Do Turtles Dream?

It was pitch dark when Duo woke up.  Unlike the other times the American pilot would awaken, he didn't have to wrestle the blankets back from his cover hogging bed mate.

He didn't have to try and wiggle loose of his cover hogging, possessive bedmate's death grip around both torso and braid.

He didn't have to then struggle back onto the bed after the brief skirmish with his cover hogging, possessive, pig headed even in sleep bedmate to loosen said grip rolled them onto the floor.

He didn't have to then placate his cover hogging, possessive, pig headed even in sleep, cranky when awoken bedmate with a lullaby and some rocking.

He wouldn't have to struggle awake early in the morning, sluggish and grainy eyed, while his cover hogging, possessive, pig headed even in sleep, cranky when awoken, strangely refreshed bedmate looked perfectly rested.

The Deathscythe pilot fought down a surge of disappointment and tried to focus on what had awoken him in the first place.  He glanced over to his bedmate's side of the bed; Heero was gone.  A bit puzzled, Duo yawned and scritched his stomach.  Sighing, he got out of bed, shuddering at the feel of the cold floor against his bare feet.  Though it did make him rather nostalgic for the times when the cold floor was useful but anyway . . .

Hitching boxers up a bit higher on slim hips, Duo made his way out the door, absentmindedly grabbing an over sized grey tee shirt to protect against the chill.  Still half asleep, he knocked on Quatre and Trowa's door.

"Oi, you guys.  D'you know where Hee-"

The door silently swung open, revealing the room to be empty.

Even more puzzled, and feeling a bit like that Goldilocks chick, or maybe the big bad wolf ready to huff and puff his way in, Duo moved down to Wufei's room at the other end of the hall.

"Hey, Wuwu, seen any of the o-"

Again, the door opened without his prompting, and again no one was there.

The American sweatdropped.

This was not good.

The last time all four of his fellow pilots had gone missing, Quatre had somehow convinced Wufei and Heero that a slushie chugging contest at 3 am would somehow benefit their training as Gundam pilots; something about building endurance in case enemies came armed with 7-11 terrorist torture methods.  Duo had found the two boys with severe cases of brain feeze, a relentlessy urging yet impeccably polite Quatre, and Trowa mixing the slushies as fast as possible, somersaulting and tumbling between the freezer and the blender with ease.

Heero and Wufei had suffered slushie hangovers for the next 3 days.

Now, even more determined to find his wayward friends, Duo trooped over to the living room, only to find something straight out of a movie scene.  Fairy lights and dim lamps were the only lights to illuminate the dark room.  All the furniture had been pushed to the side save for a single small table and chair set dead center in front of the makeshift stage.  A piano and a minimal set of drums, along with music stands, microphone, and chairs were the only furninshings on the stage, well except for the musicians themselves.

Quatre, dressed in a light pink dress shirt, with grey suspenders and white and grey pinstriped wide cuff pants, complete with grey and black spats, a broad white and pink tie, was idly running a complicated series of finger exercise on the baby grand.

Trowa, dressed similarly in tones of muted green, gold, and dark blue, was oiling his trombone slide.  Wufei was executing lip exercises on his trumpet with ease, running up and down the scales with a brassy tone and excellent breath control.  He too was dressed similar to the other two pilots, only in shades of dark red, gray, and white.  A rakishly tilted hat with a grey and white striping was tipped over one eye.

And Heero . . .

Heero stood in front of the microphone stand, adjusting it carefully with white satin gloved hands, a delicate pearl bracelet decorating his left wrist.  The gloves matched the off shoulder white satin dress the Wing pilot wore.  Low heeled white shoes with a shimmering hose and a white magnolia tucked in his slick backed dark hair completed the look.  The fairy lights strung all along the room cast a soft glow on the pearls sewn within Heero's dress to create the effect of a dim aura all around the Japanese boy.

Either that or Duo's brain had died and his horomones were re decorating the inside of his head.

