Damsel in Distress versus the Knight in Shiny Armor
Chapter 22 - The Injustice of Happy Whacky
Heero glared at the chair cushion and the upholstery bubbled and melted. Duo's fingers touched his left butt cheek and he flinched. "Wufei! Omae o korosu!"
Quatre, perched at the edge of the loveseat, wrung a limp hanky between his fingers. "Now Heero--"
Wufei smirked, his eyes rolling comfortably over Heero's naked self, bent over the arm of a chair. "I love the smell of justice in the evening. It smells like...victory."
Heero decided that ally or no, he was gonna kill Wufei. Right that instant. Duo smacked him on the right butt cheek. "Heero, hold still. I can't find the stupid thing if you keep wiggling."
His eyes darted over to where Trowa, now dressed in sweat pants, a heavy pullover sweat shirt, and a safe distance from Quatre, held his guns.
Duo smacked him on the right butt cheek again. "Forget it, Mr. Perfect Ass, you even think about it again and you're playing happy whacky for a week."
Heero frowned. Ha--
"What in the name of Justice is happy whacky?" Wufei demanded.
Heero pretended he knew what happy whacky might be and smirked knowingly at Wufei. Wufei glowered at him. As Duo often said when he got the better of Wufei, sweet.
He could feel his baka's grin against his backside. Maybe that was just his breath. "You know, arm wrestle your one-eyed vessel. Audition your hand puppet. Do the backstroke roulette. Beat the bishop. Bleed the weed. Bop the bologna. Buff the banana. Burp the worm. Butter the corn. Call the secret service. Choke the sheriff and wait for the posse to come."
Trowa snorted and dropped the guns. They landed on the couch, so Heero didn't have to choke the Trowa.
"Clamp the pipe. Clean your rifle. Play closet frisbee. Comb the hair on your bald pig Sally. Consult your silent partner. Corral your tadpole. Cuddle the kielbasa. Cuff the carrot. Defrost the fridge. Eat grapes with the one armed man. Elect the president. Exercise your right to privacy. Fasten the chin strap on your helmet of love. Feed bologna to the smurfs. Fire the pound gun. Fish with dynamite. Fist your mister. Fuzz your fez."
His baka poked at his butt again, in the middle and nowhere near where the plastic spork tine had broken off. Heero turned and glared over his shoulder. His baka ignored him.
"Flog the log. Free Willy. Frost your pastries. Fry up your corndog. Gallop the old lizard. Garden with your golden trowel. March your little soldier. Goose the gumbo. Grease the three legged cow. Hoist your own petard. Hold the sausage hostage. Hone the cone. Honk your horn. Hose the driveway. Hug the hog. Jack your hammer. Jerk your gherkin. Liquidate your inventory. Lope your mule. Love your Muppet. Make instant pudding. Make your bald guy puke. Mangle the midget. Manipulate the mango. Milk the moose. Mount a corporal and four."
Quatre was turning a funny shade of pink, one that nearly clashed with his shirt. Trowa had given up any semblance of decorum and was sitting on the floor, arms clutched over his middle, strangling himself on his swallowed giggles. His baka prodded his left butt cheek again and hummed in an intelligent manner.
"Null the void. Oil the glove. Play in the one man band. Paddle the pickle. Paint the ceiling. Peel your banana. Pet the lizard. Play tag with the pink torpedo. Plug your toaster. Polish the rocket. Pound your flounder. Pound the bald headed moose. Pull the bologna pony. Pump the python. Punch the munchkin. Ram the ham. Relish your hotdog. Rub Buddha's tummy. Sail the mayonnaise seas. Salute the general. Sample your secret sauce. Shake the snake. Shellac the shillelagh. Slap the purple-headed yogurt pistol. Smite the pink knight. Spank your rooster. Squeeze the happy lumberjack. Taunt the one-eyed weasel. Tickle the taco. Toss your turkey. Tug the slug. Unleash the alabaster yak. Varnish your banister. Wax the carrot. Wiggle your walrus. Wrestle the eel. Wring out your rope. Yank your yo-yo. Zip the pink zebra." His baka yanked the piece of spork out of his butt. "You know, digital penile oscillation."
