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"War Dogs"Written By: Honor Disclaimers: Roses are red, violets are blue,
the GW boys are mine, and that’s the truth! Shigeki: You can’t rhyme worth a darn. And
they aren’t yours. Honor:…remind me. Why did I think getting a muse was a good idea? Warnings: yaoi, some sexy scenes, romance, my
odd humor, bit of language, bit of violence Rating: NC-17 Betas: Velvet and Caitilin Author’s Insane notes: Inspired by a story that actually happened to my mom. She told it to me often as I was growing up, so she can legitimately be blamed for the entire idea. And Wingnut requested a 2x3, which makes two people to blame. ^_^ I love having someone in mind to blame. =thought= *emphasized*
"War Dogs " Chapter Two: Off-Duty
If one is woken at 5:30 in the morning by a yipping dog, is it not one's duty to put the dog out of its misery? No dog that's yipping at 5:30 in the morning can possibly be a happy one. And it wasn't the cute yipping, it was the continuous, loud, higher-pitched yipping; the one that could penetrate any functioning eardrum and hit the main nerves. And, of course, as these things go that dog got the ones down the block going, then the ones down the street...the Domino effect. Now, Duo had to be at work at 8:30 that morning. That was his duty. However, he thought it was the duty of the owners of said dog to consult with whoever runs the mornings around here and temporarily relocate the dog in order to preserve whatever precious sleep Duo could gain at 5:30 in the morning. Duo himself would be happy to permanently relocate the dog, but he had a feeling that the owners of the dog might be displeased with his efforts afterwards. Groaning, he pulled himself out of bed and decided to check his email. Why not? He was out of bed, awake, and had about three hours to kill before going to work. While the computer booted up he flipped the coffee maker on and watched the black liquid percolate, idly dreaming up inventive ways to kill that dog. Go-go juice (otherwise known as coffee) in hand he stumbled back to his computer and clicked into his email. Hm…twenty new messages. And he bet that at least eighteen of them were—he blearily closed one eye so he could focus enough to count messages—yup, he was right on the button. Lindsey. Good god, but the woman was persistent. Couldn’t she catch a hint? Duo sighed and deleted all the Lindsey related emails before checking the other two more thoroughly. One of them was an offer for a trip to the Bahamas. Duo was tempted to email them back and say ‘sure, but you have to guarantee no Lindseys’. He constrained that first impulse and deleted it before moving on to the next one. That one was actually worth reading. It was from Anne Stewbanks, the local owner to a children’s daycare. She often asked if Duo would come down and do story time. Duo loved spinning a tall tale, and the kids liked hearing them. This time when he read the email, a light went on in the back of his head. Duo sat back, sipping his coffee, a smile spreading over his face. What a good idea. + Fairyland Daycare was just as packed with children as usual. Duo stepped through the glass doors and down a step into the huge open room. Different fairies, gnomes and other woodland creatures were painted on the walls. Toys of all sorts were scattered all around the carpeting, and the noise inside the room was a little deafening. Some things just never changed. “Duo!” A rather plump woman of middle years came scurrying forward, arms outstretched and muted blue eyes sparkling. Duo smiled back in welcome, dodging little people long enough to return the hug. “Hello Anne. I got your email, I assume that today is good?” “Anytime you appear is a good time!” she declared. “Now who’s your friend?” Duo turned slightly to gesture to Trowa, who was almost hiding behind his bangs. “Trowa, this is Anne Stewbanks, the owner of this madhouse. Anne, this is Trowa Barton. He just moved in to the old Pink Palace, which I am happy to report is pink no more.” Anne extended a hand, which Trowa shook gently. “I am so glad to meet you.” Trowa ducked his head back in greeting. “Pleasure.” Duo eyed him sideways, getting a strange insight. =No way…is he shy with people?