Jungle Fever

Author: Reverand Maynard
Warnings: NC-17; LEMON; yaoi
Disclaimer: I have no legal rights, only stock in perversion.

Trowa couldn’t remember how long he had been running. His lungs burned, and his heart threatened to burst. Branches and palm fronds slapped at his face and arms, and he could taste the sand in his mouth. The uneven ground beneath his feet made his trek all the more unbearable. Yet when he thought of what ran behind him, closing in on his heels, he pushed a little harder, sprinted a bit faster.

And then he stumbled, a rock, a limb he wasn’t sure what had tripped him. He fell headlong onto the ground, the stinging sand biting at his chest and face. He lifted his head, inhaling deeply, taking in gulps of sand along with his air. It scoured his throat and left him gasping and coughing, yet he still heard his pursuer coming up from behind.

He turned over to face the bushes that rattled in his wake, his eyes watering from his coughing spell. He watched blearily as from the forest the creature emerged.

The boar bounded from the bush, squealing it’s arrival. It’s snout and tusks covered in dried blood, it’s eyes glassy and merciless. And from less than fifty feet away, it began to charge.

Trowa righted himself and turned to run, but his feet betrayed him and buckled beneath him. His ankle was severely sprained. He looked back at his attacker, attempting to crawl backward. It was twenty feet away now, fifteen, ten, five. He was going to die.

And then he heard a fluttering sound come from the woods. The boar stopped almost immediately. It pitched sideways a little, giving a grating guttural growl, and finally fell to the ground, flailing and convulsing. A deep crimson patch blossomed at its neck, pooling beneath it. It continued toward Trowa, persistent even in death, but was stopped altogether by a second flutter from the forest.

It crawled pitifully on its forelimbs and pitched itself forward once more, flinging its bloated head into Trowa’s lap. Smearing blood in its wake.

Trowa scooted backward, away from the corpse, breathing heavily. He began to sob, grateful for his rescue. He fell flat on his back, coughing, almost wailing, thanking an unseen God. The tears were a warm relief.

Moments passed and he calmed himself. The pain in his ankle began to demand his attention and he sat up, temporarily blinded by the glaring midday sun. When he looked down toward his feet, he saw not one pair but two. The second were standing.

He gasped faintly and looked up at the figure.

The man standing before him was mostly bare save for an animal hide that clothed his loins, and as he stood in front of the sun his face was a black void. In his right hand he held a long spear, taller than himself, with a very sharp end. He didn’t speak.

Trowa did.

“Oh shit.”

Trowa stared up at the man towering above him. He knew that if he wanted to hurt him, he couldn’t defend himself, his ankle would prevent it.

The man made a move to bend forward and Trowa flinched, imagining what a spear in the gut felt like. But the figure was not reaching for him. Instead, it hauled up the bloody boar easily and flung it over its shoulder. The animal’s blood trickled down his chest, a crimson river.

Trowa was disgusted.

With his prize claimed the man turned from Trowa as if he were not there and walked off into the forest. Trowa watched him go. He had still yet to see his face, but noted his deep tan and dark hair.

Trowa was somewhat relieved that the man was gone, and hadn’t harmed him. But at the same time, he had been the only human contact Trowa had had in recent memory. In fact, the only human in all of his memory.

Two days ago Trowa woke on the same shores he now lay upon, with no recollection of how or when he had gotten there. He had been soaked in sand and seawater, and badly sunburnt. His shoes and shirt were missing, and his pants in tatters.

He could remember some things. His name, for instance, had never been forgotten, nor had any language or motor skills. He even remembered the name of the cat that waited for him at home, Usagi. Yet he remembered nothing about home, or anything else from his life. His amnesia was selective, and irritating.

Now he found himself wishing the man would return. He would need someone to help him. If he remained where he was, surely nightfall would find him a dead man. The man had saved his life once, perhaps he would do so again. Or had he?

It was wholly possible that he had only killed the boar for his next meal and not to save Trowa’s life. Still, Trowa didn’t care why he did it. It was done and Trowa was grateful. He was also hungry.

Even as he remembered the blood trailing slick over a tanned chest, blood smearing on his own pants leg, he remembered even more about the taste of succulent roast pork. Chalk that up as another useless memory.

He lay back down, and threw his arm over his face, blocking the glare of the sun. His ankle throbbed but he knew nothing could be done. His stomach growled. How very pathetic he was.

Sometime later, Trowa woke to hands moving beneath him, lifting him from the sandy shore. He must have fallen asleep from hunger and exhaustion. But who was there to wake him?

He opened his eyes slowly, noting that dusk had descended, and mumbled incoherently. His wits were not fully about him and he found his tongue fat and lazy. He also noticed that the jarring motion of being moved was making his ankle scream in protest. He swallowed a yelp.

His eyes finally made since of the world around him and the first thing he saw were tiny pooca shells dancing and bouncing against the brown flesh of a neck. The white blobs, were strung meticulously together and held the fascination of his foggy mind for long moments.

The journey his rescuer made was obviously long, as he fell asleep again in the man’s arms. At least he hoped it was his rescuer, he could not yet rule out cannibalism. But when he woke the second time, they were still walking and his mind was clearer. His ankle still hurt, and he became aware of his right arm dangling in the brush. He felt the man’s warmth, the stickiness where their flesh had be touching for so long. He wanted to see his face. He turned his head upward.

At that moment, the man took them into the belly of a cave, darkness enveloping them. Trowa couldn’t see his face, nor anything else for that matter, except the pale glow of the dancing poocas.

They moved in the darkness for a few seconds more, and then Trowa felt himself being lowered. The surface beneath him was not dirt, but something warm and fuzzy. Animal skin, perhaps?

He heard the other man move about. A shuffle, a click, a few tap, tap, taps, and then suddenly, the cave was awash in firelight.

Trowa flinched at the yellow glow, and squeezed his eyes shut. Seconds passed along with more shuffles and he was surprised when gentle hands grasped his injured ankle. Still, as soft as the touch was, it sent a shock of pain up into his leg. His consciousness was threatened once more.