Heero gave up the pretense of having a clue. "Make sense, baka."
"Masturbate. Apply your palm to your penis and pound it."
"If ever you wondered, this is why I turned him down. I couldn't put up with that," Wufei muttered.
Quatre's eyes widened. "Wow, in alphabetical order, too."
"Mostly," Heero had to put in since Wufei was now smirking at him. Heero smirked back. "It takes a man of real strength to put up with that."
Wufei jumped to his feet, winced and carefully spread his legs a bit, then glared at Heero. "I am not weak!"
Duo slapped him on the ass. "I am not that bad!"
This pronouncement sent Trowa off into fresh giggles. Quatre tried to force the smile from his face and ended up looking something like a carp licking lemon juice.
"Yuy! You will not insinuate this injustice!"
"Wu-stud is horny!" Duo howled.
"Strength." Heero smirked as infuriatingly as he knew how. "Some of us have it. Some of us don't."
"I am not weak!" Wufei screeched.
Heero let go with a self-satisfied expression and chalked himself a win.
"I can and have tolerated the idiot for far longer than you!"
Heero snorted in disdain. "I married the idiot. Voluntarily."
"That does not make you a stronger man; it simply makes you a stupid one!" Wufei snarled.
Heero glowered. "Of course you would say that. You don't have the inner strength to tolerate the baka."
"Inner strength? Is that what they're calling psychosis these days?"
"Call it what you will, Chang. The simple fact is that I married the idiot because I am a strong enough man to handle him. You, sadly, are not."
Wufei shrieked and ripped his spork out of his pocket, the two intact tines gleaming in the over head light.
Heero stood up and clenched his fists.
"The idiot is going to bed. Alone." Duo stomped to the foot of the stairs and glared at Heero. "I hope you like Internet porn 'cause that's all you're getting! You're cut off!"
"Nooooooooo!" Heero hadn't realized he screamed out loud until Quatre patted him on the back, murmuring gentle words of consolation and Wufei collapsed on the couch, laughing like a bow-legged hyena.
In Duo & Heero's room in the safehouse....
The room was dark, illuminated only by the pallid glow from the laptop screen, the moonlight slanting in from the window, and a small, bedside lamp that cast the surroundings with a golden aura. One boy lounged in a bed, silently flipping through a doujinshi prominently featuring improbable sexual acts between two big-eyed bishounen. The other sat before the laptop, glaring at whatever he had immersed himself in, and typed away as if nothing else existed in this world.
The boy on the bed slapped the doujinshi shut, the loud clap of pages like a gunshot in the mostly quiet room. He stretched luxuriously on the bed, arching and twisting to show his studiously semi-naked form off to its best advantage. If only the other boy would look at him. Those blue eyes, narrowed in concentration, didn't so much as flicker in his direction. He pouted and ran his hand down his bare chest to slide past the waistband of his boxers. He scratched lightly at an itch just above his twitching need and groaned a bit more than the sensation called for. Peeking through his bangs, he frowned. No reaction.
He slipped from the bed and stretched again, just in case he was surreptitiously being watched, then got down on his hands and knees and stuck his head under the bed. He knew that this position highlighted his ass perfectly. It stuck in the air, wiggling as he shifted through the boxes beneath the bed, the soft cotton of the boxer shorts pulled tautly to paint every curve of his buttocks in pale blue. Did the typing stop? He wiggled a little more and listened carefully. Yes! He spread his legs a little wider and pressed forward a bit more. A gasp. Yes!!
