Blood Stained Desert Rose
June 22 2001 - June 24 2001
Look at that! Two days! I was dedicated. ::beams:: Anyway, no one will BELIEVE how hard it was for me to write this chapter. The first was a hit right away; one chapter and its already on more favorites lists than Koibito Hen, which is nine. Does anyone have an idea how difficult it is to live up to something like that? It's damn near impossible! But anyway, here's chapter two of Blood Stained Desert Rose, which is hopefully just has entertaining as chapter one. Thanks.
Tomorrow's my birthday, for anyone curious. ^^
Disclaimer : I. Own. Nothing.
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Treize Khushrenada closed his eyes and sighed softly, listening to the barely audible yet irritating creak his reclining leather chair made. The somewhat comfortable piece of furniture had its back to the tarnished redwood desk, facing the bulletproof glass that probably wouldn't hold if a butterfly landed on it.
This? They called this luxury? Of course, he couldn't blame some of them but his discomfort forced him to blame someone. Many of his OZ soldiers were young, and had been born into this life of poverty and battle. Luxury to them would be their own room with a bed that was only somewhat flea-ridden and cracked walls.
Once upon a time, which was actually three hours ago, he had been in a private jet flying to a hotel suite to conduct a meeting discussing some factors of the desert wars going on. And, of course, some cruel fate had decided to have this private jet fly over a little desert dispute, get shot down by a missle and force the General to make a very undignified leap. However lucky or unlucky he had been, he landed near a base that supported the OZ Faction and had been taken care of. Meaning, being stuffed into this room they dared to call /luxorious/.
Sighing again, Trieze pivoted the chair, picking up a slightly cracked wine glass from the desk. As expected, the crystal was dusted in filthy specks with more in the sickly sweet, burgandy liquid. Disgusted, and barely repressing the urge to toss the insult at the nearest wall, he slammed the cup on the wooden surface, adding another crack into the spiderweb of glass. A sharp knock frin the door added to the echoes the gesture had caused. Quickly running a hand over his chestnut hair and straightening his jacket, he answered the knock with a voice that skillfully masked his fury.
In walked a tall young man with long white-blonde hair and shocking ice-blue eyes, both of which caught Mr. Khushrenada by surprise. How could such a lovely creature survive in this hellhole most called a life? Of course, Trieze wasn't widely known for his lusty observations, however often he made them. But, in these cold eyes he saw barely contained rage and jealousy, which put a slightly amused smirk on his face. This wasn't quite the reaction the young man had been hoping for, apparently, for he stiffened and balled his fists tighter.
"General Khushrenada," the man said in a tight voice, bowing with respect that was obviously forced. "We weren't expecting you."
"I know," Trieze replied with a dry chuckle, folding his gloved fingers neatly in his lap. "I wasn't expecting this little visit either. Hopefully it will be temporary."
The General noticed the man's lips tremble slightly, and could hear the faint whistle of breath that came with talking. Straining his ears, he heard a sharp string of obsencities emitting from those fine lips. Before Trieze could comment, the man went on.
"I am Zechs Marquise, current leader of the Eastern Sphere OZ Group. Since you are leader of OZ itself, perhaps you'd like to take command while you are here?" Zechs's words were strained, slight hesitations on every syllable.
To satisfy his need to let out a hysterical bark of laughter, Trieze gave another dry chuckle and stood. He was the taller than Zechs, which seemed to infuriate the tall blonde further. "Actually, yes. I think I would."
Trieze missed the rest of Mr. Marquise's shocked look when he turned around to face the window. "Well, I suppose I should inform you of the current events, then," Zechs replied in a slightly shaking voice.
"The second best group in the Eastern Sphere is a group called the Gundams. Their headquarters are in the southwest, which we cannot attack directly because of an unsaid rule that goes among all of the Spheres. Their leader is a young man known as Heero Yuy; he has three captains known as Chang Wufei, Quatre Winner and Trowa Barton. Their skill improves will every attack on us, and we have reason to believe that eventually they will overtake us.
"What you ran into was an attack on us by the Gundams. They were provoking us into a battle, and we attempted to attack them but they fled before we could hit them. They do that often."