He lurched upright, blinking past the pain to see his self-made nurse. The man was crouched before him, hands busy at work, head down in concentration.

Trowa watched his ministrations, noticing how the man seemed to learn quickly how not to move his foot, and where not to rub. He had a large leaf beside him, filled with some gooey substance which he began to massage onto Trowa’s ankle. The relief was almost instantaneous.

Trowa was so surprised by the sudden lack of pain that its absence could have passed as ecstasy. He gave an audible sound of pleasure and the hands at his feet moved quicker. They seemed to be well versed in accupressure and as the man probed and prodded, Trowa felt his blood rush to his head. He felt suddenly light and heady, and was compelled to lie back.

Before his head reached the ground, he was again unconscious.

The man stood from his work, looking smugly at the prone form beneath him.

“Hn,” he snorted, watching the sleeping figure. How very adorable he was.

“Ohh, Fei!” Quatre Winner shouted into the cool night air of the Gulf as he found release yet again. He and his lover, Wufei, had been happily coupling under the starry sky, out on the deck of his yacht, for hours now.

Wufei grunted as he climaxed and collapsed onto the smaller man, trailing kisses down his neck, and whispering to him.

“That was so good, Quatre.”

Quatre was quiet, catching his breath, relaxing under the other man’s attentions. A minute passed and Quatre collected himself. Pulling from beneath Wufei, he sat up, wrapping a sheet around his midsection and reached for his cigarettes.

Wufei moved onto his side and stared lovingly at the blond as Quatre put one of the long thin sticks to his lips.

“You know,” Wufei began, “I’m almost glad he’s gone.”

Quatre had just lit up when Wufei finished his statement, he turned to give the man an icy glare.

“What was that?” The look on his face was venomous, his tone sweet. He held the burning cigarette daintily and smoke curled in puffs from his pink lips. Wufei found it oddly intimidating. He studied the grain of the deck as he spoke.

“I said that . . . well, I’m sort of glad that Tro--Ahhh!” Wufei yelped as Quatre’s petite hand flung the lit cigarette at his chest. “What the fuck?”

“I know exactly what you said, you bastard!” Quatre rose to his knees, abandoning the sheet, and advanced toward Wufei as if prepared to strike. “You’re glad he’s gone so you can fuck me without him killing you for it!”

Wufei had been angry at first, but then recoiled and sat quietly, unwilling to strike at the smaller man. He muttered a response, “I doubt he’d have cared if the whole boat crew fucked you.”

Quatre looked hurt now and fell to his haunches, his eyes welling with tears. “Why . . . why would you say that Fei?” Little whimpers broke up his speech, “He loved me. Everyone saw it.”

Wufei turned to him harshly, Quatre flinched at his biting words, “Everyone saw that he left you! He. Left. You. You’re too overbearing Quatre and you made him leave. Hell, he may have even jumped over the side for all we know.”

Quatre’s face was shaking now, a few tears fell over his cheeks.

“Ahh, dammit, Quatre!” Wufei shook his head, “don’t give me that sad little boy crap.”

“What if he fell overboard?” Quatre whispered. “He could be dead, Fei. And all you can do is lecture me?” He started sobbing freely now, the moon glinting of the tears on his cheeks.

Wufei sighed and inched over to him, taking the shaking man into his arms. “He’s fine Quatre. We’ll search the coast again and the smaller islands. He’s out there and we’ll find him.”

He held Quatre, stroking his hair, his back, and at length the other boy calmed. Quatre nuzzled Wufei’s neck, wiping the salty tears onto warm skin, and then began licking them off. His hand roamed from his own lap into Wufei’s, searching for his prize.

“Quatre? What are you--”

“Exactly what I want,” Quatre breathed huskily, squeezing Wufei’s reawakening erection.

“What about Trowa?” Wufei asked. The man had just been weeping over his loss and was now purring like a sex kitten.

“You said we’d find him right? That’s enough for me.” He pulled from Wufei’s embrace to meet the other man’s lust darkened gaze.

“I want him, Wufei. He’s mine. He’s always been mine.”


“And . . .” Quatre continued, beginning to pump Wufei’s erection, a feral smile playing across his lips, “if you help me get him back, you can continue having a little of me.”

His hand stopped. “Deal?”

Wufei was burning with need. Quatre’s stilled hand was driving him mad.

“Dammit Quatre! Yes. Deal.”

“What was that?”


Quatre grinned as he once akin began stroking Wufei, who was so caught up in his own ecstasy that he failed to hear Quatre’s words, “Exactly what I want.”

Trowa woke to total darkness. His head was much clearer than it had been earlier, but the haziness of the events made him question their occurring. The beach, the boar, the man and his ankle. He wriggled his foot. It didn’t seem to hurt. Perhaps it was a delusion, or a dream. Was he in his own bed at home?

There was a slight rustle directly next to him, and then a warm hand found his stomach, resting there as if it had every right. Another noise next to his ear and suddenly hot air-- no, breath was grazing his cheek.

He could hear the other person’s rhythmic breathing. Definitely not a dream. He lifted his head to determine if he might be able to see anything, the cave they were in, the man at his side, especially that.

“Don’t move.” The voice came booming into his ear and seemed to reverberate off of the walls though it was barely above a whisper. It was deep and throaty and glorious. It tickled his inner ear and filled his senses.

“It may not hurt but you’re not healed.” The hand on his stomach tensed, as if he intended to physically enforce his demand.

“Are you hungry?”

Trowa hesitated. He felt uneasy in the dark, but wanted to hear the man’s voice in his ear for the a hundred eternities.

“I . . . yes.”

The hand, the breathing was taken away suddenly and he heard the man get up. Again there was a shuffle, a click, a few tap, tap, taps, and the cave was alight. It took his eyes a moment to adjust but when they did, the man was there, bending over him. Strong hands lifted him into a sitting position and then offered him food. It was pork wrapped in a leaf, and still warm.