He grabbed a doujinshi at random and proceeded to extract himself from beneath the bed with as much writhing and squirming as he could realistically put into it. He peeked through his bangs again. Dammit. At that moment he hated that laptop more than anything else in the entire universe. He should have his lover's attention, not that thrice-damned piece of computer slop. Grunting in irritation, he threw himself onto the bed on his belly and flipped through the doujinshi. It was some yuri thing that he had no interest in. He didn't even like doujinshi. He dropped it on the floor, loudly, in frustration and picked up the latest Soldier of Fortune to flip through. He smothered a smirk as the typing faltered to a halt, then wriggled his hips comfortably into the bed. A little bit of back arch to bring out the curving slope of his butt and.... Perfect. He could feel those beautiful eyes faithfully boring into his rump. He canted his head a bit, to lengthen the profile of his neck and nibbled a little on his bottom lip. Forcing himself to ignore the intriguing article on the AR-15 reprinted from ammo-oracle.com that he was trying not to read, he bent his legs at the knees and casually swung his feet back and forth over his hips. The other boy's slight groan was quickly smothered by a grunt of annoyance. Then the typing started back up.
Dammit! This was war. He would not be ignored, not for a stupid laptop. The beautiful boy glaring so adorably at the screen had stolen his hea--
Oooh. M855 and M856 are newer rounds developed in the late 1970s by Fabrique Nationale (FN) of Belgium. FN was developing a new 5.56mm belt-fed machine gun they called the "Minimi" (Mini-Machinegun) for entry into the US military's Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) program. The SAW was to augment, and in many cases replace, the 7.62×51mm M60 made by-
No! He ripped his eyes away from the magazine and stared at the hauntingly gorgeous profile of the wonderful boy across the room. Beneath those unruly bangs and intense eyes, his perfectly formed cheeks sloped gently to generous, pink lips that were pursed in concentration. To have all of that passionate intensity and concentration turned on him.... But how? How could he approach the beauteous boy of his dreams and tell him of his love and desire without making an idiot out of himself? Or worse, making that magnificent boy hate him? His gaze dropped back to the article when the tears threatened to spill.
--Saco Defense (now part of the General Dynamics Armament Division). Because there was a lot of resistance to giving up larger, longer-range round of the M60, FN focused on making the SAW perform better at longer ranges than existing 5.56 platforms (i.e., the M16). They did this primarily by developing new bullets: the SS-109 "ball" round and the L-110 tracer.
Hn. He didn't particularly like or dislike the 5.56 platform. While it did well for general purpose semi- and full-auto fire in combat situations, he preferred large caliber semi-auto platforms for short range control and bolt action platforms for long-range. The AR-15, while a versatile weapon, didn't have the short-range control of a pistol nor the long-range accuracy of a properly maintained bolt action. However, in the machine gun application, the 5.56 out performed the 7.62x51mm in his estimation. Several of the older veterans had disagreed with this assessment since the 7.62x51mm had stronger impact. He had yet to try the SS-109.
The typing paused and the object of his desires grunted, shifting in his seat. The boy of his fantasies was doing something that sounded vaguely like scratching now, but--
Oooh. The SS-109 bullet uses a "compound" core, with a lead base topped by a steel penetrator, all covered in a gilding-metal (copper alloy) jacket. The L-110 tracer bullet has a copper-plated steel jacket and like all tracer bullets, is hollowed out at the base and filled with tracing--
No! Dammit. He had better control than that. He had to concentrate on his mission, not on distractions. Ballistics information on weapons and ammunition he would most likely face in nearly any given combat situation had nothing to do with his mission and the distraction would not be tolerated. Nothing would come between him and completing a mission. No distractions. Mission.
His eyes narrowed as he watched his baka scratch his ear, hit the delete key a few times, and then start typing again. He would complete his mission. "Ninmu ryoukai."
His baka looked up from the laptop, eyes wide, and blinked.
Thirty minutes later....
Duo growled under his breath and put his hands flat on the headboard. It whacked the wall rhythmically, but at least he wasn't sliding face first into it now. Whoever had thought satin sheets would be romantic obviously didn't understand the need for friction. His knees started sliding back and apart awkwardly. He scrambled to get them back under him just has Heero reached around his belly to grab him and suddenly he really didn't care that he was about to land flat on the bed with his face relentlessly pounded into the slab of oak that was currently putting holes in the wall with each thrust.
Two hours later....
