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"Destination Eden"Written By: Lisa-chan
Disclaimer: The G-boys are not mine. I only use
them for loads of fun and for putting them in compromising situations
and stuff. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: yaoi, shounen-ai, voyeurism, slight
het, blood, angst, sap, OOCness, Relena-bashing, OC, AU on Duo’s
behalf. Pairings: 1x2x1, 1x3, 2x4, hints of 2+OC, 4x3
implied Summary: AC\200. The war is over, total peace
reigns. Heero loves Duo. Duo loves Heero. Only neither one is aware
of the others feelings. Who will make them find out? Author: Lisa-chan Author’s e-mail: m.van_kerckvoorde@planetinternet.be
Author’s note: This fic is a rewritten version
of a fic I once wrote, called Nobody’s perfect. Some might recognize
it. I’ve added parts of both Duo and Heero’s past, Duo about
his life on the street, Heero about his harsh training with Doctor
J. The original story, the one in their present lives, basically stayed
the same. I’ve also added a prologue and epilogue. I have indicated
AU on Duo’s behalf, especially concerning his past. No Maxwell
church, no sister Helen, no Sweepers on his fourteen years old. He
did meet Solo. But I’m gonna stop rambling now before I give
everything away. Don’t let the het scare you away, I promise
some good boys on boys action ahead ^_~ Well, enjoy! Reviews would
be nice. Thoughts in Italics ~o~O~o~ indicates flashback Thousands of thanks to Shenlong for the beta reading
^_^ ~*~*~ Destination Eden
When he woke up, still very early in the morning, he could tell two things for sure. One: he was terribly cold and two: boy, he was hungry! Like they were out to nag him, they had planted a bakery, not five feet away from him. A bakery that had always been there for that matter, he'd just never seen it before. The most wonderful smells wafted through the air, making him picture the most colorful pastries and cakes. Gingerbread with candy, apple dumplings with icing sugar, cinnamon bread with raisins. His eyes opened again and everything was gone. Bye gingerbread, bye apple dumplings, bye cinnamon bread. They looked rather sad, his eyes, until they noticed movement. A delivery van had stopped right in front of the bakery. A man got out and went inside. A few moments later he came out again with a large, flat tray. He entered again, and came out with another one of those trays. And in again, and out, over and over. They all disappeared at the back of the van. Trays stuffed with tasty things. Duo sneaked closer. The man stayed in longer this time. He and the lady behind the counter had started chattering and tried to surpass each other in telling the most world shocking gossip. Hey, have you heard about that skyscraper that burnt down? No, tell me. With careful steps, Duo tripped to the back of the van and peeked inside. Oh heavens! Muffins, donuts, pastries, all begging to be taken. And have you already heard about that bank that was robbed? Really now? No, didn’t know that. Duo’s hands crawled to one of the trays. One. As good as nothing. Two. Oh, they surely won’t miss them. Three. Well, now I’m at it. Four. Fat cats. Five. And one for the road. Six. Duo had just had come up with the most world shocking gossip. Hey, mister delivery guy, have you heard? Your van is being robbed right in front of your eyes. Laden with his freshly built up food supply and a good amount of fear, he ran for it. He ran, turned into the first alley, almost slipped, ran again, nowhere in particular. His backpack sloshed on his back, but he kept on running with the precious pastries tightly clutched in his arms. A hand shot out of a building and dragged him inside. An other hand was clasped in front of his mouth and strong arms held his floundering body tight. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” someone whispered in his ear. “Do you trust me?” Duo shook his head. No, he didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust anybody. Still the person let him go, and he turned around to see who had had the nerve to drag him by the arm, just like that. It was a boy. He looked older than him. He had black hair and blue eyes and didn’t give a mean impression. “Why did you do that?” Duo asked. The guy grinned. Good, he wasn’t about to go screaming blue murder, that little boy. “Let me tell you something, chap: when you have stolen something, then…” “Who says those are stolen?” Duo interrupted him, glancing swiftly to the cakes in his arms. “Oh, were you running away from your own shadow, then?” Duo looked down in defeat and suddenly found the dirty floor very interesting. “Thought so. Well, what I was about to tell you is that when you have stolen something, then you shouldn’t run away,” the boy said. “You make a suspect out of yourself if you run away.” “You also make a suspect out of yourself if you wear poor clothes,” Duo retorted brightly. “Running away and poor clothes is doubly suspicious. You’d rather be just suspicious instead of doubly suspicious,” the boy replied sagely. “I’d rather be not suspicious.” “All street boys are suspicious.” “I’m not a street boy.” “Street girl?” the boy asked, eyeing the braid. “No! I’m just a boy.” “Just a boy who steals for fun.” Back to the dirty