Throughout this, Trowa had been attempting to see his savior’s face, but to no avail. At some positions he was back lit, at others, in the shadows. Trowa was growing weary of the game and wanted to ask if he might see the other man’s face.

“Eat,” he commanded, sitting in front of Trowa once again, the flames at his back. His demeanor and voice were so demanding. Trowa did as he was told.

He felt uneasy under the man’s watchful glare, but once he tasted the tender meat he realized just how hungry he was. He ate with fervor, reminding himself to slow or to chew, so as not to wholly embarrass himself. The thought that the animal had been the same one chasing him only served to fuel his hunger more as he took a particularly savage bite, finishing his meal.

“You have something . . .here.” The man gestured at his own face, which Trowa could not see but reached to his own, mirroring the man’s movement.

“Wait--” the man leaned forward grabbing Trowa’s hand, “let me.”

He leaned forward further, Trowa tensing at their closeness, and lapped the juices that had escaped Trowa’s meal from the sides of his mouth. The warm cleansing sent shiver’s through Trowa’s body. The man lingered, there for a second, finishing with a lick at Trowa’s lower lip and then leaned back a little.

“If you use your hand it just gets you sticky.” The man’s voice was clear, calm and rational, “sometimes that’s the best way. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Trowa’s eyes were wide, jaw slack. He was having trouble focusing on the figure before him but when he did, he realized that from this close, he could make out his features in the dim light.

The man was smiling slightly, his eyes dancing from the flicker in the flame. His features were smooth and solid at the same time. Classically beautiful and ruggedly handsome. He wished he had made a bigger mess.

“Yeah . . .yes.”

The man breathed a laugh and returned to where he had been sitting. There was a long silence.

“Thank you.” Trowa said without preamble, “You saved my life. Thank you.” He couldn’t see the man’s face again. He didn’t know how he was reacting.

“What’s your name?” came the unexpected question from the darkness.



Trowa looked puzzled, “Yes . . . you are.”

The darkness laughed, “No, my name is Heero.” With that he rose to his feet and extinguished the firelight, plunging them back into the darkness.

Trowa heard him approach.

“You need your rest,” Heero commented, lying Trowa back onto the bedding, “and so do I.”

He then lay beside Trowa, the warm hand finding his stomach again, more hot breaths on his neck.

Moments before falling back into oblivion, Trowa heard the body beside him speak.

“You’re welcome.”

“Wake up dammit!”

The loud barking command woke Trowa from his slumber, aided by something poking him in his ribs. The light pouring into the cave told him it must be morning and he opened two very bleary eyes to find Heero standing above him, spear in hand, the tip poised at his sides.

“What in the hell?” he asked, not daring to move.

“That’s exactly what I want to know.” Heero returned, throwing a piece of cloth in Trowa’s face. “What is that?”

Trowa grabbed the thrown item and struggled to sit up. Heero’s weapon grazed his side, preventing him from doing so, “Would you mind?”

“Yes,” Heero said, refusing to back off, “now answer me.”

Trowa unwadded the fabric. It was red and soft and . . . underwear?

“It’s underwear, Heero. Can’t you see that?” And then, before Heero could answer him, Trowa began to feel a draft where there shouldn’t have been one. He blushed and grabbed for the pelt lying next to him, covering his nakedness. “What the-- where are my clothes?” he yelled. What was with this maniac?

“Read the tag,” was all Heero said.

Trowa was dumbfounded. “What? Are you insane? Are these mine? Where are my other clothes and why aren’t I wearing them?”

“Because you were filthy and so were they!” Heero yelled, the point of his spear unwavering. “Now,” his voice was low, “read the fucking tag.”

Trowa stared hard at the man for a moment longer, finally tearing his eyes away from the piercing gaze to do as he was told. The article in question was a vibrant shade of red, and of the highest quality fabric. He had obviously paid a lot of money for them. He looked at the tag.

“Calvin Klein,” he read aloud and Heero prodded him with his spear.

“The other tag!”

“Okay! Damned if you’re not a belligerent prick!” He looked again and found a smaller tag next to the other, “Property of Q. Winner.” He looked back up at Heero, confusion written on his face, “These were mine weren't they?”

“They came off your ass,” was Heero’s reply, “shouldn’t you know?”

Trowa looked down at the clothing in his hands, “No,” his voice was sad, “I don’t know anything. I don’t remember.”

Heero was unaffected, “Well I can tell you one thing for certain. You are not Quatre Winner.”

Trowa looked up at the mention of the name, “What did you say?” There was something so familiar about that name, Quatre.

Heero looked down at the other man, at the confusion and sadness there. It pulled at his heart strings. No, he thought, he is your enemy.

“I said that if you were Quatre Winner you’d have been dead long before that boar had a chance at you.” He nudged him with his spear again for effect.

Trowa looked suspicious, “How long have you known I was here? Have you been watching me?”

“Since the day you washed ashore.”

Anger surged through Trowa. He rose from the ground despite his ankle, despite Heero’s spear, and despite his nudity. His voice was a threat, “I nearly starved, I was dehydrated, and I almost got eaten by a boar, and you watched the entire time? You bastard!”

Trowa had surprised Heero with his boldness and caught him off guard enough to push away the spear and lunge toward him, knocking them both onto the ground. They struggled for a second but Heero soon regained control, Trowa too weak from malnutrition to fight back properly. Heero held Trowa’s wrists as the boy writhed above him. He felt Trowa’s groin pressing against his leg, his soft cock trapped against Heero’s bare thighs.

And then Trowa stopped struggling. He looked blank-faced at Heero, staring deeply into hard blue eyes. A quiet tear came from his own, “Please,” he pleaded, more tears coming, dropping wet onto Heero’s chest, “did you see how I got here? Did you see a ship, anything?” He lay his head where his tears had fallen, “I just need to know who I am.”

Heero was stunned at the boy’s reaction, “You really don’t know, do you?” And he felt Trowa’s head shake against his chest. He let go of his wrists and held him, stroking his back and his hair. He felt like such an ass.