= “Anne, I have something of a favor to ask.” “Certainly,” she replied promptly. “What is it?” “Trowa has a German Shepherd by the name of King outside. He’s a war dog, and I’m trying to adapt him to society. Now, this is a very well trained dog. He won’t hurt any of the kids, I swear. Do you mind if we bring him in, and let him mingle?” Anne hesitated slightly. “Well…I don’t mind, but…are you sure?” “He’s never hurt a child,” Trowa assured her in a quiet voice. “The only people I’ve ever seen him attack were people that posed a threat. To him, children are really big toys that he has to protect.” Anne blinked at that description, but nodded. “Alright, bring him in. I’ll gather the children together so he doesn’t feel bombarded on all sides.” Raising her voice, she started calling all the children together into the center of the room. All ages from twelve to three scurried from different directions and settled in the center of the big room, asking questions as they came. Duo decided to step in and help a little. “Hey guys!” Cheers went up as he was spotted, and Duo was quickly swarmed by rugrats. “Hey, easy. I’m not exactly here to tell a story, I—” he cut himself off as Trowa and King came in. “Guys, sit down okay?” Trowa and King stayed near the wall until everyone was mostly settled. King was standing at full attention, head swiveling back and forth to study all the little two-legs, tail going a mile a minute. He didn’t get to play with two-legs often. The little ones were especially fun because they were easy to tussle with. And if you licked them, they squeaked. Duo took one look at Trowa’s tense stance and decided he needed to do the introductions. “Okay guys, here’s the story. This is my friend Trowa Barton, and his dog King. Now, King is a war dog. Anyone know what that is?” “A dog that served in the military!” a voice somewhere in the middle piped up. “Right!” Duo agreed brightly. “King isn’t really used to dealing with normal people, and we’re trying to get him to relax. Now, you guys don’t have anything to worry about, because he knows that you’re not an enemy. Just don’t play too rough with him, okay?” That warning was entirely necessary. Dogs were considered a part of the family down here, and most of these children had no reservations about playing rough. There were sounds of assent from the crowd, so Duo gestured for Trowa to let the dog loose. Trowa unsnapped the lead then deliberately ruffled the top of King’s head, their own private signal for ‘play time’. King bounded forward with a happy bark and promptly licked the right ear of a little boy next to him. The child predictably squeaked, and rubbed at the spot he’d been licked. In under two seconds the dog was avalanched by children. Duo could barely see his tail, still wagging furiously. Scooting in closer he murmured to Trowa, “I think he’s enjoying himself.” “I think that’s the understatement of the year,” Trowa murmured back with a dry smile. “I’m going to have my hands full when it comes time to go home.” Duo silently conceded the point, but wasn’t willing to worry about it just yet. He just leaned against the wall and enjoyed the show. After ten minutes of this continuous petting, Trowa slung his backpack off and dug a huge coil of rope out. The rope itself was as thick as Duo’s wrist. “What’s that for?” Duo inquired with interest. “Watch.” Trowa winked at him then casually mentioned to no one in particular, “I have some rope for a game of tug of war.” In .02 mach seconds there was a Shepherd in front of him, eyeing the rope with naked hunger. The children naturally turned and watched in bemusement. Trowa flushed a little under their attention but continued calmly. “Tug of war is his favorite game. Anyone want to play?” Duo winced at the deafening ‘yes!’ “Good. Someone grab two chairs to serve as our boundary line. Everybody else get on one side of that line.” King didn’t need any instructions. As soon as he saw the rope being laid out, he scooped up one end in his mouth, teeth digging into the tough rope with an eager fervor. “Is he going to pull against all of us?” one of the younger girls inquired with worry. “Believe me, it will take all of your efforts to even hold your ground. King is very strong.” Trowa had a slightly proud smile on his face as he explained. “Now, everyone ready? On your mark…get set…PULL!” Small determined bodies threw themselves backwards in concert, heaving with all their might. King, on the other end, growled low in effort and dug his feet in. Duo started counting heads—there were fifteen children against one dog, and from what he could see the dog was winning. Anne had pulled a camera from somewhere and was rapidly taking pictures. Duo made a mental note to self: get copies of those pictures. The battle was becoming one of extreme willpower and gritted teeth. The kids were slowly being dragged closer to the line. King’s muscles were bunching out from the sheer effort of dragging that much stubborn weight, and his head was jerking periodically as if hoping to disrupt their balance and thereby insure victory. One of the older kids evaluated the situation and decided that a leader was necessary, and instantly volunteered himself for the job. Raising his voice he called out, “Okay guys, altogether—heave!” Everyone obediently heaved, and King was dragged an inch forward. Seeing something of a result, the kids heaved again with more effort, gaining