|
"Bananas in Space "Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Pairings: 1+2+3 (Preventers) Rating: NC 17 Summary: Duo's banana doesn't have a tattoo. What's
a guy to do? Warnings to date: sequels are never as good as
the original story
"Bananas in Space " Part 3. Duo forced his head as far to the side as it would turn. "Hey there, pretty lady," he cooed softly. "Aren't you just a long, long way from home?" "Duo?" Yuy asked. "What do you want us to do?" "Find me an air duct vent back into the building," Maxwell grinned. He did not, however, shrug his shoulders. Probably concerned he might disturb the large tarantula clinging to the fabric of his hoody, Trowa figured. One dark leg lifted and waved, as if the creature debated whether to creep from its current exposed position. Maybe seek some more secluded spot? The image of the spider suddenly crawling inside the neck opening of the garment and onto Duo's flesh caused Barton to shudder. "What's it look like?" "Black and fuzzy." "Ya describing the spider or my sweatshirt?" Maxwell chuckled. "The spider of course." "What color is the abdomen?" "Kind of splotched a dull red with flecks of marigold." "Oh. Brachypelma treasura, I betcha. Too bad. Not local fauna. Not valuable. It figures," Duo sighed mournfully. "Valuable? A tarantula has monetary value?" Barton demanded. "Maxwell. Over here," Yuy called. Still keeping his eyes glued to the view of his shoulder, Duo made his awkward way to the vent Heero had located. He stooped, pulled the sleeves of his hoody down to cover his hands and gently brushed off the spider. She scrambled a moment to right herself on the irregular surface of the air duct before disappearing into the dark depths of the opening. "Run away home," Maxwell murmured. Then he stood and, with newly acquired freedom, shrugged at his roommates. "Breakfast at Winnie's," Yuy told him. "Oh boy. Gonna have waffles," Duo licked his lips. They walked along the street together, Maxwell describing his visit to Sharpsten Shipping Enterprises in vivid detail, Barton shaking his head a little, and Yuy silently offering a quirk of his lips from time to time. When Duo mentioned Sharpsten's pet tarantula, Trowa interrupted. "He keeps spiders? Do you think he dropped that one onto your shoulder on purpose?" "Yurp. Well, possible at least. I'm suspicious that he did, cause if he was gonna lay one on me, he woulda chosen one that wasn't worth cash, like the one that was actually crawling on me. I mean, since he's a tarantula fancier, he knows the specials from the garden variety arachnids. On the other hand, he's got just bins and bins of fruit in stasis storage inside that building. Millions of credits worth, and no way that stuff has all gone through imports inspection, by the bye. But anyhow, there's insects in the building, attracted by the fruit that's been pulled out of stasis to ripen. And of course there's spiders that came in the shipping containers from wherever the fruit was imported, along with the goods. They arrive here and live off the insects. Kinda its own little ecosystem in there. So what I mean ter say is, Sharpsten might not o' done anything, and Big Red coulda just accidentally dropped onto my shoulder, see?" "Maxwell magnetism," Trowa's cock agreed appreciatively. "Or Sharpsten could have put the spider there. As an unspoken threat," Barton countered. "You heard him. He said we'd come to an understanding." "That being?" Yuy asked. "Mutual enmity," Duo grinned wickedly. "I hate his guts, and he hates mine." The interaction between Sharpsten and Maxwell had seemed more complex than that. But Barton kept this opinion to himself.
