Disclaimer: See all the others; status unchanged.

Pairings: 3x4, 1x2
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Yaoi, lime, voyeurism

AN: Written for [ merith ]'s pick in the playlist meme of two months ago. Apologies for being excessively late with this. I wanted to do it justice... and then I got fed up, and just wanted to finish it. The pick was song #1221, the musical piece 'A Mole Man' from the Escaflowne soundtrack.

Top Down
by kebzero

Like a thief in the night, he was - except that it was technically 'day' in ship-time, and he wasn't really out to steal anything. Other than maybe a peek or two.

Hell, it was their fault for being so blatantly obvious about it. 'Off for a maintenance check', Trowa had said. Duo had seen the elbow tap to Quatre's back when Trowa passed him. Subtle, maybe, but not subtle enough. Especially Quatre's fake yawn afterwards, and the claim he was 'going to take a quick nap'.

Quatre might be headed for his bunk, but not to sleep - of that, Duo was certain.

Stalking Quatre wasn't too difficult. Of course, unlike Trowa, Quatre wouldn't have to double back from where he'd said he'd gone. At least Trowa knew how to move through Peacemillion like a shadow.

Just like Duo.

Quatre turned to look over his shoulder. Duo dived back around the nearest corner, waited, peered around. Coast clear. He scrambled towards the next corridor, following the dull sound of magboots.

Duo didn't use any himself, preferring the hand guiderails. Gravity would return at the living quarters up ahead, and he knew the shift would be abrupt. As any pilot knew, landing was the downside of flying.

Another few turns, and he caught Quatre disappearing into his quarters, closing - and locking - the door. Duo gritted his teeth; Trowa must have already gotten here - no doubt, he'd ditched magboots too. Duo considered his options. If the layout here was anything like the wing where he bunked, there would be-

He started to grin. Oh, yes. A supply room right next door. Duo looked around. Certain he was alone, he ducked inside. As quietly as he could, Duo removed a few boxes from the shelves, and climbed up. There was an air duct tube up there, but like a lot of things on the Peacemillion, the climate control system had been scrambled together under ridiculous deadlines before the ship was mothballed. There were no screws keeping the duct in place, just a few metal clasps. Very carefully, he released the end section and pushed it back in the previous element, granting him clear access to the metal grate leading into Quatre's room.

The supply room was dark, and the lights in Quatre's room were dimmed. As long as it stayed that way, the odds of them noticing him were slim. Duo smiled. Oh, this'd be easy. He kneeled down on the top shelf and peered inside. On the far side, his comrades were plenty busy with each other already, making out, shirtless, sprawled on Quatre's bunk, Trowa on top with Quatre's hands far down his back pockets.

He watched as socks, pants and underwear found their way to the floor - or like Trowa's briefs, over a lamp at the far wall. Sloppy kisses, cocks rubbed together... Absentmindedly, Duo cupped the bulge at his own crotch, clasping it gently as Trowa slipped a hand down Quatre's hip.

A cold hand to the bare stretch of skin at Duo's ankle nearly made him lose his balance. If his assailant hadn't been so quick to react and palm his ass to push him back up, Duo would certainly toppled over. He turned to glare, but gave up soon enough. Heero. He should have known. Duo shook his head, then quickly put a finger across his lips to prevent inevitable, annoying questions. Instead, he signaled for Heero to climb on up - quietly.

Heero complied, and once kneeling next to Duo on the top shelf, he leaned in to whisper "What are we doing?"

Duo grinned, pointed to the air duct. Heero looked. His lips parted, a soft breath of surprise - then an accusing glare at Duo.

Down at the bed, they were fast at it, Quatre's legs wrapped around the small of Trowa's back, barely restrained moans seeking echoes in the walls.

Torn between horny and impish, Duo figured he could satisfy both itches. "Quatre's such a hot little bitch, isn't he?" he whispered to his sidekick, rubbing his crotch. "I'd love to be in him right now..."

Heero snorted derisively, but remained transfixed with their friends.

"But Trowa's damn fine, too..." Duo continued. "Wouldn't mind swapping places with either of them." Tentatively, he studied Heero from the corner of his eye, gauging reactions. Heero did serve him a quick frown of disdain, but that was more than enough. It usually took some seriously harsh words or devious pranks to irk soldier boy. What would he think of... Smirking to himself, Duo unbuttoned his pants and let his hard-on land in his palm, slowly working it. He knew Heero must have noticed, but he didn't really care. He was watching a show, only fair that he put on one of his own, right? His hand moved steadily faster, building up as the couple below were reaching towards their climax.

Suddenly, Heero's cold fingers were at his dick, Heero's other palm at his neck, attempting to pull him close for a messy miss of a kiss - and then they both fell, balance lost.

Only years of training kept Duo from shouting - at the assault, at the fall, and not at least at the landing; flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He'd closed his eyes, tentatively opened them again. Not dead yet, he realized. His fingers grasped the edge of a mattress - a stack of which he'd used to climb up earlier. Lucky. Even better, judging the final ecstatic cries from the other room, the others hadn't heard. Good. About then did he register the weight at his legs and stomach, watched Heero orient himself. Duo served him a glare. "Just what-"

Heero grabbed Duo's hand and put it flat against his own crotch.


Duo watched as Heero wrested his tank top off over his head. "I'm not Quatre, and I'm not Trowa..." Heero murmured.

"You'll do," Duo grinned back and pulled Heero down for a rough, brief kiss. "Fuck me," he muttered, a command as much as a plea.

"Roger that..." Heero retorted, pushed Duo's T-shirt upwards, and landed butterflies the way back down again.

At the far side of the vent, two sweaty young men were winding down from their highs. Yet... "Think they're gone...?" Quatre whispered to his lover, trying not to glance at the air duct as much as stare into the ceiling.

Trowa rested his chin against Quatre's shoulder, drew circles around a nipple with his fingertip. He listened for a moment; a low grunt, a zipper, cotton over skin. About damn time, he thought. It had gotten seriously annoying to watch the two of them dance around each other, both apparently oblivious. "...return the favor?" he spoke softly in Quatre's ear.

The blond merely smirked, and kissed him.


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