another inch. King growled, scrambling to get back his lost ground. The cycle repeated for several more minutes. It came down to a matter of stamina, and the truth of the matter was King was more physically fit than they were. Eventually their strength slipped a bit and he was able to pull the first child across the line. There were howls of protest while King dropped the rope in his mouth to bark out his victory, tail whipping back and forth at light speeds. Duo swallowed a smile and offered, “You guys want a rematch?” King apparently understood the word ‘rematch’ because he instantly picked up the rope again. Challenge issued, children scrambled to pick up the rope as well and started pulling before everyone was in position. King didn’t care—he was bound and determined to get them back across that line. “He really does love this game, doesn’t he?” Duo muttered with a smile on his face. Trowa tilted his head to look down at Duo’s face. “Yup. He and Heero played it once for about three days straight.” “Who won?” “King. Heero’s still sulking too.” Duo processed this, trying to figure out just who Heero was. The smile on Trowa’s face was one of affection and amusement. Maybe he was a friend? “So who’s Heero?” “Hm?” Trowa had been briefly distracted by the game, but refocused onto Duo. “Oh. Major Heero Yuy. He’s a good friend, we went through basic training together. One of these days, I’ll have to introduce you to him and Quatre. I have the feeling the three of you would hit it off.” “Are they still in the army?” “Well, for another three days they will be. They’re mustering out like me. Heero’s going into computers after that, and I think Quatre is going to start up his own business somewhere. They promised to swing by in a few weeks and spend some time visiting, so you should be able to meet them then.” They were both distracted at this point by more victorious barking and unhappy groans. Trowa knelt briefly to rummage in his backpack, this time taking out a softball. King’s ears perked up when he saw that ball, and his eyes darted back and forth between ball and rope, clearly torn on which toy he wanted to play with. Trowa tossed it to the nearest child. “Throw it around in the back yard, and he’ll be your friend for life.” “Okay! Come on, King!” King didn’t need that instruction. Wherever that ball went, he went. Dog and children stampeded out of the room and into the fenced in yard behind the building, leaving silence in their wake. Trowa followed them out, ostensibly to keep an eye on King. Duo took advantage of this moment and went hunting for Anne’s camera. He was going to make sure that he had copies. + <<—and you have been doing your laundry I hope, instead of letting it pile up like last time.>> Duo rolled his eyes. “Mom, I only let that happen once, and that was because I had an emergency situation on my hands.” Namely escaping Lindsey which he wasn’t going to bring up. “Besides, I’m a grown man, you shouldn’t be worrying about my laundry.” <<Duo, I know how bad you are about housework. All men are. I’m coming over to clean everything up.>> Why did he bother trying to rationalize with this woman? After twenty-something years of losing arguments, you’d think he would know to just shut up and let her do what she wanted. “Mom, my house is clean!” <<Duo, you always say that,>> she growled in exasperation. “That’s because it’s usually true!” <<I don’t have the time to argue, I need to get over there and get everything done so I can come back and cook dinner for your father. See you soon, Duo.>> Duo glared at his phone, the faint sounds of a dial tone grating in his ears. Control freak. His mother was an absolute control freak. Well, she might insist on coming over to clean his house, but he didn’t have to stay and deal with her. Snatching up wallet and keys he quickly left. He started walking toward Trowa’s house, thinking as he walked. Now what could he do for several hours that would keep him well out of reach of his mother? There was a little ditty from his pocket. Startled, Duo tugged his cell phone free and flipped it open. The calendar date was open, reading “Pickin’ 4:00”. Oh hell. He’d almost forgotten all about that. It was one of the monthly rituals that he and his dad shared. At least once a month they would go down to The Chimneys and pick and sing. Duo didn’t play much, but he loved to sing. Most of the men chose to pick, and weren’t much on singing, so it was a good deal. Hm. It was three now…maybe Trowa would like to go along. “Never hurts to ask,” Duo muttered to himself. He quickly looked both ways before crossing the street, then sauntered up to Trowa’s front door. King wasn’t in his cage—Trowa must have him inside. He knocked quickly, and from inside the house there was the rapid clicking of paws against wood floors. “Open the door for