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"A Pirate's Trade"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Alternate Universe - Pirates, yes I
went there, Yaoi, Smut, Questionable Pirate Morality, Arrrrg Pairings: 2x1, 3x4 Summary: Captain Maxwell of the Shinigami, second
most feared pirate to sail the Seven Seas, unwittingly stole precious
booty from the one man who is more feared than he is. Oops. "A Pirate's Trade" Heero remained on the stern until long after the Catherine had become a mere speck in the distance. He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself to keep away the chill of the icy winds which blew in from the open water. Though he was pretty well protected from his place on the stern, the blustery cold managed to find their way through the empty hollows and open spaces. He wasn't quite ready to head inside yet, preferring to watch the fading lights from the shore until they were no longer visible. He pressed his lips together, feeling a pang of loss squeeze his chest like invisible hands wrapped around his lungs. Despite his intention to keep Quatre at arm's length, the other man had somehow managed to break through his defenses with little effort. It was good to have a friend. An ally. Someone he could really open up to and Quatre provided that in spades. Understanding, compassionate, loyal to those he cared about. The world needed more men like him, Heero mused. Men who were no doubt destined for great things. A pirate's life was not suited for the kind and gentle person Quatre was. At least that was what Heero had originally thought. He'd believed the young man would wind up dead long before he reached the age of thirty. Now he wasn't so sure about that. It wasn't only the fact that the blond was the coveted lover of the most deadly pirate alive, but during Quatre's time with them, he'd displayed an unbreakable inner strength that Heero admired. Even after those nights when Heero was forced to listen to the young man's screams, Quatre always emerged the next day with that same defiant fire in his eyes. He was a survivor, a fighter, and perhaps there was hope for him after all. Heero wasn't as certain about his own future. Quatre had insisted that Maxwell felt something for him, maybe even loved him in his own peculiar way. Heero had his doubts as he reached up and touched his cheek, still a little sore from the slap he'd received that morning after defying Maxwell's orders to stay in the cabin while he attended to business. He'd snuck out to see Quatre one last time, stealthily creeping across the decks and ducking behind barrels and partitions until he'd reached the bilge. He was surprised to find the trap door open and had knelt down and peered through the opening, shock rendering him frozen when he spotted his friend bent over the crate that was used to keep him contained. His shirt was thrown up over his back and his slender fingers were clenched tightly around the wooden edges, but he made no sound as Greenwich took him. In his fury, Heero had seen red, wanted to gut the rapist pig and feed his intestines to the sharks. He knew Greenwich was among those who'd raped the boy during the first dozen nights of his capture, but it seemed the lumbering brute had never stopped even after the rest of the crew did. Heero knew firsthand what Quatre was experiencing. He'd been forced into intercourse with that bastard on more than one occasion when the captain was not around and the pig was certain that he would get away with it. So far he had gotten away with it. Heero never said anything to Maxwell, mainly because Greenwich threatened a mutiny if he dared speak a word, usually while he was buggering Heero with a meaty hand wrapped around his throat. Heero could only imagine what life under Greenwich's authority would be like and he much preferred Maxwell's. It wasn't that he didn't think Maxwell could best him in a fight, but Heero didn't want to take the risk of Greenwich winning that fight. He kept his mouth shut and endured the attacks in silence, much like he'd seen Quatre do that morning. He was caught by Maxwell as he tried to sneak back to the cabin and was hauled the rest of the way where he was struck and berated for his insolence the moment the door was slammed shut. He never got to tell Quatre goodbye. But at least Quatre was safe and sound, back where he belonged now. That was Heero's only solace. He felt his captain's presence without even turning and kept his eyes on the tiny dots of light that marked the presence of land, gradually becoming fainter and fainter. Soon, he wouldn't be able to see them at all. In less than an hour, they'd be surrounded on all sides by the endless, inky black expanse of the ocean at night. There was something calming about sailing at night. It was so dark, so peaceful. Sometimes, he could hear