Zechs was about to continue, but Treize broke him off. "It's all about the war tatics, Zechs. Most likely, your ideas are all wrong. We can discuss those later." The General looked over his shoulder. "Is there anything else, Lightning Count?"
It looked as if Zechs was about to fall over when Trieze had used his nickname, but he stuttered a bit and answered the question. "One of our group was captured about a week ago by the Gundams. I met her and tried to bring her back, but she doesn't seem to want to leave. She's a blabbermouth and might let something slip about our plans."
The faint, embarrased blush that passed over Zechs's face made certain that this girl was either his lover or some part of his family. "Make an offer she can't refuse, even if it involves decieving her. And if she gives something up," Trieze gave a little malicious smirk that was hidden behind his broad shoulder, "find her, and kill her."
Zechs took a surprised step back, which he feinted as taking his dismissal. The door shut with a soft click. The tall blonde leaned against the wall opposite the door, clenched fist banging the paint which chipped off and fell to the floor. He hunched his shoulders angrily and stomped off down the hall, absently rubbing his left arm, which lifted the silken sleeve to expose the boldly tattooed 'zero six' on his wrist.
Back in the small room, Trieze put his elbows on the desk's surface, running his fingers through his slick hair. The gesture tugged at his jacket, lowering the sleeves to show off the tattooed number thirteen on his left wrist to his closed eyes.
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To Heero Yuy, it had been the most nerve-wracking day in his life. Every time he had tried to enter the infirmary, Sally had shoved him out and told him that they were still operating on the nameless boy. He had already done every possible thing to calm his jumping nerves. He had even given in to listening to one of Wufei's justice rants, something he knew less than shit about and still preached about it like he invented it himself.
At the moment, Heero stared blankly up at the dim, barely white-washed ceiling. Wufei's speech was no longer an annoying chant in his ears; it had lowered to a dull roar like that of a river miles away, and with the sudden changes in pitch and flow, it could actually be called a jerky symphony of shit. But shit was shit, no matter what form its molded into, including lousy justice rants, therefore Heero was about to get up and do something he had probably already done a million times over during the course of the day.
The young leader was only just breaking himself out of the blank trance that he had created to block out Wufei's voice when something broke through it for him. The unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine, at least three of them about a mile away. Suddenly alert, Heero leapt up and tugged at a cord that hung from the ceiling. A ladder dropped out, and he thundered upon it with cat-like grace. The attic-icky area was small, and one had to crouch in an awkward position to get even remotely comfortable. A pair of Prussian blue orbs stared out through one of the many thin slats cut into the wall; not too far away was a dusty yellow cloud thundering towards him. Thrusted above the mobile dust was a flag on a long metal pole; the flag held their gang insignia, moving in jerky motions that would take years of practice to duplicate.
The taunting army was home.
Heero squat-walked to the left edge of the attic, pushing out a panel and immeditately grasping a metal pole. He fell out, eyes closed momentarily until they adjusted to the sudden change from stuffy darkness to bright, hot sunlight. Feet braced against the side of the building, one hand gripping the metal pole and other sheilding his beloved eyes from the sun, Heero peered out into the desert.
Eventually the fog of heat and sand fell away, revealing three motorcycles and a jeep. Driving the jeap was blond captain Quatre, with three other nameless soldiers, one waving the flag. In the motorcycles were two more soldiers and obvious lover to Quatre, captain Trowa. Heero let go of the pole and fell, knocking the panel shut and rising his own little cloud of dust. Ignoring the sneeze that threatened to rise up in him, he waved the dust away from his face and strode foreward.
"Heero!" Quatre shouted from the jeep. "Bad news! Very bad news!"
"What is it?" came the young man's reply as the vehicles stopped by the yard where Heero stood. Howard's pet had not forgotten the lesson it had learned earlier in the day and stayed back in the shadows of its dark shithouse.
The blond Arabian jumped down from the driver's seat, rubbing sand out of his hair as he spoke, "Trieze is in town."
"Khushrenada?" came Heero's shocked reply. Sure, the bastard ran the whole OZ show but he didn't get his elegant little hands dirty hanging down in the Spheres.