Actually, that’s exactly what he wanted to feel, Trowa’s ass. Having the beauty pressed against him was one thing, but nude? It had been hard enough to contain himself while Trowa was sleeping and he had stripped the man to wash his clothes. But now, with Trowa’s pretty body shaking against his own, he felt his blood rushing to one area of his body. There was no way Trowa woudn’t notice. He really felt like an ass.

Trowa felt good after unloading his anxieties onto Heero, the anger and the sadness alike. And being held in his warm arms was soothing to his aching soul. And arousing to his other aching parts.

Trowa may have had amnesia but he knew what he liked. Evidently so did his body, which was currently telling him it liked Heero. He was almost surprised when he felt Heero’s body have the same reaction and then he remembered his nudeness.

He crawled off of the other man, hiding himself again with the pelt of animal skin. Heero looked almost disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, “I just-it’s been hard.”

“No,” Heero began, sitting up, “I’m sorry. I should have helped sooner. And then with those,” he regarded the red undies, “I saw that name and just assumed --” he thought, “well . . . I don’t know what I assumed.”

Trowa looked at the underwear again. What about that name had prompted Heero’s anger. And why did it seem so familiar.

“Heero, who is Quatre Winner?”

Heero sneered, his contempt obvious, and then rose to his feet.

“I’ll tell you over breakfast. We need to get more food into you.”

“No you damned moron! That’s the bow of the ship! The stern is in the back of the ship! How did you get on this crew, anyway? Did you give the captain a blow job? Well I’m the fucking captain and I sure don’t remember having your ugly face suckin’ on my hard, swollen--”

“Captain Maxwell!”

Captain Duo Maxwell stopped mid sentence, turning quickly to see what sailor dared to speak to him in such a tone. Only it was not a sailor at all.

“Ahh . . . Mr. Winner,” Duo pushed his rage aside and regarded his employer with all the respect he could muster, which was very little despite his great effort, “Good Morning, sir.”

Quatre didn’t even return the greeting. “Captain Maxwell, may I ask why you’re harassing your crew?”

“Uhhh . . .well, they need it from time to time. Keeps ‘em on their toes. Besides, they love me for it,” the Captain replied, a grin spread wide on his face.

Quatre scowled at the other man but didn’t push the issue, “Did you receive my instructions about searching some of the smaller islands?”

“Yeah . . .” Duo scratched his head, “about that, uhhh . . . do you really think that’s such a good idea? I mean, he’s been missing for several days now. If he went over in the middle of the night and’s been floating around in those cold waters, he couldn’t have lasted more than--”

“That’s enough!” Quatre shouted. “We will be searching the smaller islands and you will get us there. Is that perfectly clear Mr. Maxwell?”

Duo braced himself against the invisible arms that mentally held him from jumping on the smaller man and replied through clenched teeth, “Crystal, sir.”

“Good,” Quatre returned sweetly and walked across the deck to a map Duo had spread out.

“This,” he pointed to a tiny speck of land, “is where we’ll start. Don’t ask why, I just have a feeling about it.” He looked at Duo who had come up behind him, “can you get us there by late afternoon?”

“Of course, but --”

“No buts! Have us there by this afternoon or I’ll find a captain who will.” He stomped his foot for affect, and then turned on his heel sauntering toward the cabin entrance.

Duo watched him go and waited until the door shut behind him to shout, “Asshole!”

Trowa sat cross-legged atop a rock, a large piece of coconut in one hand, pineapple in the other. He wore only the tattered khakis that Heero had cleaned for him, deciding against the silky underwear that wasn’t his, and a canopy of palms and other tropical vegetation shaded him as he breakfasted

“Don’t eat too much. Your stomach’s not accustom to digesting very much food right now, you may make yourself sick,” Heero explained, walking up to where Trowa sat and taking his own seat on the ground across from him.

They had already spoken a little about Quatre and who he was but Trowa was still confused. He put his breakfast aside before speaking.

“So, if I understand correctly, Quatre is into trade?”

“Something like that. He buys things cheap, mostly from smaller countries, and sells them to big ones, like the U. S. or China. It’ been quite lucrative for him.”

“What sort of ‘things’?”

“Well, arms mostly, hard to find fire power. Though I’ve heard of him dealing with antiques and art as well. No one suspects him because he came from a wealthy family who earned their money honestly, and he acts so sweet and innocent . . . God knows I didn’t see it.”

Trowa heard a slight twinge of hurt in Heero’s voice,“What do you mean?”

Heero became restless and fingered the grass beneath him, looking down, blushing just a little, “We . . .were lovers for a time. I was hired as his bodyguard and he began wanting protection all hours of the day, even at night . . . and in his bedroom. Things just progressed from there. Eventually, I began to notice his psychotic tendencies and I started snooping around. When he found out what I knew, he sent a few of his thugs to throw me into the ocean with cement shoes.”

Trowa hung on every word, “So what happened?”

“Well, we got out to sea and before they could throw me over, I broke one of their noses, knocked the other out and jumped over board. I got about fifteen or so yards out and turned around to see who might have been following me and the boat exploded.”

Trowa cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard those last words, “The boat what?”

“It just . . .exploded. It threw fire hundreds of feet into the air and I had to go under to avoid the debris. I can only assume it was Quatre’s doing.”

“You mean . . . he killed his own men?”

“He always was very thorough.”

Trowa sat quietly letting the other man’s word sink in. He knew this Quatre? He knew a homosexual, murdering, arms dealer? But how? What was his relationship to the man? He looked at Heero pensively.

“If he was gay . . . and I was with him . . . and wearing his underwear . . . do you think . . . does that mean that I . . .” he didn’t finish the question but stared unbelieving at the ground.

“That’s what I’d assume,” Heero replied, “but don’t berate yourself for it. You probably didn’t know he was a cock-sucking, criminally insane bastard. Well . . . maybe you did know about the cock-sucking bit-- but either way,” Heero shrugged, “he’s very pretty, and even more persuasive. It’s a combination that’s difficult to resist.”

Trowa smiled a little at Heero’s remark and then looked thoughtful again, “But if you were with him . . . then that makes you . . .”

