Duo sighed, turned his head, and looked out at the landscape. He and Heero were at one of the castle’s watch towers. Despite their listless poses (Duo was leaning against a wall and Heero was alternating between scratching his rear and standing stock still), they were far from relaxed. At least, Duo was nowhere near relaxed.
Duo brought his attention back to the thorn in his side, to the bramble in his briefs. “It’s been two weeks, Heero. Seriously. Move on. He’s not coming back.” Of course the “he” Duo referred to was the missing-in-action Prince Quatre of Sandrock.
“He is,” replied Heero. “His sister is still here.”
Duo appeared incredulous. “You’re holding her hostage???”
“There is a definitive line between a hostage and bait.”
“Bait? She’s not some worm you put on a hook, Heero.”
“You’re right. Worms don’t have breasts.”
At that last comment, Duo turned and walked away. He needed liquor. Anything. Dealing with Heero was a drain.
But the braided prince stopped when he heard Heero’s footsteps heading in the opposite direction. Duo turned around to see Heero walking away.
“Hey, where are _you_ going?”
Heero ignored him.
“Hey!” Duo frowned. He could guess where Heero was going. Undoubtedly, he was going where he’d gone everyday for the last two weeks: to soothsayer Une’s.
Duo snorted. Heero was trying Une’s patience. One day, she was going to fricassee him.
“You’re asking for it,” murmured Duo while shaking his head. He then sighed. As much as Heero was irking him, he couldn’t let him incur the sorceress’s wrath alone, especially since it usually proved to be entertaining.
“You have grown much stronger, Prince Winner. In fact, you have exceeded my expectations.”
Quatre glanced back and tried to smile at this woman he had come to know as Dorothy Catalonia. She had taken him in and helped him nurture his power, although at times with brute force. While she appeared interested in him and his desire to learn, there was something else below the surface, behind the gazes, behind the sugared tone and sweet words. Even when she called him “Prince Winner,” he felt it. The address was polite, but there was something slightly mocking about the formality, even his subjects simply called him Prince Quatre.
They were outside on the same field she had found him in.
“How would you like power beyond your wildest dreams?” she suddenly whispered into his ear from behind.
He turned to face her. He took some steps backwards to put some distance between them. “I don’t understand. What power are you speaking of?”
“A tenfold increase in your abilities. You could move like lightening. Transfer hundreds of people, even a kingdom in one ‘poof’.” She looked at him, all smiles and little softness. “Let me help you. Let me take away what is preventing you from accessing your true power.”
Quatre appeared uneasy. “What would you take away?”
“Just that something that brought you to my attention.” Dorothy took in his doe-like expression. “You look frightened. You needn’t be. I just want your carnal desires.”
“My…”
Dorothy laughed to herself and at him. “That which has caused all this turmoil at Wing and in your heart. Although you hesitate to admit as much to yourself, you lust for Heero while at the same time long to write to Hilde to win forgiveness for your transgression.”
“I--”
“Your desires are confusing you, diverting your energies.” Dorothy eyed him. Her head was tilted to one side as she inspected him. “It is to your benefit. I take what makes you weak and you have the power you have secretly wished for.”
“I would like to have such power, but--”
“But you don’t have the courage.” She sneered at his ambivalence. “And what is a prince without courage?”
“Did you find him?”
Une turned around at the sound of Heero’s voice. She had a bird in her hand.
“That isn’t Wufei, is it?” asked Duo cautiously.
“No,” said Une. She released the bird and it flew away, out the window. “Just a comrade with some information.”
“Then you’ve found him,” said Heero.
Une fixed her gaze on Heero. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”
Duo squinted. Was it just him or was Une attempting to be kind? Where was her usual scornful look? Where were the usual derisive comments centering on Heero’s serious need for counseling?
“Tell me where he is.”
“Fine,” said Une. “But a question first: what will you do if he has renounced all carnal pleasures for the rest of his life?”
“Does it stop him from wearing the lingerie I purchased?”
Une sighed and shook her head. She kept forgetting whom she was dealing with. Finally, she answered, “Yes, if he enjoys the idea of it, even just a bit.”
Heero appeared shell-shocked. “How is this possible?”
“A woman who dabbles in the dark arts has promised him great power at the price of his...mojo.”
Duo made a face. “Mojo?? What the hell is that? A pet monkey?”
Une took a deep breath. Of course she had to be a servant to a kingdom that attracted dimwits and deviants. “It is what makes him interested in consorting with the likes of _him_.” Une jerked her thumb in Heero’s direction.
Dorothy clasped her hands. She should move on to the next phase of her plan. Yes, that was it.