Trowa watched as the soldiers pulled open the hidden driveway into the garage beneath their safehouse, leading their vehicles down the wide passageway. "It didn't look like he came on purpose. His jet was shot down while we were over at the OZ base," explained the tall brunette.
Heero muttered an obscenity, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. "All right, all right. We need to talk about this." He chewed on his lip for a second. Quatre and Trowa paused, waiting expectantly for their leader's answer.
"Okay," Heero finally annouced, rubbing his hands together. "Be underground in ten." And with that, he went back inside, the door clicking shut behind him. Quatre wrapped an arm around the taller man's waist, tugging at his sleeves and Trowa's clothes to reveal the '03' and '04' tattooes on their left wrists.
"Well, shit," the blond captain murmured at the door. When an animalistic shriek emitted from the oversized pet house and a little corner of pink flesh showed itself from the tattered wood, the young couple hurried back inside.
Heero squeezed himself through the crowds in the main level of their safehouse. The rickety building was only a hangout; the real thing was beneath it, all cool metal and authority and business, with scents of oil and steel and gas and dirt and manly musk that sent all too many into bouts of frenzied lust, sometimes by themselves and sometimes with each other.
Just one more check on Kid No-name, and he'd head Underground to worry about this Treize matter. Sighing softly, he pushed his weight against the heavy metal door and found himself surprised when there was no reistance. Stumbling in, Heero saw Sally washing her hands off in a sink, her four or five helpers fanning themselves off.
"Oh, Heero," said she, when she had turned around and noticed him. She wore pale blue scrubs, most of which were covered in blood. She freed her blond hair of the elastic cap, gesturing towards the slightly covered form on the table. "We're all done here. The operation was sucessful, and surprisingly, his injuries weren't that bad. I'm assuming you'd like to take him to some more ... comfortable conditions?" She looked at him with a sly, somewhat disapproving smile on her face.
Narrowing his eyes, the fearless leader strode over to the operating table. The boy's body had been stripped of his tattered rags and he was slightly damp from being cleaned of blood. Bandages looped his torso, which Heero noticed looked more toned when it didn't include a gaping, bloody hole, and more covering smaller wounds throughout his body. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, chest moving at a normal rate and heart-shaped face calm.
"Actually, I think I would," replied the young soldier, with as much sharpness as he could add to his voice. Covering the slight, wiry body in the sheet he was covered with, Heero scooped the boy up in his arms, careful not to jostle him too much. Sally only gave a small laugh and waved him on. He acknowledged her with a curt nod and left.
The crowds parted when he left the infirmary, somewhat to his dismay. If he had given a fiercer glare to anyone else, his eyes might've fallen out. It seemed like a million mile walk to his staircase, but he eventually reached it. Relena sat on a couch tucked into a corner, and her jaw dropped when she saw her hopeful lover approaching the steps she sat before. Before she could move, Heero dared her to do something with his eyes and she sat still.
When he had entered, he shut the door with his foot. Walking quickly to his large bed, skirting the paper screens he had replaced, Heero manuevered a way to hold the boy while peeling back the covers of his bed. He tucked the stranger beneath the layers of cotton and silk, swiftly removing the paper sheet he had come with. He looked away, avoiding altogether the battle of trying not to blush when the slim nakedness flashed before his eyes.
The boy immediately made himself comfortable, even in his sleep. Curling up into a tight little ball, head barely touching the pillow with braid splayed out over several others. A small smirk tugged at Heero's lips, and he stroked the boy's cheek as if to coax him out. His body twitched and began to react, and before he could draw back in the slight horror he suddenly felt, the boy leaned into his touch. A slight flush appeared over those slender cheeks, and his mouth parted slightly.
Heero's breath caught tight in his chest, and he traced the lines of the boy's face, his touch becoming vague and distant. A finely-boned hand reached up and touched his own, and those soft brown lashes fluttered and opened to reveal the violet stones beneath.
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To be continued.
