Author's note: 1 X 2 / 2 X 1 (suitably spicy... they have sex, buuut, not really super descriptive. Its more like introspective.)

Anyway, I don't own. Period. (Anything. Nothing is owned by me, so not GW either.) So don't sue. Also don't flame. Because if you did, it'd be......... very unfriendly. Xx yes. And.... Oh, this is also my first serious gundam piece, so be kind. And that's all for real.

EDITING NOTE: yeah, is fucking the layout of this piece up the squashy butt, so I've thrown in a few cautionary periods to try and break up the paragraphs a little. (I hate runon text... it gives me a headache >.o)

Thanks!

Warning Signs (PART I)
By Onions Make Me Cry

Do you ever get the feeling that sometimes you're supposed to be living somebody else's life?

"Get the zipper-- no, the," thump thump "the fucking zipper there. There!"

"Shut up."

"Oh my, what lovely romantic sentiments! You're a shitty Cyrano."

"Let me help you with that shirt, Duo."

"Ugnh!"

Somewhere along the line, I decided that this sentiment was pretty damn accurate at diagnosing my every day kind of mood lately.

"Are you sure Father Reeves is out?"

"It's two in the morning."

"He could be an insomniac. I mean, look at us! What are we doing?"

"Stop talking and get over here."

"Where else could I go? Those soldiers are out there! Plus, you latched the door already."

"You're beautiful."

"..."

"No comments?"

"I'm in love with you. How's that one?"

"It'll do."

Some days pass me by like a slideshow tumbling down the eye of a twister. On days like those I give up trying to slow anything down, because right from the get-go I know there's not a fucking hope in all of hell that I can catch the tail of that comet. Time runs full throttle down the back halls of my preoccupied mind, like some kind of naked streaker you know you should pay attention to, but just end up feeling bushwhacked by as he jogs past, balls flapping in the breeze. I've never been such a bonafide zone-outer. I guess not until now.

I've never done it in battle. Zoning out, I mean. But I'm beginning to wonder when that'll come too. The strange fucking thing about it, though, is that I could give a rat's ass if I did do it during a fight. I wouldn't care. Like a whacked out horror flick, I can see a zombie-me thrashing around on the ground in pain while a ghostly me pours out of my ear, personality vacating the body with all the verve of a gorged parasite. Bye bye, Mr. Personality, see you around, Mr. Soul. I'll call you sometime, huh?

Man, whatever.

I get lost. Lines of shooting stars zoom overhead, and the sky wheels past countless suns and moons before I look up again. I'm always in a different place. It's kind of like getting knocked unconscious for minutes at a time, only without that whole memory-loss thing. It's just... daze. You know?

I'm feeling it now. Especially right now. Yeah, definitely ESPECIALLY right now. The Daze rings in my ears as I stare at the crumpled blue shadow of what was once my favorite shirt, discarded minutes earlier and in the corner... And for a moment, I can't feel Heero's kisses, or hear the sound of his breath near my arm. Damn it, Maxwell, your penis deserves more than this-- Stand at attention for Christsakes! A litany of complaints from my half-heated loins. Pretty fucking strange, huh? Of all the places to go blank, in the whole fucking world, right in the middle of steamy hot sex action with my number one lover man, Heero "My ass is like a golden apple" Yuy, wouldn't be a choice I'd willingly make. But, fuck me, I do it anyway, pun definitely intended.

I'm peering from over top of one of Heero's salty, sweating shoulders, and our naked limbs flail and fumble in the darkness of the Confessional booth we're wedged inside, like two salty, sweating sardines. (A tricky hiding spot. One of my cleverer ideas... Thank you, thank you very much, Mr. Kinky, we won't be having any need of you for now, we're quite well stocked.) Heero's skin is giving me a tropical burn as our flesh digs together, but I might as well be taking a crap on the sun for all I'm attentive right now. For some... fucking reason... that shirt, my shirt, I'm convinced, is staring at me.

The sound of sirens sings past the church outside, muffled through so many layers of stone and insulation, and Heero pauses for a second. I can feel hard muscles stiffening against my body, though I can see very little of said figure from my current position front ways in his lap. (NO, Mr. Kinky, I told you no more sandwiches!) But my shirt I can see, apart from the sweating flat of dusty tan that forms first two shoulder blades, and eventually the rest of Heero's back. Everything else is cocooned in spindly shadows. The shirt lies in a haphazard little tangle of a ball far beneath me, smiling benignly in cottony wrinkles like some kind of slap-happy laughing Buddha-- I glower at it in a bout of sudden unexpected alienation. I'm having one of those out-of-body moments again, and I can't help but flash back to that little blister of a déjà vu which continually keeps coming back to ride my ass like some kind of rent-out party pony. Dazedazedazedazedazedazedazedazedazedazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzeeeeeeee. Bumblebees. Oh, Aces. Fucking great.