Or all of the above since Duo's single thought at the sight before him was approximately - Damn, I'm not even dressed for this.  As if on cue, Quatre looked up and nodded over at the couch tucked away in a corner.  Wide black pants with thin grey pinstripes, black socks, black and white spats, and a crisp white dress shirt with matching grey and white suspenders were carefully laid out on the sofa.  Half believing himself asleep or dayreaming or hallucinating, or brain damaged, or the horomones to be arguing over egg shell white or taupe, Duo put the ensemble on and and then made his way over to the chair and table apparently set up for him.  A single white magnolia, like the one in Heero's hair, was set within a slim glass vase.

And the music began. . .]

When an irresistable force such as you

[Heero winks at Duo, making sure to keep eye contact.  Not hard since Duo was frozen in place like an over eager tongue to a

*looks up from staring at happy happy djs*

. . . . to a super cold popsicle.]

meets an old immovable object like me

[As the white bedecked pilot sings, he slowly begins removing his gloves, hand by hand, finger by finger.  The braided boy watches, fascinated, though sweatdropping slightly when the soft cloth gets caught on one of Heero's many calluses.  Heero gets an irritated gleam in his dark eyes and rips away the thrice bedamned glove quite forcefully; the glove makes an elegant arc across the floor and finally lands on Duo's face, slowly sliding down.  The boy appreciatively sniffs at the satin, grinning at the familiar smell of gunpoweder and motor oil, l'essence d'un pilot de Gundam.]

you can bet as sure as you live

[Duo places the glove on the little table, all the while watching bemusedly as heero separates the cordless mike from the stand and slinks towards the seated pilot, though perhaps slink was too bland a word fro the half stalk/stumble/hitching glide Heero was attempting at while maneuvering both low hem and heels.]

Something's gotta give

[The Japanese boy casually slings a silk clad leg on the edge of Duo's chair.  He leans towards Duo; the only thought running chaotically through his head is - My Heero, what big feet you have . . . -

Something's gotta give

[Heero looms ever closer while Duo sort of whimpers, then immediately covers his mouth with both hands.  Duo Maxwell does _not_ whimper.]

Something's gotta give

[The other boy pauses, centimeters away from the American pilot's face, and gives Duo a smoldering why don't you come up and see me some time so I can show you my etchi etchings and you know what they say about big feet wink wink nudge nudge smooch smooch omae o korosu le petit mort choco cigarette after look.

Ok, so maybe Duo Maxwell did whimper, but only in high stress situations.

No wonder Heero never talked, his eyes were expressive enough to send a poor black clad Shinigami over the brink of org-


When an irrepressible smile such as yours

[Quicker than thought, Heero, never pausing in his visual? assault, pulls Duo up to eye level, snagging the front of the braided one's snazzy tie.

Heero smirks; Duo stifles a high stress induced whimper; the Japanese pilot licks Duo's lips lightly, a quick flick and slide over smooth lips then leans in for the kill . . .

Houston, we now have lip lock]

warms an old implacable heart such as mine

[Keeping Duo's lips, tongue, soft palate, teeth, gumn, saliva, tonsils, and stuff only a dentist, a linguist, and two boys intent on becoming _very_ familiar with each other knew happily occupied, Heero drops his foot from the chair and simutaneously straddles Shinigami, the skirt falling smoothly on either sides of the chair.

Strangely enough, the songs continues.]

don't say no because I insist

[Back at the stage, Wufei rolls his eyes and bangs his cymbals ever louder trying to get through to the Wing pilot's horomone addled mind.  Heero eventually jumps up and heads back towards the stage, giving the dazed seated boy a once over.

Duo's hair is mussed thoroughly thanks to Heero's fingers, his tie is loose, his shirt is open at the throat and chest, some of the buttons are missing, there's lip gloss smudged all along his mouth, not to mention the dilated pupiles, and the slightly swollen lips, all thanks to Heero. . . .Maybe a certain angst ridden Candadian singer should have added this particular repertoire to her song?

Thank you Gundam Wing
Thank you yaoi - dom
Thank you 1 x 2
Thank you cross dressers
Thank you pilot Wing

Any which way one looks at it, 'twas one helluva kiss.]

somewhere somehow someone's gonna be kissed

[The Japanese boy hasn't come out of the little tete a tete, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, and various other touching to touchings un messified.  His hair is equally awry in its usual mess so I s'ppose it isn't exactly messed up . . . ; the magnolia blossom, still miracuously clinging tenaciously to those beloved dark spikes err locks, had a few petals missing though . . .