His braid, half undone, trailed over the edge of the bed, where his head rested precariously, and smacked on the floor. He threaded his fingers through Heero's unruly hair and arched his back, sliding that much closer to the edge. He could feel the smirk against the very tip and then lips wetly sliding down to the base and suddenly he really didn't care that he was about to do a half-gainer from the mattress to the floor.
Three hours later....
His hands were flat on the floor, the satin sheets tangled up with his wrists and forearms. His knees were on the bed still, somehow, and his bangs were stuck to his face with sweat. Heero somehow managed to lift his right leg--or was it his left leg? he couldn't tell with all of the blood rushing to his head--up and out of the way without breaking rhythm or sending them tumbling off the bed completely. Strong, calloused fingers reached between his legs to wrap around him and tug and suddenly he really didn't care that he was about to face-plant into the satin covered parquet.
Four hours later....
He was on his side, the oak floor completely failing to conform to the non-flat nature of his body. Fortunately, he was laying on the satin sheets so he didn't get road rash as each snap of Heero's hips sent him scooting closer to the door. He gritted his teeth and thought about inventing aloe vera based lube. Heero's hand slipped down his belly and he really wished that he had some aloe vera based lube and then those fingers found the perfect spot and suddenly he really didn't care that every erogenous zone below his neck was chafing something fierce.
Five hours later....
He was boneless, flat on his back, and staring muzzily at the ceiling. He didn't even notice the uncomfortable curvature difference between his spine and the floor. Heero crawled between his legs, nudging them apart, like a prowling tiger wearing a Mission I'm-gonna-fuck-my-dick-off accomplished expression. Heero growled, a very sexy growl he noted, and nuzzled up against his inner thigh. He was so far gone that he didn't notice which one. Heero's tongue slid out and lapped tenderly at his flesh and it felt so gentle that he wanted to hug the sensation to his heart for the rest of his life and suddenly really didn't care when the door crashed open and something demonic shrieked Heero's name.
Five minutes later....
"HeeeEEEEeeeeeeeEEEeeeEEEeeeeEEEEro!" Relena whimpered forlornly. Okay, called out forlornly. Well, she was forlorn.
Heero steadfastly ignored everything but his baka. His baka was sore, tired, and well ridden, if he did say so himself, and his current mission was to pamper his baka until it was time to go back to the honeymoon mission. He mentally reviewed the projected time frame on the average honeymoon mission then extended it from six weeks to a year. Perhaps a year wouldn't be long enough, six years? Yes, that sounded more reasonable.
His baka twitched, just a little, in the right thigh at the whine. He twisted his face just a bit and soothed the spot with little kisses. He loved his baka's thighs, especially when they were wrapped around his hips, clenching and unclenching with each counter--
"You were supposed to marry my sister, not take up with this little whore! And a boy! Heeeeeeeero!"
The thigh twitched again and he gave it long, loving lick.
"That's disgusting! How can you lick another boy like that! Of all the cheap, gutter-rat, whore, yet strangely exciting things you can do with another boy! I want you to do it aga--I mean stop this instant. Heero Yuy, how could you!?"
"Heero, if you're not going to shoot her, give me your gun."
"No, baka. No princess shooting."
Relena squealed and threw herself across Heero's back. "I knew you loved me!"
He tossed her off with a casual sweep of an arm and turned back to his baka's thighs. She sprawled, shoving herself to a sitting position, and pouted at him. Hurt. Wounded. Big, blue eyes stared at him through a quivering of tears, a fall of blonde hair, and innocent girlish face.
Nii-san, are you lost?
I've been lost all my life.
He blinked again, then shook his head. Right. Flashback. Horde. Confession of True Love speech. He blinked at his baka's well used genitalia. Love. He kissed his baka's well used genitalia gently. Yes, love.
Relena shrieked. "No! You can't be together. Your both boys and Heero loves me and he saved my life and--" She paused, furrowing her brow and ticking something off on her fingers. "No, that's it; both boys, loves me, saved my life. Got it." Her face took up the shocked and pained expression. "Heero, you just can't!"
He licked his baka's cock.
Relena shrieked louder.
He smirked, briefly, then swallowed the hardening length of flesh whole.