“Yeah,” Heero sighed, “that’s usually how it works.”

Trowa thought again, “But . . . you don’t think he did the same thing to me . . . do you?”

“I don’t know,” Heero said honestly, “you don’t really seem like his type. All of his former lovers, including myself, have been the bad-boy-fuck-off-butch type. That doesn’t fit you at all.”

Trowa narrowed his eyes, “Is that supposed to be a compliment? Sounds like your really close to calling me a pansy.”

“No,” Heero sighed, sitting up and moving close to where Trowa sat, “I didn’t mean it that way. You just seem . . . different . . . from the men I’ve seen him with . . . nicer, a bit more passive perhaps, prettier . . .” Heero had moved even closer as he spoke and his voice was growing quieter, deeper.

Trowa was blushing slightly and couldn’t look away from the blue depths of Heero’s eyes that were less than a foot from his own. “Prettier?”

“Yes,” Heero growled, “very.” He was kneeling in front of Trowa now, long legs dangling sumptuously before him. He moved a hand to rest on Trowa’s thigh, the thin khaki material hardly a barrier.

Trowa had to remind himself to breathe. With Heero this close and his hand rubbing his thigh, it was all he could do to think. He remembered that morning in the cave, his own naked body pressed warm against Heero’s. Breathe in . . . breathe out.

“Was I prettier this morning . . . with my clothes off?” He asked quietly.

Heero looked up at him, a predatory glaze over his eyes, “You’ve been beautiful since the day you washed ashore. Even wet and dirty, you’re stunning. But . . .” Heero admitted, “washing your clothes wasn’t my only motive for removing them,” he moved his hand higher, rubbing a little harder. “Does that bother you?”

“God no!” Trowa breathed hard now, eyes closed, head thrown back as Heero’s hand moved even farther up, finding the fabric there pulled taught with Trowa’s excitement. He stroked Trowa through the material and watched the ecstasy that floated over his face. With only a little effort on Heero’s part, Trowa seemed to be lost in a paradise of sensation. He groaned seductively and spread his legs as if it were an instinct, his fingers clawing at the rock he sat on.

Heero was more than aroused.

“Ahem . . .” came a noise from the brush. Heero stopped immediately, standing up in an instant to see who their intruder was. Trowa gave a whimpering moan of complaint that made Heero’s cock twitch to hear, but something else concerned him more.

“Sshh . . .” he whispered to Trowa, placing a finger over flushed cherry lips.

Trowa was disappointed at first but then grew deathly quiet at the alarming look on Heero’s face. He watched as Heero turned from him to face the forest, scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement.

“Am I interrupting?”

The voice came from behind them and Heero whipped around quickly, jumping between their intruder and Trowa, unarmed yet fearless.

Standing in front of them, dressed quite similarly to Heero, stood a blond jungle god. Trowa gaped unabashedly at man before them. He was taller than Heero by at least a foot, and broader in the shoulders. His skin was only lightly tanned but still offered a stark contrast to the platinum blond hair that fell lushly to his mid back, blowing slightly in the breeze to tickle his sides. Aqua colored eyes stared out severely from a perfect face and Trowa sank from the serious glare.

“Dammit Zechs!” Heero yelled, his relief evident, “You almost lost a limb.”

“Pardon the intrusion,” Zechs commented calmly, his voice sandpaper and silk, “there’s something you should see.” He turned away from the couple, giving them both a view of his incredible backside as he walked toward the beach. He had pointedly ignored Heero’s lack of a weapon and the tent that had been made of his loin cloth, for which Heero was grateful.

Heero turned to Trowa who looked slightly confused and still a bit flushed.

“He’s a friend,” was all he offered before taking Trowa’s hand and pulling him behind him, following in Zechs’s footsteps.

“What is it?” Trowa asked the other two. They all three were standing on the shore, Zechs pointing quietly toward the horizon, Heero searching for what he was being shown. All Trowa saw were the sparkling blue waters of the Atlantic.

“It’s a ship,” Heero supplied a moment later, “a big one. Too big for fishermen and the cruise ships don’t come this way,” He looked meaningfully at Trowa, “you must be damned important.”

Trowa looked confused, “Why do you say that?”

“If he’d go to the trouble to send a search party for you than you must mean alot to him,” Heero thought, “or else you’re worth alot.”

“Dammit, Heero! What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that maybe you know a alot more than you think you do.”

“I don’t know shit, Heero! I don’t remember anything!” Trowa was yelling now.

“I know that, but he doesn’t. And with that size ship . . . I’m certain he’s on it.”

Trowa looked at the horizon, his voice quiet, “Maybe he’s just worried about me . . . he’s madly in love and can’t imagine losing me.”

“You really do have amnesia,” Heero said, his tone very serious.

Trowa ignored it, “What will we do if he comes ashore?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to give him a warm fucking welcome.”

“Are we nearly there, Captain Maxwell?” Quatre asked with a pout.

Duo had been trying hard for the past hour not to bitch-slap his employer every time he came by to inquire about their progress. It was like sailing with a six-year-old.

“Few more hours yet, Mr. Winner. We should be dropping anchor around 3:00 p.m.”

“Very good,” Quatre replied and left Duo to his business.

“Arrogant little cock-sucking grrrrrrr . . .” Duo muttered as his employer left him. He was beginning to wonder if the money, and it was damn good money, was worth all of this trouble. He had never particularly liked the Winner heir nor that greasy little monkey of his, Wufei. But lately the man was really rubbing him raw.

The only one he’d grown to like was Trowa and he was either missing or dead. A part of him hoped they would find the young man, safe and well and, Duo smirked at the thought, as dashingly gorgeous as ever. Then there was the other part that hoped that they never would find him, if only to keep Quatre away from him. Either way, they would be on the island in a few hours and if Trowa was there Quatre would find him, dead or alive.

“If you’re there Trow,” Duo whispered to the dot of land looming on the distant horizon, “I hope you know how to hide.”