English Major chibi:  *runs onto scene* Symbolism, symbolism!! *eyeglass glint* The flower has long been considered one of the mo-

*stomped on very thoroughly by Large Unknown Object, several times, then is bombed, blown up, and otherwise squicked.  A spatula then beats it into the floor for good measure, peels off EMC, and smacks it into the air, and sends it over to wherever the hell English Majors come from.*


The off the shoulder dress is more of a sliding all the way off the shoulder heading south for the summer dress, and the pilot's lip gloss is rather. . . not there.]

So even though who knows what the fates have in store
from their vast mysterious sky
[He switches the volume of the discreetly hidden pre-recorded with someone else's vocal tracks higher, lip synching for all its worth.  Wufei, Quatre, and Trowa play on, speeding up the tempo a bit.

Duo comes out of his hypnotic trance, watching again fascinated, as Heero seems to grow in height, attaining a blackish metallic hue just like his Deathscythe 's a matter o' fact . . . ]

I'll try hard ignoring those lips I adore
but how long can anyone try

[The white dress rips, and Heero is now Wing Shinigami? A Heero type mecha with black gleaming skin, complete with one bad ass bat wing, and one floating angel type thing type. . . wing.  It stand ta~ll over Duo's admittedly pip squeak height.  The other three musicians play placidly on.]

Fight, fight, fight, fight it with all of our might

[The Heero type mecha starts heading towards the terrified/seriously freaked out/climbing furniture to get out of its way pilot of Shinigami.  And no, for those wondering, the Heero mecha is _not_ nekky, neither the narrator nor the Heero mecha having the balls for it.


He has a tank top and shorts mold kind of covering welded on, much like the Ken dolls we all liked to cross dress . . . ]

Changes are some heavenly star spangled night
we'll find out as sure as we live

[The Heero mecha easily scoops Duo up . . . who is suddenly clad in a gauzy, whispy, see through, transparent, you get the point, black negligee, and proceeds to climb to the top of Tokyo Tower.]

Something's gotta give

[A huge blimp shaped like a puff fish heads their way.  Duo seriously wonders if he's hallucinating as a golden haired boy with one serious case of sideburns waves at him cheerily, nearly tipping himself out of the blimp in his enthusiasm.  A serious faced boy pulls him out of the way neatly and aims a few hundred shuriken their way, pulled from Ninja Space TM, not to be mistaken for Spandex Space TM or Casa Space TM or even Bishounen Space TM.  Naturally, the Heero mecha being made of gundamanium, much like the Heero boy, the pointy objects bounce off with nary a dent.]

Something's gotta give

[The puff fish forms a huge sweatdrop for no apparent reason . . .that is until a red head dressed in a Shinto priestess' costume appears on top of Tokyo Tower, calling for her cute little bishounen.  The puff fish flees with the girl pursuing them via her blue haired companion who apparently thinks himself a winged pegasus, laughing maniacally and whipping her whip umm. . thing.  A weeping, wailing blonde boy wearing a costume of pure white clings to the end of the blue haired, neighing boy's feet.  As they streak past Duo, he can hear him screaming,


Unfortunately, the whip hits the Heero mecha on a sensitive point, the tip of his nose *smirks*, and it teeters and starts to fall . . .

Duo starts to screech, smacks himself for being shoujo, stares at the rapidly approaching ground, forgives himself, and starts to screech again.]

Something's gotta give

[Still screeching but forgiving himself for it, Duo stares.  Wufei, Trowa, and Quatre have appeared on a spinning and glowing GW sign.  They have beards, moustaches, and dark glasses on. They give a little wave, then swing their arms to the right, giving Duo a thumbs up.

He reciprocates with another finger up.

(int. sax, trombone, trumpet)

Instead of being angered at this, all three pilots smile beatifically and split into hundreds upon hundreds upon lots of clones.  Duo's eyes swirl pretty shades of violet.]