As they walked, Yuy listened to the sounds of their feet clicking on the polymer path. He was accustomed to extending his senses to the utmost, seeking evidence of threats with every resource he had available. Now in addition to information, the sensory input was a source of pleasure to him as well. The feel of the fractional gravity, slightly lofting his body. It was almost a hovering sensation, in contrast to the wet cement movement of walking when he was working planetside. The clatter of human life, sounds bounding and rebounding off distant surfaces, returning to him over and over, gradually dying, the nature of chaotic noise inside a completely walled world. The processed smell of the atmosphere, the complex mixture when he breathed that was so tangible as to become a taste upon his tongue. The reflected appearance of shades and highlights, darkness never more than deep gray, and light never brighter than pastel. The daily cycle of temperatures, too hot followed by too cold, with temporary temperate wafts occasionally soothing assaulted flesh. But most of all, the tenuous sense of fragility, all of them together, clinging to a deteriorating artifact that was no more than a cosmic dust mote flying through the infinite night. The resultant camaraderie of the colonial, at one with his fellow man in the supreme fight for mere survival. The L2 colony felt like home to Heero. At Winnie's place, Yuy, Maxwell and Barton all crammed onto a single bench pulled up to the bar. The waitresses grinned at the cute young men but stayed away, knowing that Winnie always waited on these three personally. After one of the girls shouted back to the kitchen, the proprietress chef appeared, wiping her hands on a towel, and beaming cheerfully. "Ah ha. The Triple Threat returns to base camp. What'll it be today, guys?" "Hey, Mizz Winnie-lurv. Yer lookin' good as always. You gots waffle fixins?" Duo squirmed in his seat in pleasant anticipation. "Gots waffle fixins? O'course I gots waffle fixins. Would I disappoint my Maxweller?" "In which case, I'll have a short stack three count, please-ems." "Likewise," Barton smiled at Winnie. "Unanimous," Yuy agreed, nodding politely to the buxom middle-aged woman. "Aw, you three are jus' too-dem easy to please ye. No challenge whatsome hever," Winnie winked as she headed back to her stove. "I've got to wash my hands," Barton wiped the grimy sensation against his trouser legs. He grabbed a chit for washing from the counter top. The sink in the rest room would record the liquid usage onto the laminated recorder so that the facilities cost could be added to their food tab when they paid. After Trowa left for the head, Yuy elbowed Maxwell, then placed his lips close to whisper into his ear. "You were hard on him." "Huh? When?" Duo looked muddled. "Earlier this morning, back at the apartment." Maxwell puzzled over the statement, reviewing events lodged disorderly in his recent memory. When he came across the actions under critique, he suddenly flushed red. "Oh. Damn. Hell, I'm sorry." "Yes," Yuy agreed. After all, he wasn't the offended party. So it wasn't for him to offer forgiveness. He watched Duo mulling things over. The Kid drew his nether lip between his teeth, then released it and muttered awhile to himself. Gradually his face became pale, and then gray. His grim expression evolved to a look that seemed quite stricken. Heero felt amazed at Duo's reaction. It appeared far out of proportion to his comment, which had been scarcely more than a statement of fact. Yuy wanted to avoid any appearance of siding with Barton against Maxwell. But if a calm nudge could alert one roommate of the need to smooth over the ruffled feelings of another, surely he should give it? Barton returned feeling eased. Sometimes he washed his hands to relieve his emotions when he was displeased with someone or something. He'd felt disgust at Sharpsten's sleazy, greedy crew, and the revulsion had grown into a physical need to cleanse. He knew the compulsion was psych induced, and he understood it pretty well. Still, sometimes it was easier to just go with the urge to wash than fight it. Though he did feel guilty when the liquid he'd used was such a treasured commodity as it was here on L2. He eyed his friends. When he'd departed mere minutes prior, Maxwell had been pleased and Yuy comfortable. Now the one was despondent and the other agitated. He supposed there had been a disagreement, but not knowing the subject matter, he couldn't very well intervene. Trowa dropped a hand on each one's back and stood soothingly a minute before scrunching between the two bodies. Keeping both arms draped over their shoulders, he took a deep breath. Hoping it wasn't anywhere near the topic of discord, he spoke up. "So, Yuy how's your comp project coming along at work?" It must have been an all right choice, since Heero seized