“I can’t hide, Heero!” Trowa repeated for the third time since they’d seen the ship. They were no longer on the shore. They had left Zechs standing there, staring wistfully off into the horizon, and had found their way beneath a small rock outcropping. Their surroundings were lush in green vegetation and tropical flowers. A bird sang in the distance and a small waterfall murmured beside them.

“What if he’s not here to hurt me, Heero? I could go home. He could be here to rescue me!” Trowa finished, not quite raising his voice but insistent none the less.

“I find that highly unlikely Trowa.” Heero leaned against a boulder, arms crossed, a grim look painting his features. “If he’s here to rescue you than it’s for his own gain. You don’t understand him Trowa. I last saw him nearly a year ago but I can’t imagine he’s changed.”

Trowa had been pacing and stopped now at Heero’s words, “Well maybe I’m just like him,” he said softly, solemnly, “maybe whatever I was before I deserved him, even liked him. Maybe I’m the same kind of person.” He sat on a nearby rock and held his head in his hands. He didn’t cry, just stared at the ground, his bare feet, and then Heero’s bare feet stepping in front of him.

“You are nothing like him, Trowa.” Heero said matter of factly. A steely grip took hold of Trowa’s arms and lifted him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I know I don’t know you,” Heero whispered to the auburn head resting on his shoulder, “but I know a kind heart when I see one. Quatre Winner was born without a heart, at least of the non-physical sort, but you . . .” he leaned back and turned Trowa’s head, taking his chin into his hands, “you have great heart Trowa. And . . .” he blushed a little, “I think you may be taking mine as well.”

Trowa stared for a long moment into the deep blue oceans that were Heero’s eyes. He wished he could remember something, anything about the man who was coming after him. He wished he could hate him and loathe him and stay here with Heero. Perhaps his life with Quatre was not worth going back to. Perhaps he should start a new one.

“What are you thinking of?” Heero asked gently after Trowa’s long silence.

Trowa sighed and finally broke from the other man’s gaze, resting his head against him again. Heero was so warm, so right.

“How did--what did you call him, Zechs?”


“How did Zechs come to be here? Is he another of Quatre’s throwaways?”

Heero laughed at that. “Zechs and Quatre? No love, not in an eternity. No Zechs is here of his own volition. He’s been here longer than I have.”

Trowa furrowed a brow against Heero’s shoulders and pulled the other man closer, so warm. “But why?”

“Well, from what he’s told me--here sit with me.” He said before beginning his story, pulling Trowa to the ground to sit across his lap, leaning against the large boulder. “He used to be an ichthyologist,” Heero began. “He came to the island to study some rare breed of tropical fish, something about their unique mating habits. Anyway, the work required that he come back often and it was evidently very important to him because he would stay here for months at a time, watching fish breed.”

Trowa smirked, “What an odd pasttime.”

“Yes,” Heero agreed, “So as the story continues, while visiting one summer, another scientist appeared, a botanist. He says it was love at first sight.” Heero laughed softly, pulling Trowa closer to him, “He speaks so fondly of him when he tells me this story. It’s almost as if I were there.”

“Does he tell you often?” Trowa asked, “he seems so quiet.”

“Yes, he is,” Heero breathed a laugh, and then turned serious again, “but he is a quite maudlin soul. I often won’t see him for days and when I do he’s in another world, like he was when we left him.”

“So they fell in love and went back to the mainland. He tells me stories of things they’ve done together, secrets they shared. Sometimes, he’ll stand for hours looking over the ocean, repeating some conversation they had together, a conversation that had to have taken place years ago.” Heero had a faraway look in is eyes.

“Years passed and on the evening of their third anniversary, Treize, that was his lover’s name, Treize, was supposed to meet him for dinner but never made it. He never told me what happened exactly, just that there was some tragic accident . . . and that he’d lost the love of his life.”

Trowa was almost in tears as he watched Heero tell the sad story, “So he came back here to remember him?”

“No,” a deep breath, “he came back here to kill himself. He found the worst possible boat he could, sailed around the shore for days and waited for a squall, a hurricane, anything to end his suffering. Days passed and he finally got the storm he was looking for. It capsized his ship and sent him into the deep, blue oblivion, only to spit him ashore in nearly perfect health. He still swears it was Treize that saved him . . . reaching down a hand from the heavens and pushing him ashore. And here he is, living in his memories with nothing to go home to.”

Trowa looked mournful, “And I don’t even have my memories. Without them, what do I have Heero?”

Heero sat up suddenly jerking the man in his grasp so that he faced him head on, “You have me Trowa. I know that confuses you but . . .” he lost his words momentarily, “whatever life that awaits you on the continent . . . on that ship, if it’s with him than it’s not worth living. I won’t let you go back to it, it’s too dangerous.”

“Heero,” Trowa eeked out, “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I know you’re here, and . . . and you seem so right. But, I have no past, no memories, nothing upon which to base any decisions . . .”

“Then don’t make any, Trowa. I won’t make you hide. Just wait him out, see what happens . . . and I’ll be here when it’s over.”

Trowa was gazing at him again, his own eyes wet with emotion. He was clinging to Heero as if he were a life preserver, keeping him from drowning on the choppy seas of his own turmoil.

“And I’m here now, Trowa,” Heero spoke softly. He saw the confusion in the other man’s eyes. He pulled Trowa closer, their faces noses touching lightly, “I’m here now.”

Trowa closed the rest of the gap, leaning forward to press his lips to Heero’s. ‘Oh God!’ he though as he felt that silken mouth moving over his own, soft tongues warring, ‘this has to be right. This must be where I belong.’ And then Heero’s words echoed through his head, “he’d lost the love of his life.”

‘I won’t lose you Heero,’ he thought to himself, even as Heero’s hands moved over his body, ‘you’re all I have now.’

Trowa pulled away from the kiss, “I want . . .” he was breathless, “I want memories Heero . . . new ones . . . with you.”

Heero smiled warmly and then turned savage in his attack. He lunged at Trowa, pushing him against the ground, capturing his lips again in a frenzied version of their earlier kiss.