the mournful tones of whale song in the distance and he would close his eyes and imagine himself swimming among them, gliding effortlessly through the blinding, cold abyss. It was the only escape he had. From within the limitless freedom of his mind, he could flex his wings and fly anywhere he wanted, live any life he chose. Perhaps he could be captain of his own ship, or an explorer of the New World. The possibilities were endless. No matter what the men in this world took from him, they could not take that away. His dreams were his and his alone and he guarded them fiercely. Maxwell stopped directly behind him, but he remained still, waiting to see what he would say, or do. With Maxwell, one never knew. His moods changed as quickly as the weather. Amicable, even somewhat enjoyable one moment, the next brooding and vicious. Since he'd gotten his ship back, he'd been the former and Heero could only hope that his captain's precarious grasp of good cheer would linger for the remainder of the night. "What are you thinking about?" The query was spoken against the back of Heero's head. His back, which had become quite cold from the wind, now felt immersed in warmth with Maxwell's body pressed against him. He took a deep breath through his nose, buying a little time to gather his thoughts. "Quatre," he answered finally. "You've taken quite a liking to him, haven't you?" Heero instantly noticed the articulate manner in which he spoke and the tension drained from his body. When Maxwell was particularly relaxed, even happy, his accent took on the cadence and sophistication of a well-educated man. When angry, his accent shifted into something more reminiscent of the lower-class ghètos of London. "He is...he's a good man." "No doubt," Maxwell said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Quite the beauty, too. I dare say, I think you enjoyed him." He bristled slightly, but quickly remembered himself. "That was not what I was speaking of. I admire his kindness, his strength. He was a good friend." "Barton did well for himself," Maxwell agreed, folding Heero into his arms. "You miss him." "I do, but...he's back where he belongs now. He's safe. That's what matters." "Was he not safe with us?" Heero thought back to that morning, watching through the hole in the floor while that animal buggered the boy. In his mind, he could still hear those pained screams that haunted him during the first two weeks of Quatre's capture. "When we first took him…" He stopped there and pressed his lips together, not even wanting to speak it aloud. Fortunately, Maxwell was smart enough to put two and two together. He let out a long breath that somehow managed to convey his regret. "That was a mistake." "Was it?" Heero asked, knowing that he was skirting on thin ice, but he needed to address what had happened, if only for his own conscious. Wasn't there an old saying that demons were best defeated when faced head-on? "Or did it only matter after we found out who he belonged to?" He turned in the circle of his captain's arms and looked up into the stunningly handsome face, trying to find the answers he was searching for. "His life, his honor...did it mean nothing?" Maxwell's eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he stared down at his catamite, unreadable behind the wall he'd erected to conceal his emotions. "That is the way of things. In this world, your worth is wagered by what you can contribute." He reached up and grasped a stray lock of dark hair, tucking it behind Heero's ear. "How useful you are. That's the way it's always been." "And who says it must be that way? Who gets to decide this? That we are unworthy, that our lives are forfeit unless we have wealth, or skills, and if we don't have those, we must pay the price with our bodies?" "It is that way because it must be. In nature, if you are not strong, you perish." "Is that all I am to you?" Maxwell reared back a little, eyes widening in surprise. "What?" "Is that all I'm worth to you? Is that all I'm worth to the world? A body to bugger? A whore?" "Is that what you think?" "How can I not think that? It seems like the only time you acknowledge my existence is when you're angry with me, or you're buggering me." "Am I not good to you? Do I not keep you safe? Keep you warm and fed?" "I want to earn my keep." "You do." "No." Heero pushed himself out of Maxwell's embrace and dragged his fingers through his hair. "I don't want to earn it with my arse! I want to learn the art of sailing. I want to learn how to navigate. Did you know that Quatre contributes to the Catherine's crew? He knows how to chart maps and he works with the navigator. He contributes with more than his body. Don't you see?" He stepped closer to his captain and looked up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to understand. "To the crew, he's...he's not