me, King!” Duo called. The door opened a moment later, and King weaseled his head through so he could greet Duo properly. “Good dog,” Duo praised with an impish smile. He leaned over to give a good scratch just under the chin, which King loved. “Where’s your master?” There was a tread of masculine footsteps, diverting Duo’s and King’s attention. “Don’t tell me he’s opened the door again…King?” Trowa’s harried face appeared a moment later, which cleared when he saw that King hadn’t taken off. “I should have known you’d open the door for Duo.” “I asked him to,” Duo admitted without an ounce of guilt. “You busy?” Trowa gave him a slow smile. “No. Actually, I’m on break. I don’t have to worry about work for three weeks solid. Why?” “Well, ah…have you ever heard of pickin’?” Trowa just stared at him blankly. “…I’ll take that as a no. It’s something of a Southern tradition down here. We have a habit of meeting at a certain place on a certain day every week or so. Anyone who wants to show up can play or sing any song of their choosing. It’s a lot of fun, actually. I promised my dad that I’d go tonight—it’s our way of avoiding my mother. I wanted to see if you’d like to come along.” Duo was really, really hoping that he’d come. Trowa had been rather shyly trying to make friends, and Duo was not-so-shyly encouraging this. Besides, going pickin’ meant meeting a lot of the men up here on the mountain. Once you were introduced to that group, you were rather considered ‘one of the guys’. Trowa needed that kind of connection if he were to really make this place home. Trowa only hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. “I think I will. Let me put King up.” “You don’t need to. Dogs are a part of the family down here, Tro. He’d fit right in.” King didn’t understand exactly what was going on—but he knew the words ‘put King up’ and he understood the words ‘come along’. King whined, trying to tell his master that ‘come along’ sounded a lot better to him and that he’d behave if allowed to go. Trowa rolled his eyes. “Alright, go get your leash.” With a happy bark King darted back inside, scrambling on wooden floors for purchase as he raced to get his leash. Trowa grinned at Duo and shrugged. “Let me get my shoes on. What time does it usually start?” “About four. I thought we could stop and grab something to eat before heading over.” “Fine.” + Trowa followed Duo into The Chimneys with some misgivings. Even after three months of living here, there were certain parts of this culture he simply did not understand. He still felt like something of a permanent visitor. And, of course, he was still uncomfortable around strangers. Duo had assured him that the best way to get to know the older generation was to come and that he’d be welcomed without question. He just hoped it turned out all right. The Chimneys was a log building with a wrap around porch; something that looked like a small restaurant. King was trying to sniff everything at once, and Trowa had his hands full keeping the huge dog from going every direction. They went through a set of double glass doors, then through one room and around the bend into another. Trowa was surprised to see nothing but chairs and a lone piano in one corner. No microphones, no equipment, just chairs and a wood floor. A few men were already seated, guitars in their laps with a lone amplifier resting at the feet of one man. They looked up with a smile as Duo came in. “Well hey, Duo!” one of them greeted. He must have been at least eighty, but his voice was still strong and clear. “Hey yourself, Uncle Willard. I’ve brought a friend along, you probably have heard of him by now. This is Trowa Barton, he bought the old Pink Monstrosity and worked a minor miracle on it. Tro, this is Willard Blevins which I think is my great-great-great uncle—” “You missed a ‘great’,” Willard corrected in amusement. He held out a hand, eyes twinkling. “Forgive me son for not getting up, but the knees aren’t what they used to be.” Trowa felt himself relax a little at the subtle good humor radiating from the old man and crossed the remaining distance to shake hands. “It’s a pleasure, sir.” “Likewise, likewise. Beautiful dog, there.” Without a trace of fear, Willard extended a hand to King and let it be sniffed before giving a good scratch to one ear. “You letting Duo train him?” “Yes, sir,” Trowa answered respectfully. Inwardly he heaved a sigh of relief that King hadn’t immediately bitten off that extended hand. Maybe all of Duo’s work with King had let the Shepherd relax his guard some. “Good, good. Duo’s the best.” Duo rolled his eyes at that and tried to hide how uncomfortable that praise had made him. Catching Trowa’s attention he directed it to the other two men. “And these are my fifth cousins, Rodney and Matt Wooten. Don’t ever go drag racing with them. They