She should strike while the iron was still hot. The only problem was that _she_ was feeling hot, hot and bothered. She hadn’t foreseen this, but taking possession of Prince Quatre’s carnal desires had made her more lascivious, more open to temptation, any promise of physical pleasure. She looked on Prince Quatre and felt a great heat sweeping from her bosom up her neck and to her face. She turned away and composed herself. Foolish. She was foolish for not realizing that human sentiment could not be contained in a bottle or a jar. It had to reside within flesh and now she was paying the price for her ignorance by the hands of Prince Quatre’s lustful predilections. She pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and swabbed at her forked brows. It would be better if she got rid of Prince Quatre, quickly, and have him do what she had intended him to do since she started watching him some two weeks ago.
Dorothy turned to face him and managed a sly expression he would be familiar with. “Dear Prince, it’s time to close this nefarious chapter of your life. You will now go to Heero and renounce his affections. Make it clear to him that he must move on with his life.”
“But I no longer--”
She snapped at him. “It matters not what you want. He has a bride to find and a kingdom to rule. You’ve gotten what you wished for. Spread the wealth.”
Quatre looked back at her. She was right, slightly deranged, but right. It was only fair that he return to Wing and set things right, set Heero straight. The blonde coughed in an attempt to stifle a chuckle…Heero…straight.
Heero ceased his patrol of the Eastern side of the castle. He stared out at the green landscape and frowned for a bit, remembering Une’s harsh words to him just before he left her tower:
“Get your kicks somewhere else, Prince Heero. From the way things look, your only glimpse of your blonde prince will be what your imagination supplies as you seek solace from your right hand. And, yes, I do know what you do in private… and in the woods, and the greenhouse, and the bird sanctuary.” She had frowned at the last part. “I’m surprised you have any skin at all left on your palms.”
Heero snorted. It wasn’t his fault he was feeling more randy than usual. In the past two weeks, his mind had been haunted not only by frilly lingerie, corsets, and thigh high stockings but of the blonde prince in powder blue, the same color he was wearing when he’d gone renegade. Heero’s frown deepened. He didn’t know why but he was positive soothsayer Une was lying to him.
There was nothing he could do about it. He scratched his rear. He might as well continue what he’d been doing for the past 2 weeks: prowling his domain.
Prince Quatre’s feet barely touched the ground as he made his way to Wing. The scenery went by in a blur and so did he, from any onlooker’s point of view. But Prince Quatre had larger concerns than the surprised yelps the townspeople made as he zipped on by. What troubled him was what was beating against his thigh… His sword was pulsing. It had begun doing so when he was just an eighth of a mile from Wing. Now, he was within Prince Heero’s domain. And now just within the castle’s walls. Quatre removed the sword from his side. The pulsations were strong enough to distract him. He kept veering off course. He slowed his speed to a jog. He was in a courtyard. He walked forward. It seemed as though with every step he took the sword pulsed even more rapidly.
He held the sword up to the sun. He blinked back at it. “Four days,” he murmured in surprise and confusion. It had said it. As soon as direct light struck the sword, words seemed to lift away from it. “Why?” he whispered. He lowered the sword. In her letters, Hilde never spoke of any magic related to the sword.
Quatre looked down at it and suddenly realized that it was reacting to something. He was curious enough about it that Heero was forgotten and he walked and walked. The sword’s pulsations were guiding him. If he went where it wanted him, the sword went from pulsating to vibrating. If he strayed, it slowed its communications.
It took him inside the castle and to a room. He stood out in a corridor before its door. With his new abilities he’d been able to phase in and phase out to avoid being seen. But as he stood outside that door and reached out a hand to the knob, he was seen, from behind. Heero had just turned the corner and had watched the blonde prince enter.
Quatre walked into the room. Although sunlight shone in through the windows and multiple candles added to the glow of the sun’s, the room was dark, but not in terms of shadows. It was the décor. Ebony, deep charcoal grays, and blood reds reigned supreme. Prince Quatre shook his head. It was macabre yet seedy. The entire room looked like an erotic torture chamber. The thought still haunted him as he heard the door open behind him. In a flash, he had his sword drawn and pointed at whoever wanted to strap him down and paddle him red, to match the curtains.
He lowered the sword when he realized it was-- “Heero.”
Heero returned his gaze but not his relief. “What are you doing here?”
From his tone, it was apparent that Heero was referring to the room and not the castle in general.
“The sword,” Quatre replied. “It told me to come here.”
From Heero’s expression, it was obvious he thought Quatre was on something.
The blonde tried to justify his last statement. “It’s vibrating.” He put the sword in Heero’s line of vision. “You don’t see it?” He put it against Heero’s arm. “You can’t feel it moving?”