a toy. He's a man." Maxwell gave him a quizzical look. "Are you not also a man?" Feeling bold and in the mood to test the waters, he leaned his body against the other man and grazed his lips against the freshly-shaven chin. "I would think you'd know that better than anyone. I just wish you'd treat me as such once in awhile." He poked his tongue out and licked over the curve of Maxwell's chin, dipping into the cleft at the center and he wasn't disappointed when his captain responded. Maxwell gripped the hair at the back of his head, forcing Heero's neck to bend, and took his mouth in a conquering kiss. Heero eagerly opened up with a sigh of surrender and allowed himself to be pillaged, curling his fingers into the fabric of Maxwell's cloak until his knuckles turned white. He was kissed until he felt light-headed and arousal thrummed through his veins like an intoxifying drug. When Maxwell finally lifted his head, he stared down at him with a slight curl to his swollen lips. Heero blinked away the haze, a little unnerved by the smug grin and wondered what about any of this was so amusing. "What?" Maxwell let out a soft laugh and then tugged on his arm. "Come on. You'll catch your death in this cold." "Maybe I want that." He stopped abruptly and turned shocked eyes on his catamite. "Do you?" Heero held his gaze for several moments while he tried to decide if he'd actually meant that. Finally, he shook his head and allowed himself to be pulled along. "No. Perhaps at one time I did." "Mmm? When was that?" "Right after you brought me here. It lasted for several months." "Yet you did nothing. Why?" "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I suppose I was just waiting for something to change." "And did it?" He gave his captain a dark look and touched the faint bruise on his cheek. "I'm not sure. You did hit me this morning." "I gave you an order and you disobeyed it." "I suppose nothing has changed then," he conceded as they stepped inside the cabin. Maxwell already had the stove burning and the cabin's interior was toasty warm, illuminated with over a dozen candles. During the Shinigami's captivity, nothing had been stolen, or moved by the Catherine's crew. Everything down to the smallest trinket was right where they'd left them. He picked up a small, marble statue carved into the likeness of the Egyptian god, Anubis, and sat down on the edge of the bed. It felt cold in his hand as he ran his thumb over the sharp ridges of its jackal-like teeth. It was one of Maxwell's favored treasures, stolen from a wealthy aristocrat in Rome. Heero had been dragged along on that raid which ended up with him being buggered into the nobleman's four-poster bed. That was one of the strangest experiences he'd ever had since he'd left home and it still gave him a little thrill whenever he thought about it. The nobleman had been bound to a chair in his own bedroom so that the Shinigami's crew had the leisure of thoroughly going through his possessions to ensure they acquired the most valuable items. Maxwell had swiped the statue off the mantle and looked it over with a critical eye, but instead of putting it into the sack with the rest of his stolen treasures, he'd stuffed it into the pocket of his breeches. He'd glanced at the enormous, elegant bed, biting his lip in contemplation and then pinned his catamite with a smoldering leer. "Get on the bed." Heero was stunned by the order, his blood freezing like ice in his veins. His gaze flitted to their bound and gagged hostage before meeting Maxwell's gaze. "What?" "I'm going to fuck you in that bed." He hesitated, uneasiness making it difficult to move. His misgivings about being buggered in someone else's bed, not to mention within full sight of the bed's owner, rooting his feet to the floor. Was Maxwell seriously going to bed him in this stranger's home? Apparently so if the dark look he received was any indication. With one final glance at the hostage, he crawled onto the bed and laid down on his back, turning his head towards the wall as his cheeks flushed with shame. It was the first time they'd ever had sex with an audience and despite Heero's discomfort with it, his cock was rock hard and tenting up the fabric of his tunic. It turned out to be the most incredible sex he'd ever had and he reluctantly praised Maxwell for his insatiable appetite and unusual sense of adventure. Spread out across the bed with his legs hooked over the captain's arms, Maxwell had fucked him into the cushiony softness of the luxurious mattress like a maiden deflowered on her wedding night. He'd moaned like a cheap whore, arching his back and pulling on the silk draperies that hung from the posts. Sex that wasn't confined to the privacy of Maxwell's cabin brought out a new side of Heero that he'd never believed he was capable of. His face had burned with