floor. “What’s your name?” “Duo.” “How old are you?” “Twelve.” “Are you looking for shelter, Duo?” “Yes.” “For half of you food supply and the contents of your backpack you can stay here.” Duo snorted disapprovingly and finally ventured to look up again. “You hardly know me and already you start wheedling stuff out of me.” “That’s not wheedling stuff out of you, boy. That’s negotiating.” That “boy” had come out just a tad too belittling for Duo’s liking, but he assumed that anything was better than the open sky as a roof. “Are you a street boy too?” he asked. The boy grinned self evidently and meticulously pointed out the stains on his shirt. “Guess.” That made Duo laugh. Stealing scum, just like he was. “Good,” he said. “But first I want your name.” “I’m Solo,” he smiled, gratefully taking his part of the food. “Keep that backpack with you for a moment. That’s for the others.” “Others?” “Yes. Follow me.” Duo followed him to a stairway, munching on one of his cakes, devouring would be a better word for it. Food! Finally! “Is that true what you told me?” he asked with his greedy mouth still half full. “What?” “About the running away. That you can never run away when you have stolen something.” “Sure, that’s true. You have to sneak away, not run away. The trick is to make sure you always have a hole or crack through which you can disappear. If you don’t have that, then you’d better steal nothing at all.” Duo’s footsteps seemed like feathers next to Solo’s. The boy banged his way up the stairs, floor after floor. “How old are you?” Duo asked. “Sixteen,” Solo said. “How long have you lived here?” “About a year, I think.” “How did you end up on the street?” “Fight with my parents.” “About what?” Solo turned abruptly and looked at Duo. “You want to know a lot, don’t you?” he said, playfully swatting his head. Dammit! He almost lost his donuts! “You’re afraid of telling me then?” Duo asked. “Of course not.” He turned around again and continued his way. “They had always expected me to take girls home with me. But I didn’t. I took boys with me. Oh, you’re only fifteen, that will change, my mother said then. No, that’s not gonna change, I said. I love boys and will always be that way. Shortly after, when I took those boys to my bedroom, the bombshell dropped. My mother burst into tears, kept on blaming me, saying how filthy and unnatural it was. My father even hit me for it. When they realized that it didn’t have any effect, they told me I was no longer their son, not as long as I refused to change. Good, I told them, then I don’t want to live here any longer either. And I hightailed.” By this time they had reached the upper floor, Solo panting slightly, just like Duo. Duo looked at him wide eyed and didn’t say anything. “We’re here,” Solo said. As he went to proceed, Duo stopped him. “You know, I don’t think it’s filthy and unnatural,” he said softly. “That’s very sweet of you,” Solo smiled, wiping the icing sugar away from Duo’s mouth with his thumb. “Was it good?” Duo nodded. “Yes, very good. I was very hungry. Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” “In a minute.” “Solo, I have to tell you something.” “What’s the matter?” “Yesterday a man approached me. He called me a whore. Why did he do that? That’s not what I am, am I?” Solo sighed and lowered his eyes. The fellow had already found out for himself what kind of neighborhood this was. Well, that was one thing off his list of confessions to make. “No, you’re not. But there are many who are.” “You too?” “Yes, me too. We have to eat, Duo. Did you go with him?” “No.” “Why not?” “He didn’t want to anymore. I think I was a bit too insolent.” Solo’s eyes shot back up and he frowned. “Oh, what did you say?” “He asked me how much he had to pay, and I said as much as possible.” Duo jumped as Solo started laughing all of a sudden. “Hey, haven’t tried that one yet. Who knows how much I could get.” He shook his head in amusement and went to the door. “You’re a good kid. Come, come on in,” he said, pushing the doorknob down with his elbow. Duo followed him and entered a large room that once must’ve been an apartment. There was hardly any furniture, only a table and a couple of chairs. A few mattresses lay littered upon the floor which obviously had seen better times. On one of those mattresses lay a moving pile of blankets with three little boys cuddled in it. They didn’t look much older than eight. When they saw the pastries in Solo’s arms, their eyes lit up. “Hey kids. Look what I’ve got for ya,” he said, kneeling down and each giving them one of the fragrant cakes. “That’s all for us?” one of them said incredulously. “Yes, all of it. Now eat it,” he smiled, rubbing over his reddish head. “But Solo, now you don’t have anything anymore,” Duo said. Solo turned around and flashed him a smile. “That’s alright.” The imaginary balance in Duo’s head started functioning. On his scale there were two cakes left. On Solo’s there was nothing but air. Two cakes weighed heavier than air and bang! the balance overturned. “Solo, this one is for you,” Duo said, handing him one of the delicacies. But Solo pushed his hand back. “No, keep it. We shared. Those two are for you. You’ll still be needing them.” “But…” “Hush now. Told you it