Pweh. Well, there it is. Hope it lived up to all of your expectations. Review me, petty servants, and tell me what you think! Bwah! ^^
June 22 2001 - June 24 2001
Look at that! Two days! I was dedicated. ::beams:: Anyway, no one will BELIEVE how hard it was for me to write this chapter. The first was a hit right away; one chapter and its already on more favorites lists than Koibito Hen, which is nine. Does anyone have an idea how difficult it is to live up to something like that? It's damn near impossible! But anyway, here's chapter two of Blood Stained Desert Rose, which is hopefully just has entertaining as chapter one. Thanks.
Tomorrow's my birthday, for anyone curious. ^^
Disclaimer : I. Own. Nothing.
========================
Treize Khushrenada closed his eyes and sighed softly, listening to the barely audible yet irritating creak his reclining leather chair made. The somewhat comfortable piece of furniture had its back to the tarnished redwood desk, facing the bulletproof glass that probably wouldn't hold if a butterfly landed on it.
This? They called this luxury? Of course, he couldn't blame some of them but his discomfort forced him to blame someone. Many of his OZ soldiers were young, and had been born into this life of poverty and battle. Luxury to them would be their own room with a bed that was only somewhat flea-ridden and cracked walls.
Once upon a time, which was actually three hours ago, he had been in a private jet flying to a hotel suite to conduct a meeting discussing some factors of the desert wars going on. And, of course, some cruel fate had decided to have this private jet fly over a little desert dispute, get shot down by a missle and force the General to make a very undignified leap. However lucky or unlucky he had been, he landed near a base that supported the OZ Faction and had been taken care of. Meaning, being stuffed into this room they dared to call /luxorious/.
Sighing again, Trieze pivoted the chair, picking up a slightly cracked wine glass from the desk. As expected, the crystal was dusted in filthy specks with more in the sickly sweet, burgandy liquid. Disgusted, and barely repressing the urge to toss the insult at the nearest wall, he slammed the cup on the wooden surface, adding another crack into the spiderweb of glass. A sharp knock frin the door added to the echoes the gesture had caused. Quickly running a hand over his chestnut hair and straightening his jacket, he answered the knock with a voice that skillfully masked his fury.
In walked a tall young man with long white-blonde hair and shocking ice-blue eyes, both of which caught Mr. Khushrenada by surprise. How could such a lovely creature survive in this hellhole most called a life? Of course, Trieze wasn't widely known for his lusty observations, however often he made them. But, in these cold eyes he saw barely contained rage and jealousy, which put a slightly amused smirk on his face. This wasn't quite the reaction the young man had been hoping for, apparently, for he stiffened and balled his fists tighter.
"General Khushrenada," the man said in a tight voice, bowing with respect that was obviously forced. "We weren't expecting you."
"I know," Trieze replied with a dry chuckle, folding his gloved fingers neatly in his lap. "I wasn't expecting this little visit either. Hopefully it will be temporary."
The General noticed the man's lips tremble slightly, and could hear the faint whistle of breath that came with talking. Straining his ears, he heard a sharp string of obsencities emitting from those fine lips. Before Trieze could comment, the man went on.
"I am Zechs Marquise, current leader of the Eastern Sphere OZ Group. Since you are leader of OZ itself, perhaps you'd like to take command while you are here?" Zechs's words were strained, slight hesitations on every syllable.
To satisfy his need to let out a hysterical bark of laughter, Trieze gave another dry chuckle and stood. He was the taller than Zechs, which seemed to infuriate the tall blonde further. "Actually, yes. I think I would."
Trieze missed the rest of Mr. Marquise's shocked look when he turned around to face the window. "Well, I suppose I should inform you of the current events, then," Zechs replied in a slightly shaking voice.
"The second best group in the Eastern Sphere is a group called the Gundams. Their headquarters are in the southwest, which we cannot attack directly because of an unsaid rule that goes among all of the Spheres. Their leader is a young man known as Heero Yuy; he has three captains known as Chang Wufei, Quatre Winner and Trowa Barton. Their skill improves will every attack on us, and we have reason to believe that eventually they will overtake us.
"What you ran into was an attack on us by the Gundams. They were provoking us into a battle, and we attempted to attack them but they fled before we could hit them. They do that often."