mortification, but he kept glancing over at the man tied to the chair to see if he was watching, his pleasure soaring every time their eyes met from across the room. "What are you thinking about now?" He blew out a breath and placed the statue on the little table beside the bed. "I was thinking about the day you took this." "Ah, yes," Maxwell chuckled as he stripped out of his cloak. The deep plum color of his blouse looked majestic against his bronzed skin and Heero bit down on his tongue when he got a glimpse of the smooth, muscular chest displayed between the opened laces of his shirt. Maxwell may have been a right bastard at times, but his beauty was striking and undeniable. "That wasn't the best part of that pillage," he added, his tone softer, but gravelly from the erotic memory of debauchery. Heero ducked his head as his cheeks flamed with heat. "That statue is ugly." "Yes, it is," Maxwell mused. He pulled his shirt over his head and went to work on his belt. "That's why I like it." "You like it because it's ugly," he deadpanned, watching his captain momentarily hop on one foot as he pulled his breeches off his leg and then did the same with the other. Bared in all his golden glory, like Michelangelo's David in the flesh, he walked towards the bed and Heero's breath hitched in anticipation of what was to come. No matter how many times he'd been taken by this man, his body still responded as if it was that very first night. He was pushed back onto the bed with a hand on his chest and then Maxwell crawled on top of him until they laid chest to chest, groin to groin. He nuzzled his nose into Heero's neck and kissed the tender skin over his catamite's pulse point. "Ugliness can have its own unique beauty," he rasped as he pushed Heero's legs apart with his knees. "It reminds me that not everything is as it seems -" another kiss -"and that even the most magnificent among us can be grotesque." Heero sucked in a sharp breath when Maxwell's cock brushed against the inside of his thigh. "Is - is this a self-reflection?" He could feel Maxwell smile against his neck. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is a reflection of life. Nature is beautiful, but also brutal. A heartless, merciless shrew who entices men with her allure before she ruthlessly cuts him down." "You refer to nature as the fairer sex when what you say sounds more like men." "Every man has a mother," Maxwell whispered against his neck. "A significant feminine influence on his life. Nature is our creator, our mother. She made us what we are." "But God is male." "There is no God," Maxwell spat and then pressed their mouths together, effectively dissolving Heero's confusion at the vehemency of his response. He moaned softly and wrapped his arms around his captain's neck, his hands fumbling for the braid that laid against Maxwell's back. He pulled the tie loose and unraveled the long pleats of hair until they tumbled over his shoulders like a cascading waterfall. "Mmm...Ca - Maxwell…" He tossed his head from side to side as his captain kissed a descending trail down his chest and belly, though he stiffened in shock when Maxwell's mouth continued to work its way closer to his groin. "What are you doing?" "You said you wanted to be treated like a man. So I'm treating you like a man," Maxwell answered and then licked a long swath up the length of Heero's cock until he reached the tip and then wrapped his lips around the head, suckling with a gentleness that nearly drove Heero mad. "Oh, my G -" His eyes rolled back beneath his lids and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream as Maxwell took the entire length into his mouth. He'd never done this before. Never paid any attention to Heero's cock except to stroke it during intercourse. The last time Heero had felt that pleasure had been with a female customer a few days before his abduction. He remembered how good it felt, how skillful she was, and the way she drank him down until the sensitivity became overwhelming. She'd been his last customer before being propositioned by Maxwell and he hadn't known that pleasure since. He'd resigned himself to the likelihood that he might never experience it again, much less from a notorious pirate captain. He vaguely wondered if perhaps he was dreaming, but the rising waves of ecstasy and the coiling sensation tightening inside his groin assured him that this was no dream. His fingers trembled as he reached down and wrapped long tendrils of Maxwell's hair around them, firmly reminding himself not to pull too hard. He stared in awe at the head bobbing between his legs, unable to believe this fearsome pirate was voluntarily taking on the role that Heero always had. Maxwell's eyes were closed, his expression one of deep concentration and Heero was certain he'd ever seen anything more beautiful in his life. His orgasm