Damsel in Distress versus the Knight in Shiny Armor
Chapter 21 - Those Are Six Guns Full of Sexy
by Muffie
Duo had been stomping around the second floor of the safehouse for two hours solid, which is exactly how long it had been since they returned from Treize's bedroom, and exactly four hours since their marriage. Quatre sighed and Trowa glared at Heero. Heero took a sip of his tea and admired his baka's stamina.
The shower came on upstairs and Duo promptly began singing I'm Gonna Fucking Kill Heero! to the tune of Happy Birthday, off-key, at the top of his lungs. Quatre sighed and Trowa glared at Heero. Heero was impressed when his baka's voice didn't give out after twenty minutes of caterwauling.
The shower cut off and the stomping started again, in place, accompanied by the blow drier and an even louder rendition of My Dying Heero, sung to the tune of My Darling Clementine, also off-key and with a great deal of imagination. Quatre sighed and Trowa glared at Heero. Heero made note of several of the more innovative methods of killing another human being.
The blow drier, once it shut off, came sailing down the stairs to crash into the front door; the stomping went from room to room again, occasionally punctuated by the sound of various objects hitting a wall, but the singing had stopped. Quatre sighed and Trowa glared at Heero. Heero was disappointed, he had been enjoying his baka's pleasant singing voice, not to mention that if his baka was singing songs for him, his baka must have forgiven him for marrying him.
Forty minutes into the stomping, Quatre sighing, and Trowa glaring, Duo galloped down the stairs. "I'm going out!" his baka bellowed.
"Duo, quit yelling," Quatre said. "We're right in front of you."
Duo sniffed and joined Trowa in glaring at Heero.
Heero's mouth dropped open in shock. He'd never seen his baka dressed like this. This was, it was, oh my.
"Going clubbing?" Quatre snapped. "Instead of trying to work--"
"I'm not speaking to him," Duo yelled.
"Duo, quit yelling," Quatre said again, then sighed. Trowa glared at Heero.
Heero managed to shut his mouth. His baka looked hot. Beneath a stylish , tightly fitted, white polyester sport coat with widely flaring lapels Duo wore tight-fitting, bright white, high-waisted, polyester pants that clung to his abdomen, hips, ass, and thighs while flaring a little at the ankles. A white vest, cut perfectly to emphasize the bulge in his crotch beneath the smooth, nearly uninterrupted fabric of his pants as well as the expanse of his chest revealed beneath an unbuttoned black satin shirt, matched the white fabric of his jacket and high-waisted pants. His feet were encased in a pair of shiny, patent leather dance shoes with soft soles that gleamed in counterpoint to his black satin shirt.
Staring at the vision that was Duo, Heero had to reach down and adjust his spandex while he mentally skipped over the next step in Mission: Honeymoon--get his baka to not be angry with him anymore--and jumped right into the step after that--slowly strip his baka of that hot outfit, licking every inch of flesh he revealed--and into his favorite step--put his hands all over his baka and then his mouth and then put his hard c--
"See ya!" Duo yelled, then bounced through the front door.
Heero stood up, checked the clips in his .50AEs and the rounds chambered in his back up .357, and headed for the door.
"Heero, wait!" Quatre jumped between him and the door. "Where are you doing?"
Heero glowered; it was obvious what he was doing. He stepped around Quatre and went through the front door, following Duo.
"Oh, Allah, it's going to be tragedy." Quatre ran for the stairs. "Trowa! We're going clubbing!"
.
Thirty minutes later....
.
Heero decided against a frontal assault, primarily because the bouncer was checking IDs and he didn't have any of his carefully prepared fakes with him. Instead, he snuck in through the back way. It was easy, their security was lax; actually, their security was doing something highly illegal involving illicit drugs and a pair of blondes. He glowered as he made his way through the stockpiles of liquor. He was getting his baka out of this place and then blowing it up. He did not want his baka corrupted unless he was doing the corrupting.