"Duo..?" I hear Heero quietly breathe into my ear, and suddenly I remember again where I am, though some strangeness still dogs my heels. Then the shirt gets shoved up into the narrowest corner of the booth by our bodies, and when Heero shifts a little into me, any inclination of alienation really is gone. In the darkness, I hear his shoe scrape up the side of the narrow wall and a whole fireman's brigade sets off a thousand alarm bells from that delicious place between my legs as we grind closer together. I wrap my ungainly limbs as tightly around him as I can manage, already feeling more than a lot like a hot skewered kebob. (But a tasty one. With sauce.)

"hmmm." The vague noise is the least I can do to acknowledge that I heard his call before. Though briefly I wonder how it would have been possible for me to miss such a thing. It wasn't like we were sitting at opposite ends of an arena or anything... stuff like this is kind of like a group outing.

Heero runs his hands slowly down the insides of my thighs, and I moan a little louder than I intend.

"There you are." He murmurs, and fingers the temperature of a furnace close around my lips briefly soon after. I know he's trying to silence me. Fortunately for us though it's night time, and by all rules and regulations, only a few extreme devotees and maybe the priest would still be hanging around... man, what's up with things that are extreme these days? Extreme with a capital X. Xtreme devotees, Xtreme skydiving, Xtreme toothpaste...

Through the grating in the high window I can see dust particles as they float aimlessly on a little slice of light. Heero is moving underneath me again, and my eyes roll up into my eyelids, shutting out the image of those sluggish particles, and I dig my fingers deeper into his messy hair. God I love his hair... So untidy-- haha, it must be such a bitch for him to deal with that...the way it defies any kind of bullshit gravitational laws and sticks up at all angles like a fuzzy sea anemone. Mr. Organized won't ever get this shit to lie flat. Especially not after what I'm doing, riding him like a carousel with fistfuls of hair for reins. (Oh, carousel. Jesus Christ, thank you, Mr. Kinky, take the evening off.)

Heero sighs underneath me, and my stomach clenches in pleasure. God Damn, it's still good to be me sometimes, I try to remind myself. I don't have to try very hard to do any convincing though. It seems easier now somehow. No small fucking wonder, considering the circumstances. I might as well have been fucking a champion athlete. I'm suddenly a millionaire, sitting kingly atop a throne of steel that's pointy in all the right places, and smooth for everything after. A couple of mildly interesting stallion metaphors also pass me by like moths in the night, but I ditch them in favor of better things. Whatever. Forget stallions. Time to think simpler. I can see myself now, but against some erotic tropical beach setting like a bad backdrop for a harlequin romance... I'm a giant wobbling penis on two skinny, trembling legs. Yeah, that seems more accurate. And look! There's big penis in the cockpit (haha, cockpit) of Deathscythe! Look at him bashing at the controls with his silly rubbery head. Sure, we'll win this war. Definitely.

But enough of that. Heero is squirming again... a motion I find delicious.

"...Heechan..." the sound of my own voice seems muffled by the oppressive heat. Well, that, and my enormously pleasing erectile condition. He doesn't answer, but does move against me a little harder, and grates his nails down my back in a way which is also kind of pleasing. I shudder blissfully, almost seeing the drops of sweat and lust flying off me and sticking to the thin wooden walls that surround us. I can feel breath coming harder against my arm, and as I rise and fall against him, I can tell what's coming.

Leaning back a little, I rub our foreheads together in a kind of gungy, sweaty comradery, and clamp my hands around the other boy's ears.

"Tell me this was a good idea."

Heero cracks open lusty eyes, but I can barely make out his face in the darkness. They hold their own dazed expression, from what I see, though one which is definitely not a neighbor of what mine recently was. I give Heero a heady kind of shit-eater grin, and he returns the sentiment, but in one of those mild, contented smiles that I can never catch.

Beautiful. Well fuckall, that's it for me.

"Duo, shut up."

"Hey, fuck you, Yuy." I pant, digging my fingers into his hair again.

"You are."

But he's still smiling a little, so I let the words slide. God damn, what an excruciatingly sexy expression. Fuck me with that expression-- I want it in me. God damn. God damn god damn.

I get what I want soon enough.

>>>>

We're lounging in the living room of one of Quatre's many safe houses. (Actually, I'm lounging. Heero, as far as I know, isn't capable of lounging.) I've usurped the most comfortable position on the couch, keeled over on my side with a nice cup of fizzy soda and a glossy magazine. While I sip noisily and listen to the sounds of Quatre and Trowa racketing around in the kitchen, I turn the pages of my, no, catalogue, not magazine, I'm not really paying attention, and take in the simple glory of doing nothing.

"'sfor dinner?" I ask Heero. He's at the desk across the room with that fucking laptop. But I only ask because the sound of his typing is driving me bonkers.

"Ask Quatre."

"You don't know?"

Heero's fingers come to a halt, and I can see him flexing them stiffly. Frustration sings in the stiffness of his shoulders, and I sigh loudly. I try to scale it at about a 6 or 7 on the obnoxious meter, but obviously it doesn't warrant any snapping, because moments later, the typing picks up again.