Fight, fight, fight, fight it with all of our might

[Strangely enough, the ground is still rushing up at them but at the same time not getting any closer.

They're falling endlessly, endlessly, endlessly, endlessly, what a woah what a woah what a  . . .


The Heero mecha transforms into a winged Heero mecha, with Duo piloting.  He proceeds to mutter something about having his revenge and begins to shoot chibi scythes at the clones.]

Changes are some heavenly star spangled night
we'll find out as sure as we live

[The clones take on a decidedly we are pissed as hell and not going to take it anymore red hue as Shinigami decimates their numbers.  They begin to fire back strange hyrbrid creatures with lion's heads and tails, body of a camel, and the tongue of a dragon.

This seriously creeps poor little only used to smashing up Mobile Suits Duo who shrieks and pulls a Kuwabara.

Which is to say goes beserk and decimates everything in this crazy scene.

Or maybe he pulled a zero system?

Any which way lots o' things are going boom and 's all good.]

Something's gotta give

[After all that destruction, the Heero winged type mecha transforms into the Heero type mecha which transforms back into the normal Heero, sans white dress and wearing his typical outfit of spandex shorts and tanktop - much to the disappointment of the still black negligee clad Duo.  The Shinigami pilot notes his clothes, or rather lack thereof, and proceeds to cuss . . .

in several tongues . . .

one of them being the forbidden tongue of Kthulu  . . .

a black hole sucks the two boys in.]

Something's gotta give

[Duo smiled perkily at his spouse, fluffing up a shellacked Marge Simpson beehive, a pretty spectacular event in and of itself, as he served his spouse two eggs sunny side up, three strips of crisp bacon, and 4 pieces of toast lightly buttered.  He twittered, "Here's your breakfast, hon."

Heero muttered something, simply gesturing at his empty coffee cup from behind his morning newspaper.  He paused to growl at his two bickering children Trowa and Wufei.  "Omae o korosu."

Duo twittered once more, "Now, dear . . . "


The beehived one paused, hand dramatically fluttering up over his aproned heart, "Now, who could that be?"

Quatre, their annoying yet endearing and loyal neighbor, popped his head in.  His Donna Reed styled head in.  "Morning, neighbor."

*POP* went the dream bubble.]

Something's gotta give

[Duo Pikachu sighed, giving off a few bubbles as he idly watched the GW anime tapes the girl had stuck in for the dozenth time.  He couldn't help but watch his namesakes, but really, they gave him the strangest nightmares.  He glared at his partner, Heero Squirtle, who was off skulking under a lily pad.  Duo was still pissed at his green backed partner for running him over the other night in one of his insane training marathons.  He had kicked Heero out of the floating island until other turtle proved himself worthy.

*POP* went another dream bubble.

"-nd so doctor, what does it all mean,?" asked a baffled Relena, lying down on the plush couch of her therapist's office.

The doctor's eyeglasses glinted as he began.  " I think you are having long suprssed feelings of anxiety on the part of this Heero and Duo you speak of, yes?  Maybe as to the nature of their relationship, yes?"]

Ye Merry Olde Ende.

The turtles are my widdle baby turtles who are named, yes ^_^ Heero Squirtle and Duo Pikachu.  (Don't blame me for their pokemon names - my older sister and her b/f named them -_-)  Like their namesakes - Heero likes to skulk under heavy objects, run marathons, and is more than slightly antisocial with anyone other than his partner.  Duo likes people and will even play with me; he's the only one that'll answer to his name actually ^^;;.  They like to cuddle up together at night underneath this floating island thingy within the tank.  They also like watching anime and music videos.

Which does not really explain this fic but . . . ^_^;;

The puff fish and its inhabitants are from Clamp Gakuen Tantei dan. Kyaaaaa!! Nokoru sama.

The red headed girl and her partners are from Haunted Junction *cheers for Haunted junction* She has a shota con complex no da ^_^;

The bearded sunglass costume is a vague reference to those ZZ top videos I used to watch *grins*

and umm... the song itself is sung by Ella Fitzgerald, my favorite jazz musician ^_^;;

And I am... so sorry for this fic ~_~....

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