those nights, he would awake to a good shake and sometimes a hard slap from his friend who would be awake and waiting with a glass of water and some tobacco if Quatre's nerves got to shaking.

Then, Heero would spend the rest of the night, or however long Quatre needed, talking to him and letting him puzzle out all his jumbled thoughts.  He never complained and he never ignored the rambling boy.   They would end up falling asleep, sprawled out on Quatre's bed until Ruth rousted them for school.

They ate their fish in silence, one boy sneaking a glance at the other, then looking away quick before the other noticed.  They didn't say a word the whole evening until they were having a last smoke.  Heero emptied his pipe and tossed it by the fire, sighing.

"I guess I'll turn in."

Quatre nodded and looked down.

"All right Heero.  I'll watch the fire."

"All right."

Quatre watched his silent friend crawl into his rucksack, burying his head until only the dark hair fluffed out the top.  Quatre watched as the rise and fall of that lump of Heero slowed.  He waited until he was sure the boy was asleep.  Quatre then dumped his own pipe and used the griddle to scoop a heap of dirt into the fire pit, extinguishing the flames.  He crawled over to his own pile of blankets, pulling them back and getting ready to slip under when he stopped.

The moon shone on Heero's face, and though it was relaxed in sleep, there were tracks of tears down the smooth cheeks.  Quatre leaned forward, worriedly brushing away the moisture with a shaky hand.  He had never seen Heero cry.  Never.  Not even when he had shown up on Quatre's door with a broken arm and blood soaking his shirt where his Pa had whipped him near to death.  Quatre thought again about how Heero had kissed him earlier.  Heero's lip was fat from the mean hook Quatre had fetched him.  Quatre felt himself leaning forward, puckering and closing his eyes.

Heero awoke scared, feeling a presence above him like he used to when his Pa would come home drunk and whale on him with a hick'ry switch.  He started, trying to sit up and giving a little yell before his head collided with something on its upward trajectory.

"Ow!"

Heero looked over to see Quatre sitting on the ground beside him and holding his forehead. 

"Quatre!"  Heero said, rubbing his own forehead.

"You've got a hard head Heero."

"Well… what were you doin', standing over me like that?  You know I wake up fast."

Quatre squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his head harder, not wanting to answer.  Heero crawled out of his blanket.

"Here.  Let me look at it."  Heero said gently.

"I'm fine."

Heero rolled his eyes. 

"Just be still for a bit and let me take a look."

Heero pulled Quatre's hand away and gently lifted the pale bangs, noting vaguely, that they felt like thistledown on his fingers.  He took a concerned look at the blonde's head, trying not to think about how much he wanted to hold him, and kiss him like he did earlier… to revel in those remarkably warm lips.

Quatre looked into the deep cobalt eyes that were currently not focused on him, but the lump on his forehead.  Those eyes were so deep and full of emotion when you were looking at them up close.  Quatre could feel the warm breath on his face. Heero was so close.  Quatre tried to imagine burying his hands in that soft chocolate hair.

Heero moved away slightly, looking into Quatre's face.

"You'll be ok."  He said softly.  "It's just a little lump."

They looked at each other, not moving, barely breathing.  Quatre sat in a well of indecision for just a moment before he uttered a quick "Aw hell with it." And dug his fingers into the hair on the back of Heero's head, pulling him into a kiss.

Heero's eyes practically popped of their sockets he was so surprised, while Quatre was just trying to figure out what else he was supposed to do since this was his first kiss.  Finally, Heero muttered unintelligibly and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the slender boy and kissing back.  Presently, they pulled apart and Heero looked at Quatre with utter confusion in his eyes and a blush on his cheeks.

"Quatre?  Why did you do that?"

Quatre swallowed nervously, looking into Heero's incredible eyes. 

"Well… Heero."  He whispered, throat dry.  "I think I… I reckon I'm a faggot too."

Heero smiled a little and hugged the blond, who buried his head in the white cotton of Heero's shirt.  Heero ran a gentle hand over the wispy hair.

"It's all right Quatre.  I won't tell anyone either.  It'll just be our secret."

Quatre nodded into the Japanese boy's chest silently.  Finally he pulled away and looked up.  After a silent moment, they kissed again… a sweet, slow kiss that helped to strengthen their newly found feelings for one another.

"Heero, what else is it that faggot's do?"

"Well… I guess we could sleep with each other.  That's what my Pa told me they do when I asked him what a Nancy boy was."

"Well that don't sound too bad."  Quatre said and crawled under the covers with Heero, who sighed contentedly as he wrapped the slender boy in his arms, smelling his hair.  They lay there, a bit stiff at first, but slowly relaxing into each other as they grew weary from the day's adventure.

"Heero?"  Quatre asked sleepily.

"Yeah?"  Heero was almost asleep himself.

"Maybe I got the devil in me like Miss Ellen says , but I figure being a faggot ain't so bad.  I don't see what the big fuss was about.  Pa says that anyone who's a sodomite goes straight to the bad place."

"Shoot Quatre.  Who wants to go around wearing white all day and playing harps and such anyway?  Sides, if I'm going straight to hell, it'll be right nice to have some company.  Leastways we're together."

"Danged if you aren't smart as tacks Heero.  No matter what happens, that's all that's important I suppose."

"Yeah."

"G'night Heero."

"G'night Quatre."

Owari

I just want to apologize for some of the language, but it's Southern Mississippi in the late 1800s.  That was the way they talked.  Well… heh heh.  That's my sorry excuse for an attempt at the way they talked.

I think it's important to point out where the word "faggot" originated.  Obviously, the basest meaning of "faggot" is a thatch of wood you use to start a fire.  Well, in Europe in the 18th and 19th century and even before, the priests would round up all the young boys and have them collect little bundles of wood to lay at gay prisoner's feet.  They would then proceed to burn the men to death, make the children watch and then lecture them about the evils of homosexuality.   Eventually, the word "faggot" was associated with homosexuals.  When I read this, I just about got sick, but that's the way the world was.