would be alright.” The door swung open and a boy whooshed inside. “Tadaa! Fifty grands, try to beat me!” he said merrily, holding the valuable notes triumphantly up in the air. A smile colored his face and a nice row of teeth shone between two rosy lips. “And with that money, we’ll go shopping,” Solo said. He reached the boy in a few strides and took the money from him. “Good job, kid,” he said with an appreciating tap to his shoulder. “Who’s that over there?” “That’s Duo. I picked him up off the street. He had stolen something and was searching for refuge.” “You know, Solo, keep it up and we’ll be starving in no time. I earned fifty dollars now, but don’t forget we have to save some money to rent something decent in the course of time.” “Benoît, he’s the same age as you and look at him. He simply oozes sensuality, even at such an age.” “Oh, so I’m not good enough anymore all of a sudden?” Benoît reproached him playfully. “I didn’t say that, stupid. But I’m convinced he could make us a lot of money. Only, he’s still a bit skeptical.” Benoît rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Leave that to me,” he said, heroically shoving Solo aside. “Hey, street boy!” “Oh, he’s not a street boy,” Solo smirked. “Street girl?” “Would you stop it already!” Duo yelled frustrated. “I’m a boy, alright? Or do you want to see?” he added with a grin. “Can I?” Hadn’t expect that. Dope, don’t ask for it. A hostile look kicked the challenging grin away. “You’re mean.” “I’m not mean. I’m just teasing you. You have to know the difference between being mean and teasing.” Benoît reached out his hand and let his index finger wander over Duo’s cheekbone. “Has someone already told you you’re beautiful?” “No.” “I’ll tell you. You’re beautiful, Duo.” Duo looked at him with doubtful eyes and in the end opted to just cast them down again. “You’re teasing me again, aren’t ya?” “No,” Benoît said. “Then you’re mean?” “No.” It never ceased to amaze Solo how much power of persuasion that boy had. His box of tricks never got empty. He could even convince a tiger to take off his stripes and go rope skipping in them. “What’s your name?” Duo asked. “Benoît.” “Benoît?” Duo said, as if the name was a hotchpotch of spinach, Brussels sprouts and everything else a twelve year old doesn’t like. “A French name?” “Yes. Don’t you like it?” “No.” “What do you like then?” Duo shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Alright. Then you can call me “Dunno,” Benoît said. Oh funny, see me laughing! Where did that boy get the nerve to ridicule him like that? Shut up, know-all! his common sense bit. This place is a lot better than the street, be content with it. And his common sense was right. “Listen, I just earned fifty dollars,” Benoît whispered in Duo’s ear. The words hadn’t been said in a boastful way, but rather as a challenge. Duo could feel a sense of competition growing inside, and he wasn’t all that sure if he liked it. What exactly would they compete with? “Good for you,” he said, trying not to appear impressed. “And what did you have to do for that?” “What do you think?” Benoît said self-evidently. “Fucking, of course. Or did you think I could go around pretending to be a salary man in these togs?” He slipped an arm around Duo’s waist and pulled him closer. “Could you do that too?” Very well, fellow, challenge accepted. No way would he would be intimidated by that kid. “Of course, piece of cake. One day I’ll come back with one hundred dollars.” “I'll hold you to that. Fifty dollars is an exception. The usual tariff is twenty, thirty at the most. The day you come back with a hundred or more, I'll owe you a lot of respect.” “If I can interrupt my lovebirds for a moment, I’m going shopping now,” Solo meddled carefully. “Anything you need?” “Shampoo,” Duo said. “I would like to wash my hair.” “Say, what do you think this is, kid? One of those snob hotels?” Benoît snorted disdainfully. “But it’s greasy.” Benoît regarded the brown mass and stretched out his hand. “Let me feel.” “Don’t you touch it!” Duo yelled, taking his braid in a possessive grip. Talking about freaking. Although he had to admit the boy had indeed wonderful hair, no doubt about that. Something told him that maybe, if he would extol the hair, Duo just might like him then. Hail to the braid! He almost had the tendency to hold out his left hand and shout out like the Germans had done: “Heil Hitler!” Or was it his right hand? It would cost a lot of water though to wash all that hair. But surely, that shouldn’t be a problem. They used rainwater after all, since the waterworks had been turned off. “You’re right, it is greasy,” Benoît said. “Solo, I think we should let him wash his hair. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” Surprised eyes shone and looked hopefully to see Solo’s mind playing paper, scissors, stone. “Show him the bathroom,” he said finally. “There should still be a bit of shampoo left. And Duo, you can give your backpack to him.” The backpack was accepted and greedily emptied out before Benoît led Duo to the bathroom. There he came to the amusing, for Duo much less amusing, conclusion that the bit of shampoo left wasn’t enough. To be continued…
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