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"Flying Rescue of Doom "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: R Warnings: warnings: shonen ai, just a hint Summary: Maxwell is "slightly" caught up in ambulance class Pairings: 1+2+6
"Flying Rescue of Doom"
"Maxwell, get your lean mean buns over here." "Maxwell? Hey, where's the little guy?" "Yo, Maxwell, front and center. We need you on this 'stration station, pronto." Duo drew a long sucking breath inward until he felt it oxygenate his toes. Then he allowed it to escape in a whistling storm wind that blasted his bangs up off his sweaty forehead. Ambulance class. Stretcher exercises. Field Preparedness. It was said to be a money saving device, combining multiple rescue groups into one mega class. Plus it was meant to generate camaraderie, a cooperative spirit. And spread the expertise from as many sources to as many recipients as possible. Hence the First Responders were mingled with the Government Multiforce Response Team, combined with the current EMT classes plus a mixed bunch of poor, long suffering Recerts. The day's events were jumbled in Duo's perceptions, a patchwork of impressions, mostly cheerful, with plenty of jokes and back slapping, and several moments of personal discomfort dotting the colorful spread. xXxXx "Don't you just love turnout gear?" one of the girls demanded. "Yeah. One size fits GUYS," another chick quipped. "Got to be some species of chauvinist pig male on every safety togs design team." The issue posts were organized according to size. So there Duo stood, waiting patiently to be issued his gear, standing with the gals in the "small" line. And clearly they had adopted him. Since nobody batted an eyelash when the bulky clothes and personal protective equipment fit as badly and looked as absurd on him as they did on Jilly, Maude, Roxanne, and Margie. The girls were bold and brassy, good natured, with confident, determined attitudes. He liked being surrounded by them. Didn't even mind being accepted as 'just one of the gals.' Really he didn't. It was being classified as "small" which irked the hell out of him. It surely added to his misery that the officer in charge of the entire operation was Commander Milliardo Peacecraft. And the Instructors Coordinator was Heero Yuy. Two of Duo's favorite, blue eyed hunks. Commandoes R' Us. Guys he always strove to impress with his own competence. Both men knew that Maxwell was here for recertification. Ergo, they were aware he already had the skill sets down pat. Therefore, in their book, his role in the day's events was passively to lie down and play the 'victim undergoing rescue'. It didn't help any, when the girls went on at length about how gorgeous Peacecraft and Yuy were, how they rated as class A-One eye candy. How those sculpted biceps, triceps, pecs, abs, quads and gluteals were readily apparent, rippling under their fatigues. It occurred to Duo that his own muscles never rippled. No, the apt description for Duo's pectorals probably was 'lurking'. Present but undercover. Likewise his biceps, abs etcetera. xXxXx He had slathered his pale complexion with triple protection sunscreen. Lying strapped to a backboard, he felt the high noon sunbeams knife through to slash at the flesh of his cheeks. He was gonna be totally charred by sundown, certain sure. A dribble of sweat mingled with zinc oxide rolled into his eye, burning and stinging. He squirmed against the restraints, trying to inch his nose into a bit of shade cast by one of the rescuers, surrounding him in a dense group of bodies, staring down at him as they listened to the lecturer. When Duo finally was released from bondage, the instructor eyed his soggy hair, his facial features blotched crimson and gray. The man barked in drill sergeant stentor, "Maxwell. Five minutes at the water station. Go." In front of the entire group, he had been ordered to downtime. It was just plain humiliating. xXxXx "Mandatory skill, no walk-bys permitted. Three flights of stairs. Minimum two hundred pound victim. Stair chair, followed by flexible stretcher. Six descending flights, total. For those of you who are lightweights," here, the hulking instructor stared directly at Maxwell, "I'll allow three rescuers on the stretcher handles. Whatever you do, even if it kills you, don't drop the patient. If you do, you get to start over at the top." It figured. The one station Duo wouldn't mind being the victim, and here he was at the foot of the stair chair. There was a great big beefy guy, strapped to the chair. The stronger rescuer at the back handles, because he supposedly had to manage the greater weight, got to walk forwards. The smaller rescuer, i.e., Maxwell, was crouched at the victim's feet, grasping handles mere inches from the actual flooring, lifting and hauling backwards down three flights of twisting stairs. Duo felt the cartilage in his hands crackle as he first hoisted the chair. Somewhere around the second landing, something in his back sprang out of place. The third flight of stairs constituted a sort of withdrawn-from reality-torture. xXxXx "We're nearly out of time. What requ's are most of you lacking?" Yuy demanded in his hottest, no-nonsense, deep-in the sculpted-chest voice. A couple of the girls looked like they might swoon on the spot. "Urgent Moves," a dozen voices replied. Duo groaned. The group was standing in a random circle around Yuy. And Maxwell knew without turning to look, that Commander Peacecraft had just now walked up behind him. Opposite across the circle, Jilly's face reflected the fact. She was absolutely, freaking ga-ga over Zechs, and was terrible at hiding the drool. "Maxwell!" "Huh?" Duo emerged from his reflections with a start. "You look out of it. Are you with us? Or do you require another cool-down?" Yuy growled. "No sir." Maxwell would seek terrible vengeance at a later time and place, he vowed ghoulishly. "On the ground." "Damn, not