rose up swift and powerful, like the spinning eye of a storm and his hips jutted off the bed, back arching like the taut string of a bow. "Oh - oh, Max - Captain...God, I'm - I'm co -" His cock spurted mid-warning and his attempts to push Maxwell off were unsuccessful as the other man had no apparent intention of doing so. He sucked hard enough to make Heero's eyes involuntarily cross and took everything he gave, swallowing it all down until he lay limp and shaking. When he had enough wherewithal to crack his eyes open, Maxwell was grinning down at him with a playful gleam in his eyes. "Do you feel like a man now?" Heero grabbed his face and pulled him down to kiss that infuriating smugness away, groaning at the taste of himself on his captain's tongue which pushed into his mouth with the sensual rhythm of fucking. It didn't matter that he'd just climaxed. His body responded to the carnal promise, his spent cock twitching with life once again. Maxwell pulled away and rolled him over onto his belly and he panted into the rumpled quilt as the cheeks of his ass were parted. He felt the hot, wet press of a tongue pushing past the ring of his opening and he lifted his hips for more, moaning brokenly with frustrating submission. He was a prisoner of his own desires. He knew that and for the longest time, he'd despised himself for it. Despised Maxwell for all of the ways in which he knew how to pleasure him. His captain effortlessly rendered him powerless time and again with the skill of a lover who knew Heero's body better than he did himself. He'd had his share of terrible and proficient lovers, both the memorable and the forgettable, but he'd never had one that made him so shamelessly crave the sins of the flesh the way Maxwell did. Die by the sword, or by my Master's cock. So help me, I choose the latter and I'll happily burn in eternal damnation for just one more night with this man. The truth was, he'd be lost without Maxwell, but he was also beginning to believe that Maxwell would be lost without him as well, and perhaps just the simple act of entertaining that possibility made living with his own transgressions bearable. He rubbed his newly-hardened cock against the mattress as Maxwell pressed two oiled fingers into his body and mewled when the tips of those fingers immediately caressed that place inside that left him mindless with need. Maxwell crooked his fingers, knowing just where to touch to reduce his catamite to putty in his hands, kissing the protruding knobs of Heero's spine with a tenderness that ached to his core. "How's that, pet? Good?" "Nnn - huh...yes..." "Do you want me inside you, or is that not manly enough?" Perhaps not, but Heero would be lying through his teeth if he said no. He deliriously nodded his acquiesce and Maxwell withdrew his hand, delivering a stinging slap to his arse. "Get on your knees." He eagerly pushed himself up onto all fours and waited, heart pounding, for the intense experience of initial penetration. He held his breath, but kept his muscles relaxed as the bulbous head of Maxwell's cock pushed through and then released it once the other man's balls were flush against him. Maxwell's fingers dug painfully into the flesh of his hips as he worked himself up to a moderate pace, grunting his pleasure into the heat of the room. Heero lowered himself to his elbows and sunk his teeth into the skin of his forearm, enduring each thrust with soft whimpers and breathless words of affirmation. The tip of Maxwell's cock touched all the right places inside him with unerring precision, forcing away those troublesome thoughts that perpetually plagued his mind. Even during their first coupling after he'd been taken aboard the Shinigami, he'd fought Maxwell with everything he had. Punching, kicking, scratching, and biting and then eventually shouting his rage into this very bed as he was flipped over and his arms wrenched behind his back. He'd cursed Maxwell to every demon and devil he could think of when the man's cock slid home inside him, but it took only minutes before he was weeping with defeat and self-hatred into the mattress because it had felt so damned good. It took a few months before he'd finally stopped fighting back. It was fruitless and he'd eventually reached the point where he knew he could no longer lie to himself about how much he enjoyed it. He'd remained conflicted. His principles, his sense of morality over how abhorrent it was, at war with his most carnal desires. Even more distressing were the feelings of warmth and contentment whenever Maxwell deigned to shower him with gifts and attention. The sense of pride that he felt from the looks he received every time he was shown off like a trophy on this notorious pirate's arm, or taken in a possessive hold. He'd always been desirable, but his allure seemed to increase by tenfold now