Trowa felt the sand beneath him grating against his back, but the discomfort was ignored as he felt Heero grinding into his front. An eager erection pushing against his thigh. He was becoming excited himself. Heero was so perfect for him, above him, kissing him. He didn’t remember loving anyone but if this was love, it was going to become his new favorite pasttime.

“Haaa,” he breathed as Heero broke the kiss. He clawed at Heero’s back and writhed beneath him, pushing his hardness against the other man’s. Heero moaned in return.

“Ohh Trowa . . . you’re so . . . exquisite,” Heero was speaking into Trowa’s neck now kissing his way down a soft throat and then a heaving chest. The man beneath him was already working up an intoxicating rhythm on his own, moving against Heero as if he were already inside him.

“Heero,” he sighed prettily, and Heero continued his venture, taking one pert pink nipple into his mouth. At that, Trowa arched his back suddenly, sucking in air as if he’d run a marathon. He writhed, and whimpered and moaned and panted. Heero was enthralled.

“God Trowa,” Heero breathed against a sun-kissed chest, “you’re so responsive.” He laid more kisses, “It’s as if you were made for this . . . created for me to kiss . . . and love . . . and fuck.”

Trowa whimpered louder in response. He was lost again as he had been that morning, floating on his own ecstasy. He could still taste Heero in his mouth, and now he felt him at his chest, and most of all he wanted to feel him inside him. His world began to spin and he opened his eyes to try to still it, but when he did he looked down to see Heero’s head at his belly, Heero’s tongue delving into his navel. ‘Oh God!’

Heero ran a hand down Trowa’s abdomen, rubbing over the whispers of soft brown hair he found there, and then it moved further. He fumbled one-handed with the button, the zipper . . .

“HEERO!” A voice yelled loudly, only it wasn’t Trowa’s. Trowa was shocked by the sudden intrusion but was slow to come out of his reverie. Heero, however, was up and ready in a breath.

“Heero!” The voice came again and Heero followed it upward where a shadowy figure stood stiff atop the outcropping.

“Fucking Dammit, Zechs!” Heero yelled, his face a mask of fury as he stared up at the long-haired man, “do you have no sense of timing at all?”

“I’ve been calling you for several minutes now.” Zechs’s throaty voice returned. Silence followed.

Heero waited, his erection was throbbing, Trowa was coming to, and Zechs wasn’t speaking.

“WHAT?” He yelled finally.

“They’re here.”

“We’ll be boarding the boat again at nightfall Duo so have your men waiting for us. And make sure the cook has dinner ready.”

Quatre, Wufei and a few of Quatre’s thugs, were readying themselves for their trek into paradise. They had informed Duo that he would not be allowed off of the boat in their absence. He wasn’t needed.

“Yes sir.” Duo replied to Quatre’s orders, feigning his compliance. He eyed the pack that Quatre’s two thugs carried. It was bulky and awkward, and jangled like no hiking pack ever had the right to. And then he eyed Quatre. Why was he going? He never did things like this. Something seemed terribly wrong about the entire situation.

Duo kept up his appearances, seeing his employer off and wishing him the best of luck. That had gotten him and odd look from Wufei. He shrugged it off. ‘You don’t scare me, monkey boy! Your leash is too short.’

A half an hour later, and Duo was pulling on his own pack, readying for his departure. ‘You think I’m gonna let you ruin that poor guy’s life? You’ve got another thing coming.’

He smiled as his feet hit the solid land, a grin that screamed self-satisfaction.

“Cap’n Duo Maxwell to the rescue.”

The rescue party, as Quatre liked to call it, had just embarked on their journey. Wufei and Quatre led the group while two well-muscled men pulled up the rear.

Wufei eyed Quatre warily, “Quatre, uhmm, why is it that we need all that stuff,” he asked, stabbing a finger in the direction of the pack that the two men with them carried.

“Just a precaution,” Quatre replied, “in case of wild animals or something. Or in case Trowa doesn’t cooperate.”

“How do you know he’s here?”

“I know. He’s unmistakable, It’s like I’m focused on his very being. He and I are in tune to each other. A single mindedness. Nothing comes between it. Bloody hell it’s hot! Let’s walk in the shade.”

Wufei grimaced, “So . . . what are we going to do with him once we catch him?”

“Leave that to me. All you need know is that we will find him. And you have to be ready for whatever I decide. Give me one of those water bottles. I’m parched!”

“Sure, here. And one more time . . . just so we’re clear . . . why is it you want him back, even though he may have possibly jumped overboard to escape you?”

Quatre stopped abruptly and the entire party stopped with him. He walked calmly up to Wufei, and put a delicate hand to his chest, pushing him backward until Wufei’s back came in contact with the massive chest of one of the other men.

“Because,” Quatre began with a wicked gleam in his eye, “he’s mine. And I don’t let my possessions go so easily. Whether a diamond ring is stolen, or it sprouts legs and walks off by it’s own accord, makes no difference. You still want your fucking diamond back!”

“Yeah,” Wufei agreed guardedly, “I can see that, sure.”

“Good.” Quatre exclaimed all sweet and nice and backed off of the Chinese man, returning to their course.

A few seconds passed in silence and then Wufei heard a tiny grumbling noise come from Quatre’s direction, he turned to see Quatre grab his stomach.

“Hey Wu, ya got any more of those Power Bars? My tummy’s rumbly.”

“Yeah, here.” Wufei shook his head. What a deadly combination: world dominating power, and the occasional mentality of a five-year-old.

“They can’t be here yet.” Heero growled as he moved through the jungle, Trowa only steps behind, Zechs bringing up the rear. “I didn’t expect them for another hour at least! Whoever is navigating that ship is damn good at it.”

“Well they are,” Trowa stated, “so what are we doing about it?”

“We’ll need to get up to that ridge,” Heero replied, pointing to a massive outcropping some distance away. It was probably the highest point on the island and jutted out over the ocean. “that way we’ll not only have the advantage of familiarity but of sight. Zechs, you go--” he turned as he spoke to address the man to find only Trowa in tow.

“Where is he?”