again." "Deposit five credits into the Swear Fund on your way out," Peacecraft's amused voice decreed. Personnel were not permitted questionable language of any sort. To reinforce the regulation, monetary contributions for the Victims' Fund were assessed to miscreants, to be collected in a jar located at the front door of the training center. With a big crowd such as this one, with so many lively activities ongoing, the money would be pretty good by the end of the day. "Duo. Lie down," Yuy snapped. That was a particularly low blow, calling him by his first name, as if he were a misbehaving child. Revenge would be extensive and elaborate, Maxwell decided, even as he dropped heapishly onto the baked and scratchy grass. "First maneuver. Emergency Clothes Drag." Yuy gripped Maxwell's shirt and pulled him several feet along the ground. Duo felt his trousers leave his hips and descend to around crotch level. "Second maneuver. Arm Drag." Yuy grabbed Maxwell's wrists and tugged him further through the dirt. Duo felt his boxers following after his cargoes. "Next. Arm to Arm Drag. The victim's arms are crossed over his chest. Rescuer positioned behind, his arms go under the armpits, reach through to grasp the subject's wrists in opposition, and drag him backwards." Yuy's delectable embrace surrounded him. In this transit, Duo felt blades of grass tickling his clenching ass cheeks. "Firefighter's Drag. Particularly useful to avoid smoke inhalation. Again, victim's arms are crossed upon his chest." Heero crouched, straddling Duo's pelvis. Contact, groin to groin. "Then tie his wrists together securely, using any material available at the scene." Yuy proceeded to bind Maxwell's hands with a length of ace bandage, several twists around, a double circle over the top and an efficient hard knot to finish. "His arms go over your head with bound wrists at the back of your neck. Victim's feet inside the span of your own. Rescuer assumes the push-up position." Yuy was now nose to nose with Maxwell. Duo felt moist hot breath blowing into his open, panting mouth. "And drag the victim to safety." Again, with his butt crack, plowing the field. "Pack Strap Carry." Yuy hadn't bothered to untie him. "The rescuer stands with the victim at his back. The victim's weight goes onto the rescuer's shoulders. Grasp the subject's wrists." Duo's arms around Heero's neck. Yuy lifted, with Maxwell's chest applied firmly to his rescuer's torso, leaving hapless feet dangling. Duo wished he was in any position at all to pull up his shorts. "Front Cradle. Only useful on kids and the smallest adults." Yuy easily lifted Maxwell in his arms. Killing him would be too swift, Duo reflected, struggling unsuccessfully to tug his hands out of the bandage restraints. "And last but not least, Firefighter's Carry." Yuy bent his knees, slung Maxwell across the back of his shoulders, and then rose to an easy upright position. Heero's one hand settled under Duo's buttocks, the other gripped the tightly bound wrists. Glancing up slightly, Maxwell realized the entire vast crowd of instructors and trainees now was standing here, watching the performance. A camera clicked and flashed. Repeatedly. Capturing Yuy and Peacecraft in all their glory with admirers gleefully onlooking. Maxwell felt a breeze flow across flesh. That would be his exposed back and butt, he imagined. "How much for prints?" someone shouted to the photographer. "Five credits into the Swear Fund," Peacecraft responded glibly. "Write 'prints' next to your signature on the roll call sheet." "You forgot braid-restraint technique," another onlooker called. Duo looked down along his length of hair, right to the fringed tail which dusted the grass. "Oops," Yuy said in his characteristic monotone. The crowd laughed. Yuy seemed in no hurry to release him. Maxwell squirmed. "What about the Flying Rescue of Doom?" one of the older instructors suggested. "Only to be practiced by the highest skill level rescuers," Peacecraft told the crowd. "This maneuver requires strength, coordination, and inter-rescuer cooperation." A silk handkerchief descended over Duo's eyes. He writhed in a futile attempt at escape. "The blindfold serves to prevent a startle response from the victim," Yuy informed the viewers. Peacecraft continued in the tones of a seasoned lecturer. "First rescuer's stance is feet 15 inches apart, arms forward but bent at the elbows." Yuy's voice took over. "Second rescuer bends at the knees, and rising firmly but evenly, flings the victim." Duo had no warning. A cry escaped his lips as he lofted into the air. A mere second or two of helpless flight. "And the first rescuer catches the victim," Peacecraft concluded, his solid hug encircling Duo's body. Maxwell's heart pounded in his chest, plastered against Zechs' ribcage. The crowd roared. "Let me just advise you," Zechs shouted over the noise. "Do not release the blindfold or wrist restraints until the victim is safely within the smell zone of pizza and beer. And under the circumstances, it had better be your treat." Peacecraft proceeded to sling Maxwell over one muscular shoulder, Duo's face within licking distance of Milliardo's buns, and the Commander's hand firmly at the curve of his victim's ass cheeks. A position that was emphatically nowhere in the emergency transportation manual. "Thank you for your attention. Well done, everyone. Trainees and Evaluators dismissed." Duo felt Heero's hands checking the wrist restraints. "Secure," Yuy stated. Duo started cursing. "It sounds as if we may need to gag the subject," Zechs indicated. Duo felt a wet tongue inserted into his ear. "Dinner is on us," Yuy offered in sultry tones. "Maxwell, aren't you enjoying the Flying Rescue of Doom?" Peacecraft demanded, chuckling softly. Well, yes, he was, now that he heard the crowd departing. But would Maxwell admit it? "Small chance," he told himself, grinning.
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