Relena's shriek abruptly cut off as she dropped to the floor, her head cradled on his baka's belly, and her flying hair smacking him the face. He glared at the long golden strands and shoved the stuff off of his baka. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and moaned, as if in great pain.
Cough. Cough. "Ooohh." Cough. Cough. She shuddered. "Ya, ya got me, doc."
Heero blinked. Doc? Who was this doc? Was she ill?
Cough. Cough. She sucked in air, panting and gasping for breath between the choking coughs that wracked her body.
His eyes widened. She was so still, except for the quiet coughs that seemed to dominate her between the deep, shuddering breaths that seemed to hurt her more than help.
Twisting her head slightly, she looked toward Heero and coughed again. Her hand, trembling, reached slowly toward his face before weakly falling away. Cough. Cough. "Aaah." Cough.
Heero frowned. Her eyes were glazed and unable to focus. She coughed again, her limp frame shuddering from the force of it. He looked for any obvious injury, but found none. The alarm grew when she gasped for air and choked on it, coughing. She had internal injuries! He knew enough field first aid to get by in combat situations where wounds were usually external, but he could do nothing for her internal injuries.
"I, I can't believe it!" Cough. Cough. She reached again, this time her fingertips trailing momentarily over his cheek before she lost all strength and her hand fell, smacking his baka on the thigh.
Heero lifted himself a bit, putting a hand to her cheek to test for fever. She sucked in more air, panting noisily and coughing.
"Oh." Cough. She panted, her hand reaching toward the ceiling before it fell, twitching. "Oh, who turned off the lights?"
No! She was dying and he could do nothing to save her. He jerked himself over to kneel by her side, folding her hand in his. His baka had leaned himself up on his elbows and was watching her face with narrowed eyes, obviously concerned for her.
She offered him a trembling little smile before she gasped for more air and choked on it again, coughing. "Why is everything so dark?"
She panted, then coughed before falling limp, her head lolling lifelessly to the side.
"Relena is breathing on my dick. That is so gross!"
He frowned at his baka.
His baka smiled at him. "I think she understands that you'n me are together now and she can't have you. Now we can be together forever, with no shame for our love and nothing will get in the way of our happiness because the evil obsessed one is no longer ignorant of what True Love looks like. She's still breathing on my dick. It's still gross. Get her off me, will ya?"
Gently, Heero moved her to the side. He checked her pulse and found it steady; she didn't move. She was breathing, too. He patted her cheeks gently; she didn't move. He slapped her; she didn't move.
His baka stood up and stretched, distracting him briefly. "C'mon, Hee-chan. Let's blow this place."
Several hours later....
Heero ground his teeth together and considered gagging his baka. And Wufei. Trowa and Quatre rode slightly behind the three of them, giggling and snickering every few minutes.
"Heero, my ass is killing me! It's not fair. Next time, I'm gonna fuck you raw and see how you like piloting your gundam with a sore ass!"
Wufei sniffed in disdain. "Quit whining like a weak onna, Maxwell. A real manly man would have no difficulties ignoring the mild discomfort."
This sent his baka on a loud tirade that was mostly incomprehensible, but seemed to favor epithets, creative threats involving flavored lube and various domesticated animals, the minuscule sizing of various parts of Treize and Zechs' anatomies, the fact that Heero was "fucking hung", and something about a whoopee cushion. Deathscythe, noting that his pilot was distracted, took the opportunity to sidle up against Shenlong. Shenlong bounced a couple of steps before settling down.
"Ow!" Wufei bellowed. "Yuy! Kisama! You will pay for this injustice! Ow!"
Heero gritted his teeth and told himself that he was not permitted to shoot his fellow pilots.
"Hah, who's the weak onna, now, Wu-stud?" His baka crowed. Deathscythe arched his neck a bit and pranced for Shenlong. "Owww! Heero, you asshole, this is all your fucking fault! You dick! My ass hurts!"
Heero frowned as something just occurred to him. His baka's ass was sore. "Does this mean we will not have sex tonight?"
Trowa fell off his horse, laughing.