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"Five Boy Curry "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 Rating: NC 17 Warnings: language, yaoi, het Summary: sharing a blanket leads to storytime Pairings: 1x2, 11x2, others tba? Note: "Five Boy Curry" is an actual recipe I got from an in-law who grew up on a Philippine island. I was cooking some curry the other day and the name reminded me of the five gundam boys
" Five Boy Curry " Part 9. He had fallen through the ice. He could not remember it happening. But now he was drowning. Shattered shards bit into his exposed flesh. The terrible cold surrounded him, consumed him like an agonizing white flame. He could not find the broken place through which he had tumbled. Some sort of current swept him up, carried him away from his escape. Desperately he struggled through the surging waves, disoriented, gasping, swallowing torrents, and choking them out again. His knuckles rasped against a solid surface that trapped him. He clawed at it, furiously. He was dying. He knew it. In misery, alone. No! He refused to succumb. Raged against his certain fate. Pounded at the ice, again and again, tore his fingernails away, scraping at the impossibly thick surface. He opened his mouth wide upon a mortal scream. Swallowed the inky fluid as it engulfed him. Tired. Energy flowing with his life's blood, away from him upon the cruel waters. His pathetic struggles writhing slower. Weaker. Exhausted. Utterly spent. His fists opened hopelessly. Bleeding nail-less fingers, unclenched. He flowed with the flood that swept him down into darkness, the desperate unforgiving depths. Was this the mournful peace that death offered? At last. Oblivion. Duo whimpered. Clutched at the sudden twinge over his heart. Pressed his palm against the pounding there. "Are you all right? What is it?" Heero asked, pausing as he was about to hand the young man a towel. "Don't know," came the puzzled reply. "A sudden pain. Here. Out of nowhere." "Someone tread upon his grave," Trowa declared his gypsy wisdom, meanwhile making the ward sign against evil with his fingers. "Superstition," Wufei scoffed. "The mystic at the temple says, when one of our lives is lost, all of our reincarnations can feel it happen," Trowa retorted, unmoved at the scorn he heard. "Time is nonlinear," Quatre stated definitively. "We exist in infinite varieties of self throughout the vast flexible medium that is time. It is possible that one iteration of self is exquisitely sensitive to the other versions. So much so attuned that events occurring in one time set may be perceived in others." "Are you implying that Duo just died in some other time than this one?" Wufei asked, curious in spite of his skepticism. "That seems possible at least," Quatre replied, his enthusiasm for the topic bubbling to the surface. "Oh, I'm sorry," he told Duo, as soon as he realized what he had just said. "That was cruel of me." "You should kiss him, to apologize. He looks like he needs to be comforted," Trowa tossed a saucy look at the mathematician. "Yes," the Empress' voice brought them about suddenly. "You should. All this abysmal talk has thrown a pall over the occasion." That sounded like an order. Quatre bowed his obedience, then drew nearer the tub. But hesitated over Duo's distant look. The gravedigger seemed to stare away at something only he could see. Shaking his head at his friend's abstraction, Heero took a firm grip upon the boy's slippery arms and drew him out of the bath, to stand dripping upon the throne room tiles. Then, when Duo made no move to accept the towel, he wrapped it around the slender waist and tucked it over a lean hip. Heero stood behind Duo, folded his strong arms around his shoulders and supported him. Quatre placed his hands carefully into the soft head of hair, his mouth drawing closer to succulent lips. He was under orders from the supreme ruler, and thought he might as well do a thorough job of it. He carefully loosened the braid from its coil, and it dropped with a plop upon the blacksmith's solid chest. Quatre ran his fingers luxuriously over the silky length, before allowing his hand to linger upon Heero's firm flesh. Then he drew back along Duo's shoulder, and up to the soft curve of cheek. Tilting the face slightly, he settled his mouth upon the young man's pout and suckled there. "While Quatre is having hors d'oeuvres, the chef should bring in the main course," Zechs suggested with amusement. "Yes. Let us have the curry now," Une decreed.
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