Title: Under the Shadows – Part Two

Author: Sita Seraph

Genre: Supernatural

Pairing: 1x2, 2x1

Rated: R

Warning: Angst, descriptive violence (perhaps).

Summary: Death is like a slate.  Once its done, it's done.  You have to move on.  So after the war, Heero tries to do just that…except the shadow that he tries to erase reappears.

Note: Is it just me or is this moving too fast?  *growls* I dunno, but I don't know how to fix it.  I guess I'm just too tired.  Tell me please.

Heero moaned softly as milky-white hands drew their fingers over his tight boxers and in between his legs to grip an inner thigh.  The fingers massaged, caressed the hidden skin, being ever so gentle.  The perfect soldier's arms reached behind him; wrapping strong muscles around his lover's neck and his fingers into the silky, free locks.  Wet lips were kissing the back of his neck, leading to the junction where the shoulder and neck combined.  Heero shivered as the smooth tip of his paramour's tongue touched the point with a faint swipe.  Nothing was ever forced.  All the touches and caresses were soft, so gentle, as if they were afraid to break whatever they possessed.  It was love.  The simple touches were expressing something Heero could never explain.  Something his lover could never say.

"Heero," his lover whispered into his ear, captivating lips against the rim.  "I'm going to share a secret with you."

A slow smile spread across Heero's face and he let a hand drip down from his love's hair to caress a smooth cheek with his fingertips.  Strong arms circled the soldier's waist and brought him close to the other, their bodies melting perfectly together.  Heero stared off into the distance, across the dark, dark room, feeling a content feeling settling in his stomach.

"What is it?" Heero asked into the darkness.

A slow smile against his ear.  "I'm coming."

*****

Heero's head snapped up from his desk and in the process, hit his head on the lamp overhead.  Cursing in Japanese, he rubbed the sore spot, staring down at the papers he had fallen asleep on.  They were crinkled and a weird mess now, spread across his large desk.  Lying back against his wooden chair, hand frozen on his head, he looked around the empty office quarters.  His office light was the only one on now, the rest of the desks were clean and tidy for tomorrow's work.  Frowning slightly, Heero let his hand drop to the armchair and sighed.  He must have, obviously, fallen asleep working on the last of the database papers that had been shoved in his face yesterday.  It had been a stress, in all-honest truth, since all of it was screwed over once, twice, three times and it had to be out that Friday.  He couldn't even get any sleep for all the numbers kept plaguing him and the questions and solutions of how to get it out all in good time.

Heero knew he should to continue working to get the database out in time, but it was too late at night now to continue. Cursing himself for falling asleep, the problem to the whole mess, he sat up straight and started to clean up the mess he had made in his dreams.  As he was shuffling the papers back in their place, his hand accidentally knocked over a picture in a frame with the flick of a wrist.  In one vivid motion, it came crashing to the floor, breaking the sequence of noise of papers crinkling.  With wide eyes, a string of curses were let loose from Heero's mouth and he got out of his chair.  Kneeling down on the floor, Heero flipped over the broken frame to reveal the shining shattered pieces of glass.  As the frame fell face up, Heero looked at the picture within and stopped his hands from picking up the glass on the floor.  Slowly, the man picked up the frame and held it up, closer to the light.  Particles of broken glass fell to the floor with the rest.  Sitting back down in his chair, Heero laid the picture down on the paper filled desk and tilted the light towards the casual boys in the picture.

It was a very old.  Something that had been taken in a hurry, before being caught.  The pilots had been staying at old Howard's boat, for safety purposes.  The pilots were working on Heavyarms immediately upon their arrival for his transmission had been messed up in the last battle.  Quatre was wearing headphones, cautiously trying to fix the problem while Trowa fixed the wires to see which line was better and which had to be replaced.  Heero was off to the side, watching silently as the two discussed the wires and messed up systems. Wufei had joined the conversation, leaning over the two to take a look and point out a fired wire that missed their careful gaze.  And the last pilot sat on the side of the cockpit door, legs in the air, and yawning casually, tired, and more likely bored with the proceedings beforehand, from the mission.  An unmistakable braid was splaying across the medal.

Duo.

One of the Howard's men had snapped the picture at that perfect moment.  The man had laughed, teasing about how cute they were, before running off. Heero chased him for the evidence, cursing omae o korsou.  The man had gave a good run before the perfect soldier tackled him and took the camera away from him.  Taking the film, he was about to throw it over the edge when…

When Duo stopped him.

"Shimatta," Heero cursed.  It had been two years since the last war, why was he starting to think about that baka again?  He had promised himself that after the fighting was over, after he had avenged Duo, he would move on and live a normal life.  Gain back a little humanity bit by bit.  So when he pulled the trigger on the last person he ever had to kill, he immediately shoved Duo into the back of his mind.  He never thought about him again and moved on with his life.  He didn't want to think about him.  He didn't want to think of his laugh.  Of his jokes.  Of his smile.  Of his hair.  Of his last words. 

Heero had gotten a job with the Preventors after some persuading and had been doing desk work ever since.  He didn't miss the battlefield much; besides, he promised Relena he would never kill anyone again.  But nothing on Earth had ever upset Heero's memory to bring up the dead happy pilot since the war ended and the Gundam pilots started their own lives.  Not him being mentioned in a conversation.  Not him being seen in a simple picture.  Nothing.  So why…

The dream.  Heero looked up quickly as he remembered Duo lying curled up to his side, whispering into his ear.  Remembering the hands that had wound themselves around his waist.  The way he had submitted to Duo's touch, as if they had touched like that before.  It had been so real…Heero involuntarily shuddered as he felt like something was breathing right into his ear, and firm fingers press upon his abdomen.  Heero looked over his shoulder just in case and found nothing but an empty doorway leading to the hallway. 

Heero thought about calling Quatre and telling him.  But that was just stupid. It was just a dream.  Heero shook his head and stood up.  It was just too late for his own good.  He was just shaken up from the dream.  It would be better once he got home and got some real sleep.  By morning, Duo would be a forgotten memory again.

Leaving the mess for someone else to clean up, Heero collected his jacket near the door.  Slipping on the jean coat with a huff, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and took one step out of the stuffy office.

And froze.

Frowning, Heero slowly looked down at his right hand as he pulled out a slip of paper.  Not remembering about leaving anything in his pocket, Heero unfolded the paper, the only noise in the still hall.

Don't walk home alone at night, Heero.