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"Diary of a Protected Witness"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don’t own any part of Gundam
Wing or the characters, more’s the pity. This is for fun...no
profit involved. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU , yaoi, swearing (lots), some OOC
(probably), violence, drugs, sex, Pairings: 1X2X1, 3X4, 5XC, (past 2X3X2, 6X2) Summary: Ever wonder what was running through
Duo's mind at certain points in"Witness Protection?" Here
are snippets of his point of view...a companionfic, that will not
rehash the entire plot, but offer a new perspective ofcertain events. " Diary of a Protected Witness"
And the day kept gettin’ better and better…not! There I was in an uncomfortable metal chair, my wrists still locked behind me, trying to keep a defiant attitude in the face of the gorgeous blue-eyed cop. “Is Quatre Winner still the public defender around here?” “Sometimes.” “I want him.” “Literally or figuratively?” I gave him my best leer. “Hm—both, I suppose. He’s a very pretty kid.” He was, too. Quatre was downright beautiful. He was also my attorney, on the infrequent occasions I needed one these days. I hadn’t been in any real trouble in nearly two years. Mostly since meeting Trowa. Yeah, my friend with benefits had precipitated a real turning point in my fucked up life. Trowa wasn’t into drugs or crime, and he didn’t like the fact that I was. And since I’d wanted to get that hot body into my bed, I’d jumped through a few hoops for him. I’d cleaned up my act, kicked the drug habit—at least the hard stuff—and let him coax me into working at the same club where he did. Which was how I met Zechs—the next big turning point in my life. Zechs taught me how to walk into a five star restaurant like I belonged there, and how to make love in the back seat of a limo. He taught me the difference between oregano and thyme, and which foods they were meant to flavor. Hell—he taught me how the same spaghetti sauce can taste three different ways, depending on which herbs you used and what kind of tomatoes were in it. He taught me what it felt like to surrender completely to someone—and what it felt like to totally dominate that same someone. And he was dead. Gone forever. Along with a shitload of hopes and dreams. Which left me sitting there on that goddamned uncomfortable chair, flirting shamelessly with a hot, blue-eyed detective to try to keep him from finding out I’d seen the most powerful man in the country murder my lover. I gotta say, he was good. Damned good. I don’t know why I let him lure me into a conversation at all, but he knew how to push just about every one of my buttons. He brought up the Reapers, as if he knew that would get under my skin—which it did. And then he shifted gears, going back to the night of the murder and getting me so flustered that I blurted out the fact that I didn’t own a gun. I knew it was a mistake the second the words slipped out. And when I reminded him I’d asked for a lawyer, he blindsided me again. “You saw the killer.” Fuck! How the hell did I let him back me into a corner like that? Why was I losing myself in the depths of those intense eyes when I should be focusing on how much I wanted out of those handcuffs so I could hightail it out of town? “I got nothin’ to say to you!” Bullshit. It was unadulterated bullshit and bravado, and he saw right through me. He knew I’d seen it all—knew how I’d escaped the penthouse. He knew everything except who had pulled the trigger. I was afraid if I kept talking, he’d have that information next! “Go fuck yourself. I asked for a fuckin’ lawyer, and this little chat session is over until one shows up.” When he threatened to charge me with murder, I knew he could make it stick. I mean, shit. My DNA was all over Zechs’ place—the wineglasses, the cigarettes in the ashtray, and of course, the sheets in the bed. God—the bed. I was never gonna get to feel that again—the way Zechs would throw aside the comforter, frantic to get me on my back, practically growling with lust—the way he’d groan in ecstasy as he sank into me. And the tender way he’d turn my face so I had to look right at him while we made love—. He said he wanted to know his was the only face I saw—that my mind and my body were both focused on him—that there was no other lover in my mind’s eye, while he was in my body. God, the man could make you come just by talkin’ like that. I’d tell him it was romantic bullshit, and he’d glare and kiss me so hard I could barely breathe. And then he’d tease and torment me until I swore he was the only one—in my heart and in my bed—before he’d let me come. Fuckin’ sadist. Sweet, gorgeous, romantic sadist. Yeah, I had it pretty bad for him. Anyhow, by the time Quatre got there, I was fed up with the cuffs, the cops, and the butt-torturing chair in that interrogation room. I was tired, hungry, and more than a little pissed at the whole situation. I’d had plenty of time to revisit the murder in my head, and toy with scenarios of how Khushrenada was gonna hunt my ass down and kill me. I wanted out, and I wanted to hit the road—fast. When Yuy tried yet another delaying tactic by saying someone was coming up from the forensics lab for a sample of my DNA, I’d had all I could take. Spitting on his paperwork was just a tiny bit of payback for the bullshit he’d put me through. And it was a way to remind him of the first time we met—as if he’d thought I forgot him? How could I forget a pair of eyes so blue?
tbc... |