cheat. And if they offer you something in a plain jug, don’t drink it.” Trowa exchanged handshakes with them as well. King was right next to him, watching his master for cues on how to respond. Trowa made sure to introduce them to the Shepherd, just to make things clear. “You play anything, Trowa?” Matt asked casually as he tuned the acoustic guitar in his lap. “The flute, some,” Trowa answered quietly. He sank into a rocking chair near Duo, making sure to not move too much. King had his paws right underneath the front of the rocker, and he didn’t want to smash the dog’s paws. “You should have brought it.” Duo gestured toward the other men. “The guitar is the main choice down here just because it’s easy to carry around and easy to pick up on, but any instrument is welcome.” “I can’t find mine at the moment,” Trowa admitted a mite sheepishly. “I still haven’t unpacked everything, and it’s hidden in a box somewhere.” “Next time then,” Willard admonished. A small smile on his face, Trowa ducked his head in agreement. He might feel comfortable enough to play—next time. Within the course of the next five minutes, at least ten more people arrived. Trowa’s head swam with names and faces, but the one thing he feared never came to pass—these people welcomed him with ease, and King seemed to feel that there was no threat here. He greeted people and then sat down next to his master again, alert but not on edge. Men were tuning their guitars to each other, the ages ranging from anywhere around fourteen to eighty-something. There was this air of practice, and familiarity, as if they had done such a thing thousands of times before—and fully expected to do it thousands of times again. “Duo, you rampscallion, stop getting here before me.” Trowa turned sharply to look over his shoulder. He knew instantly that this just had to be Duo’s father. The man had the same wavy chestnut hair, only streaked with grey. There were laugh lines around blue eyes, and a mischievous tilt to the smile that was obviously genetic. Duo popped up from his seat and clasped his father in a quick hug. “Now, Dad, if I don’t get here before you, then I have to buy you dinner, and that’s just not inspired. Come here and meet my friend.” Trowa was a bit startled at this description. Duo already considered him a friend? He rose to his feet as the other man approached, standing tall under the quick scrutiny he was subjected to. “Tro, this is my father Glenn Maxwell. Dad, this is Trowa Barton. I’m sure that mom has told you about him buying the Pink Palace.” Duo’s wry smile indicated that there was no possible doubt that the gossip hadn’t been passed on. “Oh yes, she told me,” Glenn Maxwell assured his son dryly. He held out a hand and shook Trowa’s firmly. “Pleasure to meet you, Trowa.” “And you, sir.” Glenn’s face burst into a smile and his chest puffed up a little. “He called me sir,” he said to his son with a pleased tone. “Don’t let it go to your head, dad,” Duo parried. “After all, he doesn’t know you enough to realize how much of a misnomer that is.” The puffed up chest promptly deflated and Glenn gave his son an evil glare. Duo just grinned back. “Shall we get started?” As everyone got situated Trowa sank back into this seat, letting one hand dangle over the arm of the chair to idly stroke King. He had no idea what to expect, except maybe chaos. There were at least fifteen guitars in the room and no sheet music in sight. How on earth were they going to manage playing together? “Blue eyes!” one of the older men called out. There was a quick strum on a guitar, and the others joined in barely missing a beat. Trowa’s mouth nearly dropped. They weren’t completely in concert (there was at least one boy in the crowd who was still learning how to play) but it was so close it was almost ludicrous. Then Duo, still rocking complacently near Trowa, opened his mouth and started to sing. Trowa was riveted to his friend’s face. Duo had a deep, rich voice that just filled the room to the rafters. It was a simple country song, but with Duo singing it, it was something extraordinary. That song ended, and another was picked up. This was another song that Trowa didn’t know, but that didn’t matter either. They picked and sang their way through several songs, and all the while Trowa just sat there and watched, listening like one spellbound. “Annie’s Song!” Duo pleaded with a wink. This apparently was his usual request, because everyone grinned and gestured for him to sing it. Duo’s eyes closed with a smile on his face as he started to sing. He looked…so very at peace. “You fill up my senses, like a night in the forest.” =My god. He’s beautiful. =Trowa had been fighting his attraction to Duo for days, but in that unguarded moment he just couldn’t deny the truth of the matter any longer. Duo was charm and wit and grace—he was talent