since he'd been relegated to Maxwell's whore. The fact that the fierce and beautiful captain of the Shinigami found him worthy enough to keep by his side sparked their curiosity and a compelling hunger to sample the goods. He'd been fought over more than once and despite the brutality with which he'd witnessed Maxwell's violence and thirst for blood, the possessiveness that drove him to such cruelty never failed to appeal to Heero's ego. Not to mention invoking that primitive part of his brain which still operated on instinct and thrived in the face of male dominance. Needless to say, every time Maxwell proved to the world that he was the only one privy to the wonders of Heero's body, Heero was so desperate to be buggered that he wasn't above prostrating himself for the chance to experience that dominance firsthand. He was in a perpetual stalemate with himself over his need to be recognized as a man, and his primal instinct to bend to the will of another. It was what made him both love and hate his captain and he was beginning to wonder if this was what limbo felt like. A constant state of neither going forward, or back. Static and suspended inside the perimeters of an endless, spinning circle. And there was no escape. There never was. "Mmm...you feel so good, pet," Maxwell murmured, bending down to reverently kiss his catamite's back. "My beautiful whore." Heero swallowed down a groan as the diminutive went right to his cock and tried to save face through his clenched teeth. "Don't - ah - don't call me that." "You don't enjoy being my whore? Your body speaks the language of one." There was tone of playful disappointment in Maxwell's voice, but Heero's retort was lost on his tongue as the spongy head of the other man's cock struck his prostate with dizzying precision. He garbled out a half-hearted protest and dropped his head to the mattress. The subject could be discussed later. For now, the pet name spoken in Maxwell's gravelly drawl did more to feed his pleasure than hinder it. "That's what I thought," Maxwell said and then leaned up, grabbing Heero's hips in a bruising grip and shoved into him with a forceful thrust. Heero choked out a broken cry and rolled his arse back, trying to get the direct stimulation where he needed it most. "Are you going to come again, pet?" "Oh G - uh-huh...oh, God!" "Touch yourself. Let it go. I want to see you fall apart. You're always so beautiful when you come undone." He reached beneath himself and wrapped trembling fingers around his erection, tugging hard and swiping his thumb across the head. His breathing increased with the rising crest of his orgasm and with a twist of his wrist and a perfectly timed thrust, he was spilling himself onto the bed with a hoarse shout. Through the rushing sound of blood pumping through his ears, he distantly heard a loud groan, followed by an emphatic curse as Maxwell's cock was squeezed by the contractions of his arse. His body was jarred by Maxwell's rough fucking and his legs finally gave out beneath the force. He collapsed onto the bed, spent, and endured the brutal thrusts until Maxwell stiffened and let out a long, low groan that seemed to vibrate his entire body. He huffed as Maxwell dropped down onto his back and pushed the air out of his lungs, though he remained still and passive despite the wetness of his climax beneath him. Maxwell panted into his neck, his labored breathing slowing with each passing minute. "Whew! S'warm in here," he murmured into Heero's damp skin. Heero smirked and said, "I wonder why." "Don't get sassy with me, boy." Maxwell lifted himself up and smacked Heero's upturned arse cheek before he went over to the window. He cracked it open and stuck his head out with an exaggerated sigh. "Ah, that's better." Heero snickered and then rolled over, sitting up to grab his tunic which he used to clean himself and wipe away the wet patch on the quilt. He tossed the soiled fabric onto a chair to be washed later and then climbed up towards the head of the bed, flopping down with his head on his pillow. It was strange, but he'd missed this bed. When the Shinigami was first stolen, he'd been almost relieved by its absence. The symbol of his captivity, his prison which had been his source of oppression, no longer weighing him down. The captain's bed in the Johannah's cabin was smaller, more rickety, and was sectioned off inside its own tiny little room. The table, chairs, stove, and other small pieces of furniture resided in the main room of the cabin. Heero preferred the more open, airy space of the Shinigami's cabin and the bed he thought he'd never grieve, he found himself doing just that. A draft from the window blew across his skin making him shiver and he turned the covers down to climb beneath. "It's still cold out there." "It's January in European waters," Maxwell reminded him. "It'll