And there was his baka. Dancing like the God of Little Death that he was in the middle of a ring of clapping cheering people with some redheaded man. He flexed his fingers and reminded himself that he could not open fire on the enemy with so many civilians present. He couldn't exactly recall why that would be a bad idea, so that made it somewhat difficult to remove his hands from the butts of his .50AEs. Especially when that man came up behind Duo and started dancing with barely enough space to see the sparkly lights tossed off by that mirrored ball over the dance floor. And then that man's hands curled around his baka's body to run suggestively along the front of his baka's thighs and that man's front was pressing and rubbing--
"Hey! Hands off!" Duo bellowed. The redhead ignored him, reaching down to pinch his butt. "I said hands off, you--mppph!"
The evilly laughing redhead twirled the baka, his baka, around and kissed him firmly, ignoring the struggles that sent his baka's braid swinging in mortified terror. The redhead's other hand went down between his baka's legs and squeezed his crotch.
Heero went through the crowd like a gundam through a bunch of less than operational mobile dolls, grabbed the redhead by the back of the neck, peeled him off of his baka, and threw him onto the floor. He was just about to pull out the .357 since the .50s wouldn't prolong the pain nearly as well, when the redhead leaped to his feet, his purple, crushed velvet jacket flaring around his gold medallions.
"Hey, I'm dancin' here."
Heero crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.
The redhead snarled and poked Heero in the chest. "Hey, you, I'm talkin' to you!"
Heero threw the hand off of him and reached for the .357 again.
"You wanna piece of this?" Red snarled, getting in his face.
"Heero, no!" Duo tugged at his arm. "Don't! Let's just go dance."
"You really wanna piece of this?"
"A piece? No. I want the whole thing." Heero sneered, the fingers on his left hand curling around the convenient--and cute--butt of his left hand .50AE, and flicked his other fingers in Red's face.
.
At the front of the club....
.
Quatre flashed his Winner ID and got them both into Disco Inferno, Duo's favorite disco. Never mind that they were both very obviously underage and that dance clubs didn't exactly exist anyway. The music was throbbing an upbeat melody and the place was packed. Through the flashes of gyrating people, Trowa could see Duo on the floor, dancing with a redheaded man. Quatre handed his coat over to the coat check girl, absently, too intent on finding Heero before he started a massacre. Especially since he could see the redhead humping Duo's leg already.
"Trowa, do you see Heero? Has he killed anyone yet?"
Trowa glared at the floor between them, arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head.
Quatre blinked. "Take off your coat."
He shook his head violently and hugged himself tighter. The leather trench coat was buttoned to his chin.
Quatre frowned. "Take off your coat, you'll stand out."
He shook his head harder and backed a step toward the door.
Quatre glared his do-it-or-else glare. "We've got to blend!"
Quatre? Blend? In exactly whose imagination would that happen, pray tell? Or that's what he might have said if he wasn't too busy putting his back into a corner and covering his entire face with his bangs.
"Trowa," Quatre yell-hissed. "You're drawing attention."
Trowa was of the opinion that one, Quatre's afro--how in the hell he got his hair to do that in two minutes was a miracle of physics--was drawing more attention than a gundam self destructing would, and two, there was no way in hell he was taking his trench coat off until he was safely locked in the bathroom at the safehouse, by himself, after having swept the place for electronic surveillance.
"Trowa." Oh hell, it was the do-it-or-no-sex-for-a-month voice. Which is how Quatre got him into this stupid outfit in the first place. But that was back in their bedroom, where he had the disadvantage of a mostly naked Quatre and a few mind-blowing kisses to convince him to do what no sane man would do. He wasn't going to fall for it this time. Not here. No way. "Trowa," Quatre purred, his low, seductive voice easily heard over the 110 plus decibel music. Then Quatre brushed back his bangs and kissed him long and hard and that's exactly what could describe what was suddenly in his pants. "Trowa," Quatre purred again, this time sounding completely satisfied. He smiled and handed a leather trench coat that looked suspiciously like his own over to the coat check girl who was staring at him like a gape-mouthed catfish that someone had just brained with a brick.
He closed his eyes. Yes, that was air blowing over his bare butt cheeks.
