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"Untitled"Written By: Keiran Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or its characters...
Shame about that. Rating: NC 17 Pairing: 1x2 Warnings: Yaoi, lemon Summary: None given "Untitled "
It probably wouldn’t help, me knowing where he’d come from. Frankly, I’d rather not know. He’d just showed up one dreary morning, as we were leaving Liverpool and signed on for the trip. He had exactly jackshit on him, not even a spare shirt. He must really like fishing, I thought. Freak. Of course, that’s not true – I thought he must’ve killed someone in a bar fight some ten minutes ago, someone he kinda liked. He looked absolutely miserable in his greyish sweater and dark pants, equally colourless hood hiding his hair and face. He looked a lot like I had, once upon a time. Then he looked up and saw me, watching him. Yeah, I’m rambling on, but a sight I was not either – clothes just as old, though probably better kept and just as colourless. Like everyone else on board Mary Ellen. Fishing boats sure as hell ain’t Parisian catwalks. He was still looking at me, but now that I could see his face I knew why. He was my age. My height, roughly, and similarly built, which altogether meant young, small and wiry. Not the common type of fisherman. “What are we now, a pretty boy parade?” the bosun asked behind me, following my gaze. “Get to work!” Normally I’d snip back at him, but this once I let it slide. He had a point. The guy was pretty. Me, I know I was. Didn’t mind most of the time, only when I had to make a particularly vicious point of proving to the gruff undersexed sailor types that pretty and longhaired does not a girl make. Guys on Mary Ellen scarcely needed my explanations, ‘s why I liked her so much. Yeah, I can look after myself, have since I was a kid. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to have a safe haven. This guy down here had none. “Maxwell!” first mate bellowed, snapping the register closed. “You have a spare bunk, you’re taking him in.” Funny, how one bellow changes your whole life. Heero Yuy was my bunk mate from then on. Let me tell you, in terms of gruffness, he was a born sailor. I can’t say I minded, whole life spent on some-or-other cutter taught me to deal. Except you couldn’t very well deal with a guy who’d bark and grunt at you during the day and crawl into your bunk at night, to fuck your brains out. Not that I was averse to sharing my bed with him. Hey, fishing ain’t exactly a prime kind of job, stinking of fish after days on dry land doesn’t attract many people. And I don’t like whorehouses much. Long tragic tale of woe, my lack of a sex life. So there it was, the wonderful life of Duo Maxwell, full of fish, old bread, fish guts, rum, fish innards, stale water, some more fish, and a hot fuck every night. I was happy. Happiest I’ve ever been, I think. Until Mary Ellen turned back to good ol’ Liverpool. “Hey, Heero? ” I asked one night, a couple days before we were due back in harbour. “Is there gonna be anyone waiting for you?” He didn’t answer, not verbally. All I got was a vague grunt and the sensation of another sweaty body moving against mine. It lasted for a couple of seconds, then he settled again. “Anyone? Girlfriend? Family? Friends?” Nothing. I was on the verge of falling asleep again, when I felt, rather than heard, his voice. To this day I’m not sure he was talking to me. “I ain’t got no one.” We docked in Liverpool two days later. That day, a damp, dreary English day, was the last time I saw him. I left Mary Ellen shortly after, when it became obvious he wasn’t coming back. She was home, for a short time, old, rusty, stinking home, but I found that after Heero left something went with him. She wasn’t much of a comfort anymore. So I went and found a new ship – a million Mary Ellens in England alone, and I was a handy guy to have onboard. Didn’t have no trouble finding a new ship. I can’t say I’ve forgotten him. Couldn’t. But life kept me busy. So imagine the heart attack I suffered when I, the newly appointed bosun, walked onto the bridge of – dunno, she might’ve been a Mary Dolores, or Mary Cecile – and found him, bent over a worn map. “Sir.” Captain he was now. Imagine that. He was straightening, working out the kinks in his back and turning to me. “Still no one waiting for you?” I asked, forgetting for a moment that I was here to inform him that the ship was in a good enough condition for full speed ahead. He smiled at me. First time I saw him smile. “No. Not anymore,” he said. ~ * ~
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