Zechs was about to continue, but Treize broke him off. "It's all about the war tatics, Zechs. Most likely, your ideas are all wrong. We can discuss those later." The General looked over his shoulder. "Is there anything else, Lightning Count?"
It looked as if Zechs was about to fall over when Trieze had used his nickname, but he stuttered a bit and answered the question. "One of our group was captured about a week ago by the Gundams. I met her and tried to bring her back, but she doesn't seem to want to leave. She's a blabbermouth and might let something slip about our plans."
The faint, embarrased blush that passed over Zechs's face made certain that this girl was either his lover or some part of his family. "Make an offer she can't refuse, even if it involves decieving her. And if she gives something up," Trieze gave a little malicious smirk that was hidden behind his broad shoulder, "find her, and kill her."
Zechs took a surprised step back, which he feinted as taking his dismissal. The door shut with a soft click. The tall blonde leaned against the wall opposite the door, clenched fist banging the paint which chipped off and fell to the floor. He hunched his shoulders angrily and stomped off down the hall, absently rubbing his left arm, which lifted the silken sleeve to expose the boldly tattooed 'zero six' on his wrist.
Back in the small room, Trieze put his elbows on the desk's surface, running his fingers through his slick hair. The gesture tugged at his jacket, lowering the sleeves to show off the tattooed number thirteen on his left wrist to his closed eyes.
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To Heero Yuy, it had been the most nerve-wracking day in his life. Every time he had tried to enter the infirmary, Sally had shoved him out and told him that they were still operating on the nameless boy. He had already done every possible thing to calm his jumping nerves. He had even given in to listening to one of Wufei's justice rants, something he knew less than shit about and still preached about it like he invented it himself.
At the moment, Heero stared blankly up at the dim, barely white-washed ceiling. Wufei's speech was no longer an annoying chant in his ears; it had lowered to a dull roar like that of a river miles away, and with the sudden changes in pitch and flow, it could actually be called a jerky symphony of shit. But shit was shit, no matter what form its molded into, including lousy justice rants, therefore Heero was about to get up and do something he had probably already done a million times over during the course of the day.
The young leader was only just breaking himself out of the blank trance that he had created to block out Wufei's voice when something broke through it for him. The unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine, at least three of them about a mile away. Suddenly alert, Heero leapt up and tugged at a cord that hung from the ceiling. A ladder dropped out, and he thundered upon it with cat-like grace. The attic-icky area was small, and one had to crouch in an awkward position to get even remotely comfortable. A pair of Prussian blue orbs stared out through one of the many thin slats cut into the wall; not too far away was a dusty yellow cloud thundering towards him. Thrusted above the mobile dust was a flag on a long metal pole; the flag held their gang insignia, moving in jerky motions that would take years of practice to duplicate.
The taunting army was home.
Heero squat-walked to the left edge of the attic, pushing out a panel and immeditately grasping a metal pole. He fell out, eyes closed momentarily until they adjusted to the sudden change from stuffy darkness to bright, hot sunlight. Feet braced against the side of the building, one hand gripping the metal pole and other sheilding his beloved eyes from the sun, Heero peered out into the desert.
Eventually the fog of heat and sand fell away, revealing three motorcycles and a jeep. Driving the jeap was blond captain Quatre, with three other nameless soldiers, one waving the flag. In the motorcycles were two more soldiers and obvious lover to Quatre, captain Trowa. Heero let go of the pole and fell, knocking the panel shut and rising his own little cloud of dust. Ignoring the sneeze that threatened to rise up in him, he waved the dust away from his face and strode foreward.
"Heero!" Quatre shouted from the jeep. "Bad news! Very bad news!"
"What is it?" came the young man's reply as the vehicles stopped by the yard where Heero stood. Howard's pet had not forgotten the lesson it had learned earlier in the day and stayed back in the shadows of its dark shithouse.
The blond Arabian jumped down from the driver's seat, rubbing sand out of his hair as he spoke, "Trieze is in town."
"Khushrenada?" came Heero's shocked reply. Sure, the bastard ran the whole OZ show but he didn't get his elegant little hands dirty hanging down in the Spheres.