Heero’s expression was unchanged as he said, “I don’t see or feel anything.”
Quatre sheathed the sword. He frowned. It wasn’t moving, at least anymore. It had stopped in Heero’s presence. He sighed. He’d drop the issue of the pulsing sword and take care of what he’d come to Wing to accomplish.
“Heero, I came here to inform you--”
“I already know. You’re a eunuch.”
“…I…that’s not accurate…I have the parts but no interest in using them…”
“Oh,” responded Heero.
“Then there’s nothing else to say.” Quatre appeared somewhat disappointed. “That was…anticlimactic.”
He was about to turn and leave when Heero interrupted his retreat. The surly prince had finally recalled the issue about the missing sword and its master who would soon become a panda without a timely intervention. Heero stepped forward. “There’s a problem. Your--”
The blonde suddenly had an epiphany, or a rather a very tardy recollection. “My sister. I forgot--”
“Your swor--”
Quatre was about to transport when he felt Heero’s hand on his arm.
“That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t finished.”
“You’re finished,” muttered Quatre. He swallowed and tried to step away. It was sudden, but something urged him to say more. He curbed the foul words that wanted to creep from his mouth. He pulled his arm back. There was something hot and lurid coursing through him, stroking him from the inside out. And it had started with the feel of Heero’s hand on his arm. It told him that Heero had overstepped his bounds.
As he looked on Heero, it suddenly occurred to him that since he’d handed over his carnal desires to Dorothy, he felt almost no obligation or inclination to be agreeable.
There was something wrong.
It finally occurred to him what he had handed over to Dorothy: the part of him that sought favor with others, the part that made him respectful of human emotion. Quatre stared back at Heero. Nothing. Not the sight of Heero’s lips, not his intense stare, or the remembrance of Heero’s stroking hands did anything for him. Not a thing. But something else did. Something was stirred by Heero’s transgression. Heero dared to restrain him...and that was the surly prince’s first mistake.
The power Prince Quatre suddenly felt...it was raw and destructive and entirely alien to him. It was itching for an opportunity. He watched in dread as the dark desires spread from him to his surroundings. He watched as the furniture rose. He felt the floor curling under his feet, and he saw the walls buckle. He could feel it, his entire being called to the objects around him, telling them to smash and fracture, to shoot their splinters and shards in every direction, spearing anything in their path. What kept him somewhat in control was the thought of the property damage he’d accrue if he didn’t keep his powers in check. He concentrated and concentrated in opposition. He courted the furniture, sweet-talked it with his thoughts to stay away from the walls. The effort was draining. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long.
Heero watched the scene. He appeared curious about what was occurring, but not so much as to inquire as to why there was a maelstrom of furniture or why the walls and floors were warping. However, he did realize something as he watched the chaos. He turned back to Quatre.
A chair flew past Heero’s ear. “If this continues, he’ll try to sleep in my room.”
Quatre looked back at him and managed to formulate a response. “He?” Quatre thought for a moment. “Prince Duo?”
A painting sideswiped Heero. “Yes.”
“This is Prince Duo’s room?” Quatre stared back at him. He was doing his best to keep the two of them grounded in the storm of furniture. “Can’t you do anything?”
“About?”
“This.”
“This?”
Quatre tried not to appear exasperated. “The flying furniture, the rippling floor, the--”
“They’re your powers.”
“But--”
“This has nothing to do with me.” A coat rack clipped Heero. “Fine. I’m involved. I’ll take care of it.”
“What are you going to--”
“Hit me.”
“What?”
“Throw a punch.”
A vase hit Heero from behind. “I said a punch, not a vase.” Heero frowned. “I’ll make us even.”
“What--”
What Quatre got was a stomach full of fist, served up by one Heero Yuy.
The blonde prince doubled over. The furniture slowed to a halt. Shaking and wheezing Quatre tried to right himself.
Heero appeared pensive and somewhat surprised. “That blow should have rendered you unconscious.”
Perhaps, not the smartest words given the situation.
“You punched me…” murmured the blond prince as he managed to stand to his full height. In a sudden gust, wind began to blow upwards from at his feet. It caused Quatre’s hair to fly up and his clothes to fill with air and float around him. He brought a hand to his aching stomach. His eyes were wide and luminescent, not with pain-driven tears…but with light that left only the whites of his eyes. “You…punched…me…”
The room expanded both vertically and horizontally to make way for the next event. The furniture began to move again, with purpose. It began to accumulate in the center of the room…as a tornado. It was whirling like a giant multipart top and it was heading straight for Heero.
Heero glanced at it before noting, “I made the situation worse.”