and smiles and laughter. Trowa gravitated toward him helplessly, like steel to magnet. That first moment he’d met Duo he’d been fascinated and terrified all at once. Worried that King might have hurt him, beguiled by a friendly smile and an invitation to stay and talk. Under those interested eyes and warm nature, words had poured out of his mouth with little to no direction from his brain and somehow, through that process, he’d gained a friend. Trowa listened to the love song that Duo was singing, feeling his insides twist with a fierce longing that he’d never felt before. What he wanted was right in front of him, glowing with simple happiness. There was no mention of a girlfriend or any love interest in Duo’s life. In this place, where people were encouraged to marry young, that was rather peculiar. Maybe— There were some quick cheers and half-handed applauding, and Trowa blinked as he was disrupted from his thoughts. “Do Kawlija,” Glenn requested with a gamine grin. “That’s my favorite.” Duo laughed and started up with a twinkle in his eyes. Trowa found out why as he listened to the lyrics, all about a wooden Indian outside of a cigar store who fell in love with the wooden Indian maiden at the antique store three doors down. “Poor old Kawlija, he never got a kiss,” Duo sang sadly. “Poor old Kawlija, he don’t know what he’s missed,” this was sung with a lecherous grin and a waggle of the eyebrows. Trowa started chuckling quietly, as much from the words as Duo’s expression. His right foot, completely independently, started tapping along with the rhythm. He was beginning to see why this was a favorite song, with its infectious beat and humor. Glenn reached over and nudged him when the song ended. “You’re mighty quiet, Trowa.” “I don’t know any of the songs,” Trowa confessed. “Ah. Well, what’s a song you do know?” Trowa hesitated slightly. Most of what he listened to was cool jazz, or rock. His taste didn’t really lean toward country. What country he did know came from Quatre, the connoisseur of every musical genre. Hesitantly he ventured, “Do you know The River?” “Ah, now that one’s newer. Hey boys, how many know The River?” Quite a few heads bobbed in acknowledgement. Glenn waved Trowa on. “There you go. Let’s sing that.” =…maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. =“Um, I don’t have a good voice—” “Nonsense Tro.” Duo waved this away with a hand. “We don’t get together to show off. We get together to sing. Just belt it out, we don’t expect another Jim Reeves.” Right. That was comforting. Not. Trowa cast him a panicked glance. He wasn’t going to have to sing alone was he? Some of the guitars were already playing. Duo winked at Trowa and started singing the opening line. “You know a dream is like a river. Ever changing as it flows—” Belatedly Trowa cleared his throat a little and joined in. “—and a dreamer’s just a vessel that must follow where it goes. Trying to learn from what’s behind him and never knowing what’s in store makes each day a constant battle, just to stay between the shores.” The more he sang, the more comfortable it felt. He just kept his eyes on Duo, following his lead. Since he was a tenor, Trowa became a little daring and starting singing the harmony to Duo’s bass. “I will sail my vessel Duo was right. This wasn’t stressful—this was fun! Duo’s delight in singing harmony was evident on his face. Trowa was just a bit proud of himself for doing it, and kept it up as they went into the next verse. King, sitting between them, had his ears perked and was looking back and forth with his tail swishing in happiness. When they reached the song’s end he barked, coming up on his feet. “See?” Duo patted King’s head, laughter brimming over in his eyes. “King’s even giving you a standing ovation.” “He’s prejudiced,” Trowa muttered. He just knew from the heat in his cheeks that he was blushing a little, curse it. There was a part of him that wanted to do it again, however. “You’ve a good voice on you, Trowa,” Glenn observed. “Boys, I think we need to educate our friend here. His voice is too good to just sit and get dusty. Anybody got the words to what we’re singing?” “I think I got most of ‘em,” someone called from the back. “It’s in that guitar case sittin’ next to Henry.” Duo popped up and scrambled toward the case, picked up a stack of paper from inside, which he promptly dropped in Trowa’s lap. Trowa stared down at the pile of paper in hands (which only contained the words of the songs, no music whatsoever) and knew that he was doomed. ~*~*~*~ Honor: Going “Pickin’” is very much a way of life down here. The setting that I used in the story is EXACTLY like real life. The Chimneys is also real, and built by my Uncle Rodney. Ever want to tag along, just holler and I’ll extend an invite. ^_^
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