“He ducked out about minute or so ago. Do we need him for something? Maybe I could do it.” Trowa looked hopeful.

“No, this is too much for that ankle already. Besides, Zechs knows what to do . . . I think. You either come with me or you hide in a cave.” Heero pronounced unwavering, “It’s your decision.”

“More like an ultimatum,” Trowa sighed, “well what are we waiting for? To the hills!”

A half an hour after Duo set out on his “rescue mission,” he declared himself officially lost.

“Damned compass!” he complained at the offending item in his hand. It seemed they were in a magnetic flux, not unlike the Bermuda Triangle, and his best means of direction was spinning haphazardly out of control.

He pocketed the compass and looked up at the bright sky through the swaying palms. If only it were night he could go by the stars. He’d always been good at that. He could wait. But by that time, Quatre would have surely found Trowa. What good could he do then?

He took his eyes from the sky a moment too late as his blindly walking body stepped straight into a massive tangle of vines and briars. Some of the thorns grabbed at his clothes, some the vines pulled at his feet and arms. He tried not to panic at first, ‘just be strategic’ he thought, only to realize that every small movement he made worsened his entanglement. And when a particularly vicious vine pulled his braid, he began thrashing violently.

“Not my hair!” he wriggled and squirmed this way and that, trying to make some headway against the constricting, braid tugging branches. But by the time another human happened by, he was upside down, braid wrapped around his throat.

He saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye but by the time he’d turned his head it had disappeared into the dense vegetation. There! He saw it again! It was like a ghost, vanishing and then reappearing.

“Heh . . . heh, help me!” his blood was rushing to his head, his air escaping his lungs awkwardly. What if it wasn’t human? His thickening mind thought. What if I’m calling a vicious animal animal? A hungry one!

“No!! Shoo! Never mind! I uhhh . . . I’m fine! Shoo!” He wriggled some more, turning in his mesh of vines, and once again, at the corner of his eye, found a pale glimpse. As he wriggled more however, this time it stayed and after a few more turns, the form came into full view and he recognized what they were . . . legs.

“Heero,” Trowa began, pulling himself up behind Heero. The mountainous outcropping was steep on it’s side and his ankle was threatening to give way. It had been throbbing for some time now and he stumbled now and then but he covered his slips as well as possible, not wanting to alert the other man, “what is Zechs going to do? He won’t try to take them on by himself will he?”

“There should be no need if we get to the top in time, and find those bastards before they find him . . . or us.”

Trowa’s foot slipped a little, and he bit his lip to keep from yelping. He dug his fingers deeper into the rockface and pulled with his upper body strength.

“Are you okay?” Heero asked as he must have heard the other man’s foot slip.

“Fine,” Trowa nodded, “keep going.”

Heero didn’t turn immediately, but when he did he leaned forward to grab a particularly handy rock, when what must have been an enormous bee flew past where his head had just been.

But the distinct pinging noise the insect gave, and the substantial amount of rock debris that tumbled down over Trowa’s head, told them it was no bee.

“Someone’s shooting at us!” Heero yelled, and then looked out toward the beach in time to hear another shot being fired.

Duo was face to fac-err . . . leg with the longest pair of legs he’d ever seen. They were covered in delicate blond hairs and were bare all the way up to . . . he picked his head up so as to follow the sensuous trail . . . all the way up to . . . ‘Holy God! I’m in Heaven.’

He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the sight he’d found beneath the other man’s loin cloth, and looked past it to the face beyond.

“Hello, beautiful!” he slurred with a red-faced grin. The other man was indeed beautiful, intoxicatingly so. And Duo assumed he probably looked even better right side up. But he didn’t speak, just glared.

“You uhh . . . you think maybe you could give me a hand here? I’m kinda stuck and --hey!! Wher’re ya goin’?” The man had turned, giving Duo an almost lovelier view beneath that revealing cloth, and was walking away. “Come back! I’ll be good, I --”

But his words were cut short by the sound of gunfire. He froze. So did the other man. A second shot came a beat later.

“You’ve got to get me out of here!” Duo screeched, “They’re gonna kill Trowa!”

The man turned at that. He must have been alarmed by the gunshots but his face was impassive.
“And what would you do with him?”

Duo almost melted at the sound of the other man’s voice, rich and throaty and inherently sensual. But he had other things to worry about.

“I’m here to save him!” He looked down, or rather, up at himself, realizing how silly those words must have sounded coming from a man tangled in vines and being choked by his own hair. “Or at least, I was gonna try.”

“Hmpph,” was the other man’s smirking reply. He was obviously thinking the same thing Duo had been. But then to Duo’s surprise, the man stepped forward and began snapping branches with his bare hands, pulling away vines and ignoring the sting of the briars.

“Thanks a lot man,” Duo said as the other man worked. He picked his head up again so as to admire that glorious view for as long as possible, “Thanks A LOT!”

Quatre’s rescue party was approaching the edge of the jungle, ready to finally delve into it’s depths, when Quatre stopped them.

“Wait,” he said, covering his eyes and looking up at something in the distance. “Jon! My binoculars!” he commanded, and one of the burly men reached into the pack they carried and handed Quatre what he’d asked for.

Quatre raised the binoculars to his eyes and peered toward the side of a hill.


“Shhh!” Quatre commanded, and a heated scowl covered his face. “Ron! My Rifle!”

The other man pulled out one of several rifles, this one being Quatre’s favorite, and a sufficient amount of bullets.

“Quatre,” Wufei started with alarm as Quatre raised the gun and leveled his sights, “what are you doing?’

As if in answer, Quatre fired his first shot, the noise bouncing from the rock face and stinging Wufei’s ears. The rifle shook Quatre only a little and he was quick in preparing to fire again.

Wufei grabbed for the binoculars that Jon held and looked to see who the gun was being aimed at.

Another shot rang out beside him just as the binoculars scanned blindly over the horizon, landing on Quatre’s target.

“Trowa!” Wufei exclaimed as he watched the man they’d come to rescue, collapse and slide down the rocky terrain.

. . . to be continued.