Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Note: The third chapter in my "darkfic". YAOI (male x male) warning!

Oh yeah...would any of you like to join my Bust-A-Groove yahoo group? It's dedicated to the couples of BAG. Here's the URL:

SHADES

Take 3: Strike's Tale

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

They had moved onto the bed, to ease the tension felt between their conflicting souls. Strike was breathing horsely, hyperverntilating from his stress. His head was tucked under Hiro's chin, his forehead pressed against the nape of his neck. Hiro had his arms around Strike, in a tight embrace. The whole situation was bizarre; both were straight, and yet...

What am I doing? Are my arms actually AROUND Strike? Why is he actin' like this? What does he want to tell me? Hiro's mind was abuzz with questions. Questions that he wanted answered. He was still mildly disturbed after Strike's violent episode; he still wasn't sure if the person he was hugging at the moment would suddenly reach for his throat and squeeze...

Strike's brain, unlike Hiro's, was calm and collected, despite the loud gasps that could be heard escaping from his person. Well, you sure got yo'self into a mess now, Strike, he grimly told himself. Guess I'll have ta tell him now. Ah well. Don't matter. He sighed. "Hiro, lemme tell ya somethin' that happened last night," he began.

Hiro nodded. "I'm listenin'."

"Okay, so it was like dis..."

-

He remembered it like it happened yesterday; in fact, happened just a few hours earlier. If Strike could've gone back in time and stopped himself from ever attempting the act he attempted that night, he would've. He was stupid that night; a bit drunk too, although it had nothing to do with his decision.

Strike was walking up the street. No rain that night; in fact, it was rather humid. Strike knew exactly where he was going. No wondering why or tryin' to remember. He was goin' ta get somethin'. Somethin' good.

A large yellow skyscraper loomed in front of him. Yes, yellow. It was immediately recognizable as the BAG Coumpound. Ah yes, the Compound. A training center for all dancers accepted into Bust-A-Groove. Built by the citizens of Tokyo for their "Dancing Heroes" at the end of BAG1. Although Hiro-kun had pouted and whined, they were all known as heroes now. Defeated Robo-Z, saved the day...of course the bridge over Tokyo Bay fell apart, but what was that compared to the number of lives that would be spared? Nothin'.

Strike, grinning for no apparent reason, strolled up to the door. It was late. Only one person should be inside. Two once Strike entered. And soon two would become one.

Strike slipped his keycard, long unused, into the slot at the entrance. The door beeped slowly opened for him. He walked in, noting that the reception area had not changed at all.

The lights were still on. They always were, on the first floor. But the rest of the floors were kept unlighted at night. But there was one floor which had light; the 17th. The floor that Strike had just pushed the button to.

It was a glass elevator; he could see the city below as he rose up. The city never sleeps, they say. Lights were still on in various buildings downtown. Drunk men and loose women walked about. The citizens had taken precautions to put the Compound in the "safest" and cheapest area to build.

15, 16, 17. The doors opened. Strike stepped through. He looked up and down the hall, and finally saw the room that the light source emanted from. He hurriedly began walking toward it. Three doors away...two...one..."Yo man! Outta our way!"

A bunch of teenage boys ran past Strike, nearly knockin' him to the ground. "Hey!" Strike called after. "Youse bastards! If you knew who I was, you wouldn't be—"

"Oh, we know who you are!" one of them called back.

"Whaddya doin' back here, now dat you're a has-been?" another one chided.

"Fuck you!" Strike called to the boys, who had disappeared into the elevator. Damn Data be Bops. Were all b-boys like that?

Has-been? Definitely not. He was still Notorious. All the BAG members had found their own niches in life after the competitions had ended. Recently, there had been an annoucement of BAG3. At this, everyone had begun to sharpen up their dance skills once more. Even the newbies from BAG Dance Summit 2001 were looking forward to it. The Compound had seen more action in the last few weeks. It wasn't uncommon to see Hiro giving Galaxy4 a few dance tips on the 6th floor, or Strike himself practicing with Jumbo Max on the 14th. But the Data be Bops usually practiced with...

"Yo Heat! Man, wassup?"

The fiery young man looked up from where he sat on the floor, to see Strike coming towards him. The room was bare, except for a few mats piled in a corner. A red backpack, partially burned, lay on the ground, books and papers spread beneath it. Mirrors made up the walls. You could see yourself from any angle if you looked all around.

Heat slowly stood up. "Hey Strike! Long time no see!" he greeted in his raspy voice. He looked the same as Strike had seen him a few months ago; wearing his old BAG2 shirt and pants, white with flames burning the edges. His red hair hung on either sides of his face, the edges spiked. His brown eyes were unusually dull, though. A tired looking guy.

"Training wit those punks, huh?" Strike casually asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

"Yeah. I dunno why I do it. They're losers. But they ask me ta train 'em. How can I refuse?" Heat smiled and sat back down. "So what brings ya here, tonight, Strike?"

"No reason. I just decided ta drop by and see if anyone was here," Strike answered. Liar, liar. He had known Heat would be up there. Heat was always up there on a Saturday night. "So, what's been happenin'? Seems like a long time since I talked to ya."