upon the question and launched into a technical discussion with Trowa that lasted through to the arrival of their food. Classic L2 cuisine served in the local style. No utensils and no plates. Cloth serving towels that had their names written on them, since they were regular patrons of the establishment. A thin, edible plate was layered between the serving cloth and the waffles. It was considered bad luck not to eat the plate at the end of the meal, but gluttony to eat it too soon. The waffles themselves were a lovely orange color due to pumpkin flour. They were griddled crispy on the outside and perfectly springy on the inside, steamy and fragrant. Out of a tabletop shaker, the customers sprinkled a spicy confection over the top just before eating. The locals called the stuff "likkerus". It was a fine, sugary substance with an almost fiery combination of powdered cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, vanilla bean, and desiccated citrus peel. Whatever the carrier substance was, it stuck to the waffle like glue, pulled in fine, weblike strings between two broken waffle portions, and clung to his teeth tenaciously as Trowa ate. "Come on, buddy. Dig in," he urged Maxwell, reaching under the braid to rub the downy skin at the back of Duo's neck. Meanwhile listening to the sound of his own voice, drifting relentlessly toward an L2 drawl. Trowa had a chameleon speech that was easily drawn into local colloquial phrasing and pronunciation. It was a habit left over from his ever traveling youth, the urge of a young stranger to blend with his surroundings as quickly as possible, to be accepted. He had to watch his tongue for fear of insulting the natives, not wanting this subconscious mimicry to sound to them like mockery. He smiled broadly as Maxwell began eating, and turned his attention back to Yuy's side of the bench. Duo tried hard to drag himself from his mournful reflections. It was difficult, because every once in a while, Heero reminded him so painfully of Solo. It wasn't that this boyhood friend and protector had physically resembled Yuy all that much. No. It was more a set of mannerisms, stern but kind, self reliant, contemplative, even edged, powerfully in charge, confident. A hint of sarcastic humor that sometimes bubbled topside, a touch of danger that might explode to the surface. Overall, supreme control, ability and strength. Yes, that. But Duo hated the comparison, because Solo had died a horrible, ugly death. The misery of that event seemed scantly to dull with the passage of time, could still hit Maxwell in the stomach with a cold feeling of nausea, still threaten him with a bout of unmanly tears, to be fought off with canines and claws at any cost. This time it had hit him suddenly, caught him totally unaware. One minute he had been euphoric from his dangerous confrontation with Sharpsten. Then he was ebullient in the comforting presence of his friends. Next, this location, spanning the years from his boyhood to the present, nudging his memories, sounds and smells alike. And Heero had turned to him with a mild rebuke, and Duo was sucker punched, down for the count. How the cruelty of Solo's death haunted him. And what could he say to Heero now? Gods, please don't die anytime soon, anywhere near me. And if you do, make it a clean death, quick and violent. Not slowly lingering, diseased filth, inevitably sinking into despair. Yeah, right. "Maxwell, did you take a blow to the face?" "Huh?" He was startled into a quick review of his earlier confrontation. Graimes with his huge bulk had merely grappled him to incapacity. Sharpsten had throttled him. Nobody had touched his face. "Nurp. Why?" "Your eye is swelling. Red and weepy looking." "Really? Weird." Yuy reached across Barton to finger Maxwell's chin. "Doesn't it hurt?" "Now that you mention it, there is a sort of burning sensation when I blink." "It looks pretty bad." "Oh shit." "What?" "Betcha I know what caused it." "What?" Barton stood at his other side now. "Some of the American tarantulas have urticating hairs on their opisthosoma." "Their which what?" "Dun matter. All ya need know is they're hairy and they shed, and the hair is barbed, so its an irritant, particularly if you get some in yer eyes, savvy?" "Yes, indeed. And I think you should come with me right now and we can scare up an ophthalmologist for you at the med school ER." "Come on, Barton. Ya just left there. Ya can't possibly wanna go back this soon when yer finally off work. Yer beat, Yuy's beat, I'm beat. Les jus' go home to bed, can't we?" It was so tempting. The three of them together for a roll in the hay. All together hadn't happened for a while now. Irresistible. "If its not any better when you wake up later, you'll come with me to the docs?" "Sure, sure. Just as you say, Barton." "Bedtime!" Trowa's cock crowed, as Yuy settled their bill. ~ * ~
|