Trowa watched as the soldiers pulled open the hidden driveway into the garage beneath their safehouse, leading their vehicles down the wide passageway. "It didn't look like he came on purpose. His jet was shot down while we were over at the OZ base," explained the tall brunette.
Heero muttered an obscenity, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. "All right, all right. We need to talk about this." He chewed on his lip for a second. Quatre and Trowa paused, waiting expectantly for their leader's answer.
"Okay," Heero finally annouced, rubbing his hands together. "Be underground in ten." And with that, he went back inside, the door clicking shut behind him. Quatre wrapped an arm around the taller man's waist, tugging at his sleeves and Trowa's clothes to reveal the '03' and '04' tattooes on their left wrists.
"Well, shit," the blond captain murmured at the door. When an animalistic shriek emitted from the oversized pet house and a little corner of pink flesh showed itself from the tattered wood, the young couple hurried back inside.
Heero squeezed himself through the crowds in the main level of their safehouse. The rickety building was only a hangout; the real thing was beneath it, all cool metal and authority and business, with scents of oil and steel and gas and dirt and manly musk that sent all too many into bouts of frenzied lust, sometimes by themselves and sometimes with each other.
Just one more check on Kid No-name, and he'd head Underground to worry about this Treize matter. Sighing softly, he pushed his weight against the heavy metal door and found himself surprised when there was no reistance. Stumbling in, Heero saw Sally washing her hands off in a sink, her four or five helpers fanning themselves off.
"Oh, Heero," said she, when she had turned around and noticed him. She wore pale blue scrubs, most of which were covered in blood. She freed her blond hair of the elastic cap, gesturing towards the slightly covered form on the table. "We're all done here. The operation was sucessful, and surprisingly, his injuries weren't that bad. I'm assuming you'd like to take him to some more ... comfortable conditions?" She looked at him with a sly, somewhat disapproving smile on her face.
Narrowing his eyes, the fearless leader strode over to the operating table. The boy's body had been stripped of his tattered rags and he was slightly damp from being cleaned of blood. Bandages looped his torso, which Heero noticed looked more toned when it didn't include a gaping, bloody hole, and more covering smaller wounds throughout his body. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, chest moving at a normal rate and heart-shaped face calm.
"Actually, I think I would," replied the young soldier, with as much sharpness as he could add to his voice. Covering the slight, wiry body in the sheet he was covered with, Heero scooped the boy up in his arms, careful not to jostle him too much. Sally only gave a small laugh and waved him on. He acknowledged her with a curt nod and left.
The crowds parted when he left the infirmary, somewhat to his dismay. If he had given a fiercer glare to anyone else, his eyes might've fallen out. It seemed like a million mile walk to his staircase, but he eventually reached it. Relena sat on a couch tucked into a corner, and her jaw dropped when she saw her hopeful lover approaching the steps she sat before. Before she could move, Heero dared her to do something with his eyes and she sat still.
When he had entered, he shut the door with his foot. Walking quickly to his large bed, skirting the paper screens he had replaced, Heero manuevered a way to hold the boy while peeling back the covers of his bed. He tucked the stranger beneath the layers of cotton and silk, swiftly removing the paper sheet he had come with. He looked away, avoiding altogether the battle of trying not to blush when the slim nakedness flashed before his eyes.
The boy immediately made himself comfortable, even in his sleep. Curling up into a tight little ball, head barely touching the pillow with braid splayed out over several others. A small smirk tugged at Heero's lips, and he stroked the boy's cheek as if to coax him out. His body twitched and began to react, and before he could draw back in the slight horror he suddenly felt, the boy leaned into his touch. A slight flush appeared over those slender cheeks, and his mouth parted slightly.
Heero's breath caught tight in his chest, and he traced the lines of the boy's face, his touch becoming vague and distant. A finely-boned hand reached up and touched his own, and those soft brown lashes fluttered and opened to reveal the violet stones beneath.
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To be continued.
Pweh. Well, there it is. Hope it lived up to all of your expectations. Review me, petty servants, and tell me what you think! Bwah! ^^