"Ah, everythin's good," Heat replied. "Comet and I have been going out for a few months. And I take college classes part time."

"For real? Heat learnin' somethin? Heh, ya must be jokin!"

"Naw, for real. I might be competing in the Sendai 3000 next month too."

"Hey, dat's good news. Racin' again, huh?" Strike smiled. The bland speech was boring; now he'd get to the good parts. "So, you and Comet havin' fun?"

"Fun? Yeah, we're out all da time."

"No, I mean...fun."

Heat blinked. The hell? Strike was asking him if he and Comet had...what had started out as small talk had morphed into this? Why did he wanna know?

Heat scratched his head. "Not yet. We're gonna wait a while," he answered, hoping that would satisfy Notorious.

"Oh, I see," Strike replied, wickedly grinning. "So it's like dat, huh?" Heat had been hoping to change the subject; but once Strike was on it, he was on it. "Comet too shy?"

"Listen Strike, if ya gonna ask about dis stuff than get outta here. I don't wanna answer questions about my personal life."

"I'm just curious, dat's all," Strike replied, going over to Heat and crouching behind him. Curiousity killed the kitty, Kitty-N had always said. But today curiousity would get him something nice.

Heat immediately felt the urge to stand up, but couldn't due to the proximity of Strike's cheek to his own. "Yeah, well ya can stop bein' curious. What I do with Comet ain't none of your business..."

Strike wrapped his arms around Heat's waist, trapping him. Heat flinched, surprised. "What the fuck?! Strike, what're ya doin'?" Heat knew exactly what Strike was doing, but automatically questioned it. "Lemme go!" Heat struggled to be free but failed.

"C'mon, Heat...can lil ol' Comet give ya everythin' ya want?" Strike asked him in a low, tempting voice. "She can make ya happy, but can she give ya real pleasure?"

"Shut up, goddammit!"

Strike was on a roll; he knew he was penetrating Heat's privacy, and most of all, his preferences. Just knead and roll, and the bread would rise if ya put it in the oven.

Heat thrashed about wildly, determined to be free of Strike's grasp. "No! I'm not like that, Strike! I'm straight! Thought you was too..."

Strike's lips stretched in an evil grin. "There are things you don't know 'bout me, Fireboy, that ya wouldn't want to know..." His medium-skinned hand reached for the zipper on Heat's pants. "C'mon, Heat. You know you want me. I've got everythin' ya need. Gimme a shot, I'll be your best..."

Heat managed to free one of his hands. He batted Strike's hand away from him. "You're sick, ya bastard! I love Comet! I'm straight!" Heat gritted his teeth and looked Strike in the eye. "What about Kitty, huh? Don't you love her?"

"Yeah, I love Kitty. But I love you in a different way..." Strike's voice was calm and collected. He grabbed the hem of Heat's shirt and tried to pull it up.

"God, Strike!! Stop it!!!" Heat freed himself from Strike's grasp and crawled a few feet away, next to his burnt backpack. "Leave me alone! I don't want this—"

"Yes you do," Strike answered, going over to him and taking him by the shoulders. "You know you do. Ever since the first day ya saw me, you knew you did. And I knew you did." He chuckled. "C'mon, Heat. No one's lookin'. One-shot, that's all it'll be. No harm done. And I come wit no strings attached. No relationship needed, no nothin'." Strike leaned in closer to Heat's perspiring, wet face. "Say ya'll do it and I won't bother you again."

Heat was disoriented. He found himself being drawn in by Strike's proposition. No strings attached. No catch. Just what he was looking for...yeah...

But...! Comet...sure, she was annoying sometimes, sure, they fought a lot, sure, she was a bit kinky, but she was Comet! Sweet, lovable, caring Comet. She wasn't all that, but they were in love. Real love, not this one-night, no meaning stand Strike was talkin' about.

So...what should I do? I love Comet...tomorrow I was gonna buy a ring for her...so we could get... Heat shut his eyes as he thought of the word, engaged. But tonight...Strike...Strike, why do you have to be who you are?! You're tempting me so badly! Stop, just stop before I make up my mind!

Strike could almost taste Heat's undecisiveness. "No worries, Fireboy," he whispered, stroking the bright red hair that framed Heat's face. "Notorious will have you in good hands..."

Maybe...just this once? Heat thought quickly, looking for answer. Then never again...I...I...

Heat clutched his chest. Unbeknownst to Strike, and indeed everyone else in the world (even Comet), Heat had always worn a tiny silver cross under his dancing outfit. He had been wearing it on the day of his near-fatal accident...when the car flipped over...and he was trapped under the smoke and flames...the ambulance to the hospital...the surgery...the recovery. During that time, it had never left him. It was his good luck charm, you might say. Now it would help him again...in this awful situation...

"Get off me, you mother-fuckin' bastard!" Heat yelled, hurling Strike off of him. "You're not gettin' me! Now get outta here before I burn you!" Oh, that's right. Heat had totally forgotten his firepower during the confrontation. A blue sliver of flame rested on his hand, threatening the ganster who sat on the floor, unbelieving.

