Ch4

Heero pushed himself out of the warm arms and off the couch. He hit the floor with a thump on his slightly sore arse. Even as he tumbled of his love, he never left his stare off of what frightened him so. It was the window he stared at in heart deep fear. But that wasn’t quite it. No, not the widow. The thing that made him rush out of the only person who cared for him was what the window let in: the faint light of night just in and settling down for its brief stay.

It was night. It was night and he was died, or almost died. He promised Odin he would be back by afternoon. That was the way for him to get to see the painter and to have freedom for brief moments in his never-ending torture. And he broke it. There was no way that he would be able to get out of whatever Odin planed for him.

Heero finally stopped the window looking, but only to look down and find his clothing after a minute of groping that produce neither pants nor shirt. As he looked down, he saw his seamen splattered stomach. No, Odin would know just touching there, and Odin had wandering hands. Heero twirled his head, but could not see a washbasin.

“Love, what be wrong with you?” Duo mumbled as he pushed his chest up from the couch, almost exposing the thing that pleasured Heero so earlier that day.

“Washbasin, I need a washbasin. Please?”

Duo blinked and shrugged. He slid off the couch and walked to a corner of the room that Heero could hardly tell it was a corner because the piles off dirty clothing and dishes. Heero waited and waited. The only thing he heard from inside the mess was the sound of tumbling things.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He bought his hands up. He scratched at the stickiness. If Odin didn’t see, Odin wouldn’t know. He would scratch away the evidence. Odin wouldn’t hurt him too much. He would say that something happened. Yeah, Duo ran out of paints and spent lots of time getting the new paint.

His nails broke skin, but he didn’t stop. He hardly noticed the brain’s danger warning. He scratched. Blood soon made his fingers slid lower. It grabbed the thing that caused him so much problems, the thing that had brought him pleasure with only one and pain with so many others. He would destroy the evidence. He would…

Hands closed around his wrists. He tried to wiggle out of them, but they held tight, even with the slippery blood.

A voice broke through his thoughts, his insanity. “Stop Heero; he’s not worth your blood. Odin’s not worth any of you. Stop, Heero,” the voiced repeated in his ear. His fingers relaxed. The hands around his wrists left and were replaced by a towel. It tingled slightly on his scratches as it wiped away the blood and evidence. Soft lips, his love’s lips, traveled his face, filling the boy with love, pure love.

And the door bang opened with the force to knock canvases onto the floor.

Heero looked up and screamed.

His father had come for him. Thick, blue veins, visible against the pale neck, were about to post. Spasms shook the body. Blood leaked out of the clenched hands.

“Get away from my whore,” he growled in an all so familiar tone.

Duo hugged Heero close, but Heero didn’t want it, sort of. He didn’t want the punishment associated with it. He pushed back with all his strength. He flopped away and laid waiting for the punishment to come with his eyes clenched. He waited. It didn’t come.

A slap rung put, forcing Heero’s eyes open with dread. Odin had wrapped his hands around Duo’s wrist and lifted him off the ground. Odin slapped Duo on the face and then punched him in the stomach. Duo struggled, but was just too weak.

Heero scrambled up after grabbing the nearest thing to him; a brush bristled with white horse hair. He would not let Odin hurt Duo. He loved Duo. He could not live with duo hurt.

On the feet of a sly predator more silent then a cat, he walked to the enemy, his father. Casually heard information, overheard from assassin talk at that brothel Odin let borrow him, aided him. Behind the ear was the place, they said, and that was where Heero drove the paintbrush in.

Blood spurted out and hit Heero, spraying him. Duo fell from lax fingers. Odin toppled, soundless. Odin died.

Heero laughed crazily. Heero cried crazily. Heero toppled.

Duo pushed the dead man of him. He crawled over to Heero and hugged him.

Slowly the sobs and laughing died like Odin. Duo grabbed the slightly red wash cloth and wiped the salt off Heero’s face with the clean parts.

Heero looked into the violet orbs wide eyed. “Will everything be okay now?”

“Yes, everything will be perfect, just perfect.” Duo hugged the boy close. They fell asleep like that, Odin’s corpse cooling.

Maybe TBC in the disguise of a epilogue or sequel or both.

Did ya know that spasmed isn’t a word according to the MWs (Microsoft word and Marine Webster dictionary)