be cold until we get closer to our destination." He pulled his head back inside and pushed the window closed. "What is our destination?" "Spain. Seville to be exact." Heero rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "What's in Seville?" "Everything, my pet," Maxwell said dreamily. "It's a goldmine of wealth and fortune. The import ships returning from the New World are stocked with booty, the likes of which you cannot even begin to imagine. Gold, gems, food, tobacco…" "What's tobacco?" "It's a plant, my dear boy. Very revolutionary." Maxwell came back to the bed and climbed under the covers, taking his catamite into his arms. Contentment was always an alien feeling to Heero, yet it was something he seemed to be experiencing more frequently as time went on. For now, he was too tired and satiated to question it. He curled up within the warm embrace, pleasantly drowsy, and let the soothing vibration of Maxwell's baritone, coupled with the familiar smells of the place he'd begun to associate as home, lull him into a light doze. "What's it used for?" "You smoke it. Apparently, it's an enjoyable experience. Calming, from what I hear. I haven't tried it yet." He laughed, stirring the hair on Heero's head. "The Indians have something called peyōtl. Devil's Root, it's called. It's an opiate, but it comes from a cactus plant that only grows in the New World." Heero hummed in acknowledgement, but his mind was already beginning to drift. "Will we ever go to the New World?" "Mayhap. Why? Would you like to see it?" "Mmm-hmm." "Then you shall," Maxwell promised, stroking Heero's dark hair with a gentle hand. "Now go to sleep. It's been a trying day for all of us." "Mmm…Duo?" Maxwell froze, stunned into silence by the use of his given name. In the three years Heero had been in his possession, he'd never once spoken it aloud. He stared down into his catamite's face, trying to find any sign of malice. It wouldn't be the first time he'd displayed vindictiveness, but Heero's eyes were closed and his expression was slack with impending sleep. "What?" "Thank you." "For what?" He waited for a response, but didn't get one. Heero's breathing even out, a sure sign that he'd already drifted off. He stared at the sleeping face for a long time, confused by this sudden turnabout. There was a chance Heero might not even remember what he'd said in the morning, but Maxwell couldn't help but hope that perhaps it meant that Heero was finally beginning to accept his place. This more passive change in his behavior seemed to coincide with the abduction of Barton's whore. Perhaps what Heero had needed all along was someone who understood. A peer who was on similar footing. Someone with whom he could confide in and not feel inferior in the presence of. He tried to imagine himself in Heero's place and winced when it finally dawned on him what life for Heero must have been like for the past few years. Heero's rebellion, though it had lessened over the last year, was his way of trying to retain some semblance of autonomy. Maxwell considered how important his own autonomy was to him and tried to imagine what it would feel like if that had been stripped from him. He knew exactly how he would feel. Incompetent, emasculated...furious. He would have fought to the death to regain his freedom and independence and if he'd gone down, he would have taken his conqueror with him. As he admired Heero's sleeping face, he noticed how much the boy's features had matured in just three years. Heero had just barely been an adult when he was taken, but now there was no question that the person in bed beside him was a man. Maxwell stroked a finger down his jawline, sharper now that it had been this time last year, and felt the slightly abrasive texture of a freshly shaven beard. "I've been a right bastard to you, haven't I?" Heero mumbled something unintelligible, but didn't wake, and Maxwell was struck by an epiphany so powerful, it nearly took his breath away. He'd killed for Heero on several occasions. Of course he would kill to defend his property. That was a given. But it was the sudden realization that killing for him didn't require any sacrifice on his part. What did require sacrifice was the fact that he would die for him. To pay the ultimate price for the sake of someone else was something he'd never been willing to do before. When had that changed? At which point did his heart decide, without him even being aware of it, that the whore he'd taken into captivity for his own selfish enjoyment was someone he would gladly lay his life down for?
What
in the nine bloody circles of Hell have you gotten yourself into,
Maxwell?
Bloody
son of a bitch... It seemed as though the gentle, dulcet presence of that little blond harlot had affected them much more than he'd realized.
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