He tried, in vain, to once more adjust the tight leather pants to cover more of his rear end, but the cut outs over each cheek made that impossible. He yanked at the leather straps that met at a large, steel ring in the center of his chest, rattling the chains dangling from it, but they didn't suddenly grow into a real shirt. He felt like a slut. A cheap-Freddy-Mercury-cheezy-San-Francisco-gay-biker-bar knock-off slut. Quatre's eyes gleamed as they traveled over his body. Trowa crossed his arms over himself, scrunched down, and sighed. Well, at least he wasn't wearing rainbow colored suspenders, rainbow striped socks, and a blonde afro.
His modesty was abruptly saved when a yell went up from the dance floor. Duo stood in the center, ringed by cheering people, his body poised, one hand in the air, finger pointing to the sky, face down, hip shot, with a foot catching the beat. K.C. and the Sunshine Band were yowling that, that's they way they liked it, uh huh, uh huh, and suddenly Duo was in motion, hips moving, finger stabbing toward the floor. His angel suit flared around him as he spun and shook his butt. Not everyone could pull off the white polyester with a black satin shirt open to the navel. Duo didn't. John Travolta didn't. Actually, he didn't think anyone could. Disco was so, so stupid. The redhead slithered up to dance around Duo, his finger stabbing in perfect counterpoint to Duo's. Trowa decided, once again, that he hated disco.
He watched Quatre do the Hustle briefly with a cocktail waitress on his way to the floor where Duo was and took the opportunity to infiltrate the coatroom and bundle himself back into his trench coat before following.
Oh look. Heero.
.
A few minutes later, on the dance floor....
.
The DJ, a rather plump man with a perm, plaid suit, and lapel points that reached his arm pits, shook his booty and grabbed the mic descending from the ceiling. The floor, a lighted affair cut into squares of various pastel hues in a geometric pattern, had been cleared completely. Heero stood in one corner, fists clenched, and Red stood in the other, sneering.
"Oh, my folks!" howled the DJ. The crowd cheered back.
"Please don't do this," Trowa hissed in his ear.
Heero snorted. "I can take this guy."
"It's not that!" Trowa moved to Heero's other side to keep Quatre's hands from sneaking his coat off again. "You shouldn't do this because it's so incredibly lame."
Lame? That sounded like a bad thing. He palmed both .50AEs to calm himself down and shot a look to his baka, who stood nearby looking worried beneath his irritation.
"Tonight!" the DJ yelled, "our very own Dancing Disco Rick is being called out by the new guy, Zero!"
"It's Heero!" Quatre yelled back.
"Right back atcha, buddy. So folks, if you gotta pair of sunglasses, I'd put 'em on because I got a feeling that these two are gonna light it up!"
The crowed cheered. Heero frowned. Light it up? But he hadn't brought along explosives.
The DJ bounced to the DJ booth and dropped the needle on the record. "All right, settle down everybody. You know the rules. Keep it safe, keep it sexy and above all, turn up the night!"
Turn up the night? How was he supposed to do that? He shot a questioning look to Quatre, who only smiled at him tightly before sidling up to Trowa to mess with the buttons on his trench coat.
"Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother, You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive."
"Well all right now, Dancing Disco Rick is getting warmed up here. What's he gonna bring out for the appetizer course?"
Dancing Disco Rick waved an arm in clockwise circles over his head, his hips moving around counterclockwise. He didn't look nearly as good as his baka did. He twisted his body this way and that way, feet flicking out with each forward step, one hand going in front of the other as if he were pulling himself forward with a rope. Heero could not see a purpose in this maneuver. It gained him ground, but expended unnecessary energy and left him open to even the most negligent flank attack.
"Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin', And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive."
"Oh, it's a little hand-over-hand tuggle, man, right into the center of the floor! And that's all he's giving him!"
Dancing Disco Rick brought an end to this senseless activity by executing a 360 degree spin, throwing both arms behind his head, as if he were planning on doing french curls with a dumbbell, and thrust his pelvis in Heero's direction. Dancing Disco Rick lifted his lip and jerked his chin up in contempt before jiggling his way from the floor.
"That's a bucketful of confidence, right there, man!"
"Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive, Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive."
The smiling crowd turned to Heero suddenly and he scowled back at them suspiciously.
"Well now, I get low and I get high, And if I can't get either, I really try."
"Over to the new guy, Heero."