Strike was beyond furious, now. I offer him dis, he doesn't want it?! I'll teach him...no one says no to Notorious...

"I'm gettin' what I came for, bitch..."

Strike lunged at Heat and pinned him to the ground. He swung himself on top of him and began to remove Heat's clothing. "Strike! Goddammit, Strike! Now you're gonna rape me?! You're no better than those thugs out on the street! You ain't really Strike!! Even the mean, dirty, angry Strike I know...wouldn't do something like this...!"

The words rang in Strike's ears like the chiming of a bell. Even the mean...dirty...angry...mean, dirty angry...Strike...mean, dirty angry Strike I know...wouldn't do some thing like this...

He immediately stood up, affected deeply by Heat's insult. What...what am I doing? he asked himself, thinking about his actions for the first time that night. He looked down at Heat, still sprawled on the floor, clothes ripped, hair messy, an orange flame bursting out of his palm. ...why am I doing this? he asked himself. Do I want Heat so badly...Yes, I do. Strike closed his eyes for a split second.

Who did he love? The answer he would've said would be Kitty-N.

Who did he want? The answer he wouldn't have said would be Heat.

Ever since...that first day of BAG...Strike had felt an attachment towards the bad-tempered boy. Unrequited love? But it was also unknown to the world, to everyone except himself. Then came little miss Kitty-N, with her fancy life and silly fame, ready to snap up a cute boyfriend. Strike had taken this route; although he had always looked back at the attracting flames which stood behind him, to devour him.

But Heat wanted another. And he had another. Comet. He was completely straight; he would never have Strike, for sure, now...

Why is it everyone else gets what they want?

He flew out the door of the room, his sneakered feet hitting the ground hard. He dashed down the stairwell, too distraught to use the elevator. Panting, he reached the ground floor. So angry with himself he nearly tore the glass door off its hinge as he pulled it open.

Running, out into the sidewalk...away from that claustrophobic room, with all its temptations...

Just keep running. Run till you bleed.

Run...all the way...to downtown...

Stop under a streetlight. Notice that it's starting to rain...

-

Here Strike stopped. His voice abruptly ended, causing the disturbing spell he had cast upon Hiro to fade. Hiro looked up, attentive, wide awake. "Is that what happened?"

"Yeah. Exactly what happened." Despite himself, Strike cracked a smile. "Stupid, huh? That a guy like me would do that."

Hiro's questions had been partially answered; why Strike was there, why he had shown up, his breakdown...but...

Strike had expected some kind of reply; but none came. Hiro could not find the right response to give to him. Sympathy? Empathy? What?

By now, Strike's violet episode was over. He shifted his position, causing Hiro to let go of him. "It's okay if ya don't wanna say nuttin," he whispered softly, hoping Hiro would.

Hiro looked into Strike's face. Depression hung around him, like a city wrapped in the darkest of fog. He reached out his pale hand again, to caress Strike's cheek. Strike found himself unable to pull away...not wanting to pull away...

"Take off ya shades, Strike."

My shades? He jokin'? Strike asked himself. "Damn, I never take off my shades...but..."

Hiro slipped the glasses off. Strike opened his eyes to look into Hiro's dark blues.

Grey.

"Man, I never thought you had grey eyes," Hiro commented. "Brown or blue, maybe. But not grey."

Strike shrugged. "What can I say? No one's, 'cept my family, has ever seen my eyes."

"You hid them that long? Not even Kitty-N?"

"Not even her." Strike grinned, nodding at the computer system. "So, does Shorty know ya do all dis? The whole assassin bit?"

"You think I'd tell her?" Hiro sighed. "She'd blab it to everybody."

"Ya got that right," Strike agreed. They were silent for a while after that. Strike lay his head on his pillow, his now-exposed greys looking up at the ceiling. Hiro's blues were also open, looking out the window at the rain that continued falling outside.

"Hiro-kun?"

It was the first time Strike had ever addressed Hiro with the –kun at the end. Normally it was just "fag", "shithead", or any of the various names he was fond of. But this was the first time had ever used this term, which so many of his groupies were happy to say.

Hiro didn't reply. Strike realized that he was asleep. Tonight he hadn't combed his hair for five hours straight, a record time. His normally poofy hair was now partially spiked, a style which Strike realized was his natural look. His eyes were shut, and he breathed softly, his chest rising in and out.

"Yeah, well. Go ta sleep, den, Playboy," Strike whispered, turning over. "Hmm, maybe I should go now—"

"Don't." A slightly accented voice whispered. "I....need to talk to you tomorrow..."

"Fine, den. I won't," Strike promised. "I'll stay."

He rolled over so that they faced each other. The rain banged on the window outside, howling, furious that it would not be let in. The two boys ignored it and sank into silent, dreamless slumber.

TBC>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"But wait! Strike would never do that to Heat!"

Actually, if ya think about it, he might. Notorious is like that, ya know!!!

Anyways, stay tuned for Chapter 4...this time, Strike learns more about Hiro-kun...