Heero never could understand the delicate sport of slovenliness. Shrugging, I take a pull on my soda, which bubbles noisily.

Bangs and scrapes issue from the mouth of the kitchen, and I can tell Quatre is heaving pots up onto the counter. Little Hercules.

"Where did you guys go, last night?" The blonde's feminine tone wafts into the living room like a fluffy spring cloud. I know he's talking to me, because he never yells with Trowa, and never makes idle chat with Heero.

I sniff a little, and giving up on my catalogue, throw it on the ground. Fuck it. Like I was reading it anyway... Flopping backwards, I hang my head over the arm of the couch. "Huh? What'd you mean?"

"Last night. After the raid? Wufei went looking for you and said he saw you ducking into a church. But after he went in, he said he couldn't find you."

"Oh," Heero's stopped typing, and I can see him staring at me in the reflection in his screen. "... really? Dunno why." God I sound so fake.

"I told him I thought you'd just found a different way out. Like through the roof, or a passageway or something." Thank the sweet Lord that Quatre was being particularly inattentive. He was usually the first one to pick up on lies and stuff. Fucking space heart... Or whatever crazy wizard thing he can do. I should buy him a crystal ball for his birthday.

"Y-Yeah. That's what we did. Back door." a second blessing falls when Heero begins to type again, and I feel his hit scrutiny leaving me. Oh, here are my balls again. "We must've missed Wufei by, like, the hair on a monkey's ass. Haha... You know how we can do that sometimes."

Quatre, in turn, peals out a few of his own sunshine streaks of laughter, like bells at Christmas, and we drop the conversation. Good thing too, because I'm beginning to feel the throb of blood in my forehead from hanging upside down like this. It's nauseating.

When we all sit down at the little scuffed wooden flat of a table to a feast of beans and rice, I smile pleasantly as I can at Quatre. He smiles back, the angel, and tucks into his beans with a lust strong enough to shock a Viking. Heero, to my left, is eating slowly and methodically, as expected, and I grin because I know he must be jiggling his foot. His right shoulder is shaking ever-so-slightly. (What can I say? I love in the smaller things.)

And then I look at Trowa.

I remember camping out with Deathscythe once. That night, coyotes circled the base of my suit. I'm sure they wanted to eat me. Or, eat something I had, whatever. What I remember was the way they stared. And all I can think is, that Trowa has been spending waaaaaaaaay too much time at the circus.

"What?" a few grains of rice fall out of my mouth with the question.

Trowa stares at me for a few seconds more, then glances at Heero, who, wouldn't you know it, is staring at his fork as it goes up and down from his plate. What a fucking cow. Way to help out over here, lover.

"...Nothing." Trowa murmurs quietly, but he shoots me one more penetrating glance before raising his own fork to his lips, and finally looking away.

Who are these people?

The question dawns on me suddenly, like a light blinking out. Yeah, okay, Heero, Quatre, Trowa, gundam pilots and all that baggage. I know we must all be going to hell in the same hand basket, but I can't help but pause to wonder at them, and at myself.

And here comes that same fucking déjà vu, with the hummmmm of a thousand bumblebees whizzing circles in my brain.

But I can't crack open any of my friends heads with a sledgehammer. I have no clue what any of them are thinking. I know a long list of basics. I have a proverbial manual growing in my mind of what to say to who and how to do it, but in the end, that stuff tells me squat about who they are.

Right?

I glance at Heero, who's still mechanically eating his beans, and I suck on the end of my fork.

"Duo, are you okay? You look a little worried."

Ah, there's Psyche 101. I was wondering how long it would take Quatre to begin peppering me with questions like that.

"Huh? What? No! I'm not worried about anything!" I laugh, a little hardier than necessary, and the blonde shoots me an uneasy grin. "Where would you get that idea?"

"I don't know... you just seem, preoccupied? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"I don't know what you mean." I say blandly, shrugging up and down just once.

Well, that wasn't convincing.

If there could be an action figurine of Quatre that, right now, I could make, you know, just off the top of my head, I think it would have to be a Hypno-Quatre. With detachable eyeballs that expand to the size of ponies when you add water.

Okay, I'm really not convincing.

- And fucking Christ, now Trowa is staring at me again too.

"Beans are good." I say in a pleasant voice, though inwardly I'm desperate to shift attention away from myself again and into the middle of the table where the food sits, steaming in hot bowls that suddenly look like giant, chipping contact lenses.

Quatre shoots me another uneasy smile, nodding thanks, and at last digs into his rice with the end of his fork. Heero eats on in silence.

Who are these people? I think again, though this time with a touch more mystification.

We eat in silence, but I wonder as we move through the layers of rice and beans, who is really being eaten here.

But then again, that's how it always is.

(continued soon)

Ooc- wheeee! Part one of... iduno... three parts? Anyway, part one is done. Duo's feeling the burn of a little self-alienation... if you're a teenager, you are GUILTY OF THIS CRIME! Now get in that review box and write me some comments. XD