Quatre put both hands on the small of his back and shoved, propelling him into the center of the dance floor. He blinked again on the downbeat, dropping instantly into a crouch to defend himself should any of the yelling people surrounding him suddenly decide to jump him.
"Got the wings of heaven on my shoes, I'm a dancin' man and I just can't lose."
"This guy could be trouble."
The crowd cheered and he drew both .50AEs, jiggling to the right to put both the DJ and Dancing Disco Rick into his line of fire. The crowd roared its approval. Should he shoot? He jigged left when he got too close to the edge of the floor and a woman in corduroy pants and a gold lame top squealed in his ear and reached for the spandex.
"You know it's all right, it's okay, I'll live to see another day."
"It's the Wild West, man, those are six-guns full of sexy! It's the good, the bad, and the groovy."
Groovy? That sounded painful. Trowa had his face buried in his hand and was shaking his head. Heero decided that he wanted nothing to do with this groovy. He zig-zagged, to throw off enemy fire, back to his allies, and holstered his guns. He flicked his eyes toward his not-princess, to see what he thought of all this, and was shocked to see Duo eyeing him with approval and, was that lust? He shot a helpless glance toward Quatre and found him smiling happily and nodding.
"We can try to understand, The New York time's effect on man."
"One, two, three, four, we've got a disco war, folks!"
Dancing Disco Rick had worked his way back to the center of the floor again, double jigging from foot to foot, his fists doing this funny sort of circular motion, as if he were working a boxing speed bag at gut level instead of above his head which was ridiculous. The speed bag was designed to train hand-eye coordination, in particular when aiming punches; attempting to do so at gut level was just silly.
"Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother, You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive."
"Dancing Disco Rick's going, 'I don't like you, but I respect your moves.'"
Dancing Disco Rick had changed from his badly executed training techniques to something more incomprehensible that left him extremely vulnerable to attack from any side. He had his left hand in his hair, over his ear, and his right hand slapped at his right hip in time to the beat. He had one leg in the air, bent at the knee, and his body was twisting and writhing as he turned in a circle on one foot. Heero was intensely grateful that Baron J had never exposed him to this sort of combat training.
"Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin', And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive."
"And here's Heero, again."
Quatre shoved him onto the floor again, hissing in his ear, "Pretend you're driving a truck!"
What? He twisted around uneasily, looking at the crowd. The were yelling and screaming. Dancing Disco Rick was sneering. His baka was looking at him with a sort of mix of interest, annoyance, and growing wonder. Pretend to drive a truck? He put his hand out in front of him, as if gripping a wheel. His baka nodded, just a little, as if he couldn't help himself, and appeared to be pleased with Heero. He twisted the imaginary wheel and pretended to shift gears with the other hand It was difficult to work his feet as if he were popping a clutch because, generally speaking, one sat while driving. Additionally, gears were shifted at certain RPM ranges and he had difficulties judging which gear to choose on an imaginary engine. He peeked over at his baka again to see nothing but approval in his eyes.
"Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive, Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive."
"Driving that disco big rig! Shift gears, blow your funky horn!"
Horn? The newer model 18-wheeler tractors had both the air horn and street horn on the steering column, but the old, disco era air horns were triggered by a cord running along the interior roof of the cab. He reached up and pretended to pull the cord for an air horn. His baka burst into a delighted smile. He jiggled his hips, just a little, like he'd seen his baka and Dancing Disco Rick do, and watched his baka jump up and down, clapping in delight.
"Life goin' nowhere, somebody help me, Somebody help me, yeah."
"Pull into the truck stop and get yourself some scrapple made out of sexy."
Dancing Disco Rick bounced onto the floor, doing the speed bag move again, this time at chest height. Heero fell back automatically, preparing to defend himself. He made a mental note to carry a .22 with him in case he required a caliber that didn't have enough power to pass through a single target and create collateral damages.
"Life goin' nowhere, somebody help me, Somebody help me, yeah, stayin' alive."
"Dancing Disco Rick brings it right back and he's not wasting any time, folks."
Dancing Disco Rick was doing something that reminded him of the one time Baron J had piloted a Gundam. The movements, while in point with the beat, were jerky and slow. There weren't many of them and they had no dexterity. For some reason, Duo seemed impressed with this. Heero abruptly decided that Dancing Disco Rick would be less impressive if a few of his joints were no longer operational..
"Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time to talk."
"From the future of 1984, that's a funky disco robot."
Heero cracked his knuckles and slowly crossed to the center of the floor, putting his left foot down with each downbeat in the music like he would with any cadence-called march. The crowd roared its approval and Duo was back to smiling at him instead of at Dancing Disco Rick. Dancing Disco Rick grinned ferally and jigged toward him. They circled each other warily, Dancing Disco Rick with his palms up and pelvis shaking obscenely, Heero fitting his tai sabaki, body motion, into the beat.
"Music loud and women warm, I've been kicked around, Since I was born."
"They're both on the floor, man, eye to eye. It's disco Vietnam!"
His eyes locked with Dancing Disco Rick's as they circled like a pair of dogs fighting over a mate, Heero's mate to be specific. Dancing Disco Rick might have the advantage of experience with disco dancing, but Heero would not lose, not to this man. Not ever. Dancing Disco Rick was going down. Ninmu ryoukai.
"And now it's all right, it's okay, And you may look the other way."
"Neither one's blinking, neither one's backing down. Let's see what happens."
Dancing Disco Rick jumped from foot to foot, arms moving in a semi-complex pattern, his eyes intent on Heero's, his mouth open contemptuously as he sucked air. It was nothing for a trained soldier like Heero to match his movements and then improvise a few of his own. Yoko geri. A kick to the side. Migi tsuki. Punch to the right. Hidari tsuki. Punch to the left. Shomen uchi and mune tsuki. Overhead strike followed by a quick punch to the abdomen. All of these were perfectly executed, in time to the downbeat, accompanied by a few extraneous movements of his feet, and none of them actually touching Dancing Disco Rick, who resorted to flat handed pulled swings when he couldn't keep up. Heero threw an open fisted punch that slammed the heel of his hand to a halt centimeters from Dancing Disco Rick's nose.
"We can try to understand, The New York time's effect on man."
"Oooh, angry cat! Kitten has claws!"
Dancing Disco Rick bounded back glaring and Heero stood there, fingers flexing furiously.
"And it looks like it's over folks! Remember, we've got 50 cent Harvey Wallbang--!"
Someone grabbed the back of the spandex, palming his right buttock. He leaped forward, clearing at least ten feet and pivoting in the air to land in a crouch, poised and ready. The crowd roared.
"Dy-no-mite! Heero's taking it over the line!"
The DJ came through the crowd and grabbed the mic. "Who-hu-hu-ho! Yeah! How about that? Very sexy, very macho."
Heero reflexively palmed both .50AEs.
"But you know what, that's a little too close to call. We'll have to depend on our patented Disco Inferno Applause-O-Meter. So let's bring out our combatants, folk, come on, big hand for them!"
Behind his left shoulder, his baka was suddenly jumping up and down and screaming. Heero immediately pivoted and did a visual examination to find the injury that made his baka scream, but saw nothing but a happily shining face and yells of joy. Yells that were his name. Cheering him on. His baka was cheering for him.
"First off, over to my man, Dancing Disco Rick!"
Duo gave Dancing Disco Rick the one fingered salute, followed closely by pulling his lower eyelid down and sticking out his tongue. There was a smattering of desultory applause and some guy yelled something about goats and Rick.
"And over to the new guy, Heero."
Duo led the wild, chaotic cheering. The crowd roared, chanting Heero's name.
"Folks, this is pretty close. I hate to do this but I gotta give to my man Danci--"
Heero pulled out his right hand .50AE.
"Eeep! Um. I gotta give it to the new guy, Heero!"
The crowd shrieked its approval. Duo bounded onto the stage and hugged his waist, laughing in delight. Dancing Disco Rick looked outraged. Heero holstered his .50AE and grinned.
Dancing Disco Rick took one look at that grin, turned as white as his baka's pants, swallowed reflexively, and pushed his way through the crowd to the bathroom.
Trowa looked at Quatre, lifted his bangs out of both eyes, and blinked. "Did Heero just win a disco dancing battle?"
.
Twenty minutes later....
.
Heero decided that he liked this dancing business. It certainly didn't hurt that his baka was in awe of his dancing skills, whatever they were. He was wrapped around his baka, his baka's head on his shoulder, his left .50AE clutched comfortably in his hand, swaying gently to the beat, with their bodies plastered together by friction from top to bottom. He leaned his cheek against his baka's head and watched Quatre try to trick Trowa out of his trench coat again. Next time he danced with his baka, he'd do it when they were alone so he could give into the temptation to strip his baka naked.
Duo pulled back a little and smiled up at him. Sparklies from the mirrored ball over the dance floor hovered around his face. Fingers traced his cheek for a moment. "I have to go to the bathroom."
He nodded once, curtly, and put his hands on the butts of his .50AEs to wait for his baka to return.
Fifteen minutes later, he was getting impatient. How long did it take a man to urinate? Even factoring in the difficulties in removing and redressing tight, polyester pants, his baka should have been finished five minutes ago. He scratched his chin with the barrel of his right hand .50 AE and narrowed his eyes in the direction of the latrines. A bloodcurdling shriek came from the men's latrine. Duo! Heero vaulted through the crowd, exploding into the bathroom just in time to see his baka pinned between two men while a third used his braid to force his face up toward a disgustingly slobbery kiss. Heero roared in rage. Moments later, the man exploded through the door and bounced off the wall. He slumped, obviously unconscious, to the floor. The second man went flying through the now broken door, howling in protest before crashing, head first, into the wall and falling, unconscious, onto the first one. The final man tottered backwards to land in the heap of drunken would-be rapists, propelled by a beautifully executed uppercut.
"I'm the fucking kick ass princess of the Sweeper kingdom," his not-princess roared, shaking his fist. "And don't you fuckin' forget it, you bastards!"
Heero stood, off to the side, eyes wide, both .50 AEs dangling uselessly from his fingers, and the front of his spandex twitching. Wow. His baka was, he was, great. Magnificent.
Duo turned, hands on hips, and glared at him. "What?"
Heero grinned slowly.
His baka's eyes dropped to the spandex, blinked, then met his gaze again, his mouth a perfectly round 'o' of shock.
Heero holstered the .50AEs and licked his lips.
His baka blinked and shook himself. "No."
Heero glared. "Yes."
"Not here. It's gross."
"Don't care."
"I do!"
Heero stalked forward.
Duo backed up. "Yuy! Knock it off!"
"The manuals mentioned an activity annotated as quickie. I would like to try this."
"Not in the men's room at a disco joint!"
Heero sank a hand into the front of Duo's polyester pants.
"Well, maybe just a -- wait, what am I saying. Heero, no. Not here."
"Then where?"
"Home. We'll go home."
He could go home and strip his baka naked and keep him that way. Acceptable. "Ninmu ryoukai."
"Wha--?"
He squeezed his baka's cock. "Home. Naked. Now."
Duo grinned. "I just gotta love a man of few words."
.
Back at the safehouse....
.
They hadn't made it much further than the middle of the stairs, leaving behind a trail of white polyester and black satin. Heero didn't really care, either. His baka was beneath him, naked, kissing him and being naked and kissing him and every once in a while would remember that they were on their way to the bedroom and would scoot that very cute butt up another step and that would thrust his erection against Heero's naked belly and Heero would just have to start sticking his tongue and his fingers inside of his baka all over again and his baka would moan and thrust--oh yes, thrust was goood--and he would have to taste that moan all over--
The front door slammed open, crashing into the wall and bouncing back.
--again so he would twist his fingers and his baka would--
"Yuy!" Wufei roared. "I will have my justice!"
Slightly confused as to what justice had to do with finding the spot inside of his baka that made him say interesting cuss words at the top of his lungs, Heero lifted his head and glared.
Wufei waddled forward slowly, his legs spraddled wide enough to drive a truck through, two pinched fingers holding the back of his pants away from his rump.
His baka snickered.
He frowned, decided that Wufei's justice had nothing to do with that wonderful spot inside of his baka that required his attention, and dropped his mouth back onto his baka's.
"Yuy! You unjust, dishonorable cur! I will have justice!" Wufei then stabbed him in his left butt cheek with a spork.
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