Disclaimer: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing or the characters, more's the pity. This is for fun...no profit involved.

Warnings: yaoi, swearing, violence

Pairings: 1X2

A/N: This was inspired by my trudge down a grassy hill and across a soggy meadow to put food out for newly-released young foxes. I got soaked, though I did not have the benefit of hot Gundam pilots or an action-packed firefight to add to the experience. So I had to make that part up!


It was pouring. And not just in a casual, steady way—but in that serious, ground-soaking manner that assured everything within miles would be saturated by nightfall.

Two sodden figures trudged doggedly through the downpour, apparently oblivious to the wetness as they walked through puddles as if they weren't there.

"Gotta say, Yuy, this ain't my idea of a romantic walk in the rain," Duo groused, water dripping from the brim of his cap as he followed his fellow pilot, limping just slightly on his left leg.

Heero didn't bother to look back or break stride.

The braided boy sighed, shifting his sodden backpack, and feeling a fresh trickle down the collar of his jacket, stinging where it crossed abraded flesh. He shivered and kept walking.

Though he'd worn a rain resistant coat, it was pretty thoroughly soaked by this time, and where it ended above his knees, the pant legs were dark with moisture that ran off. Likewise, his boots were soggy, and water was seeping in through the laces and being sucked into the material of his socks and the tucked-in pants.

"Ya could at least pick me a few flowers," he added snidely, glancing down at the wildflowers in the meadow they were crossing.

It might have been pretty, if he'd had the time or inclination to appreciate it. The tall, waving grasses were bowed with moisture; hung with droplets that adorned each stalk and leaf. Each daisy or clover blossom was laden as well, though the gloom of the weather seemed to make them stand out even more against the lush green backdrop.

"—or put an arm around me to keep me warm," he added, shivering again, even though it was a warm enough day not to be totally unbearable. No matter how mild the weather, being water-soaked eventually made one feel cold.

Their path wound between scrubby trees and under the dripping boughs of the forest again, where the rain was less intense, but came off the leaves in huge dollops, rather than small drops.

Duo got one right in the face, and cursed, ducking his head to let the brim of his cap shield him a bit more, and wiping off a mixture of blood and grease that tried to run into his eyes. "You're a lousy date, Yuy."

Heero finally broke stride for an instant, glancing back with a rain-soaked scowl. "What are you babbling about, Maxwell?" he growled. "We're on a mission—not a romantic getaway, baka!"

Indigo eyes blinked up at him from under the shadow of the hat. "Well what else do you call walking in the rain together?"

"Part of the mission."

Duo shook his head. "Nope. The mission was to sneak into the base, plant the explosives, and download the schematics of the mobile suits they're working on—with the added bonus of nearly getting caught, dodging Oz soldiers, engaging in a little hand-to-hand combat, and narrowly escaping with our lives as we blew the base to Hell. We did that ages ago. Now, we're walking in the rain."

"Is that what you call it?" Heero's gaze dropped to Duo's torn sleeve and the hastily-applied field dressing. "I'd have said we were limping."

Duo looked appraisingly at Heero's bloody pant leg. "You aren't," he accused. "I don't know how—with a freakin' bullet in your leg."

"It went numb a half-mile back," shrugged the Wing pilot, turning to resume his hike.

Duo glanced behind them. "Probably a good thing the rain's washing away any blood trail we might leave."

"Hn. And our tracks."

Heero had set the same steady, unwavering pace as before, his gun dangling from chilled fingers, and the intense eyes scanning the forest up ahead. And now that Duo paid attention, he could detect the occasional limp.

"This'd be a whole lot more romantic if we weren't bleeding," he noted.

"What is it with you and the rain?" Heero demanded, not looking back.

"Just—it's the stereotypical romantic setting—a walk in the rain—holding hands—oblivious to the elements—."

Heero snorted derisively. "Been reading one too many romance novels, Maxwell?"

"Oblivious to—everything," Duo sighed under his breath, forcing his gaze off the wet fabric clinging to Heero's rear end.

"Hardly," came the snide reply, as Heero proved yet again how keen his hearing was. "I'm watching for enemies, scoping out the terrain, and trying to calculate just how far out of our way this detour took us. By the time we reach our Gundams, we may have lost enough blood to make our piloting skills questionable." He glanced back briefly. "Status?"

"I'm fine," Duo snarked, crossing his arms and glaring. "And don't you ever fuckin' question my piloting, Heero Yuy. I can fly 'Scythe wounded, exhausted, drunk or dead!"

"If you were dead, it would be impossible—."

"I'm talking figuratively!" Duo blurted. "Haven't you ever heard of hyperbole?"

Heero slowed down, looking back with an insulted expression. "Of course I have—it's 'obvious exaggeration for effect,' and—."

"—and that's what I was doing. Exaggerating. For effect. Now just shut the fuck up and walk." Duo gave a firm shove to the back of Heero's shoulder, gaping in surprise when the sudden motion made the Wing pilot stumble and almost fall to the ground, hissing sharply in pain. "Jesus, 'Ro! I'm sorry—!"

Heero recovered his balance, and staggered a few steps, gripping his arm tightly, but Duo overtook him and got in front, forcing him to stop. "What happened to your shoulder? I didn't see you get hit."

"I didn't. It twisted when we went over the fence."

Duo's eyes narrowed as he thought back to their close call and miraculous escape, focusing on that instant he'd slipped on wet chain link fencing, nearly tumbling back into the arms of pursuing Oz troops. Heero had glimpsed it from the corner of an eye, and with almost impossible speed, had grabbed the collar of Duo's jacket in one hand, his leg hooked over the top of the fence, and fired several rounds past his ear into those same Oz troops, before hauling Duo bodily up to where he could catch the top of the fence himself.

The braided boy felt a rush of remorse at the obvious pain etched on Heero's face. My fault, he thought. If I hadn't been so clumsy—.

"It wasn't your fault and you weren't clumsy," Heero snapped.

Oops. Was that out loud?

"Your boot slipped on wet wire, which could have happened to anyone."

"Yeah, but it didn't. It happened to me," Duo argued. "And you got hurt saving my sorry ass."

"It's not a 'sorry ass,'" Heero said absently, wriggling his shoulder and trying to ease the ache. "It's a perfect one—." He stopped, going completely still.

Duo simply stared, mouth open and rain dribbling off his chin as he stood slack-jawed. "Wha—what did you just say—?"

Heero blinked, and swallowed, and blinked again, his face lighting as he hit upon a quick save. "I said it was perfectly logical that I saved a fellow pilot, even if it resulted in an injury. If they'd caught you, you'd have died in the explosion and we'd have had no one to pilot Deathscythe, unless—."

The braided boy clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing dangerously. "You're babbling, Yuy," he said, a devious gleam entering the indigo eyes. "You never babble."

A muffled protest came from under his hand, but Heero couldn't look him in the eye.

"You said it was perfect," Duo reminded him. "And you weren't talking about the logic of rescuing me, either. You were talking about my—."

Heero's eyes went wide and he hastily ripped Duo's hand off his mouth, shoving him to the ground and throwing himself on top of him, even as he fired off a round at the Oz soldier who'd turned the corner in the path ahead of them.

At the sound of the shot, and before his head had cleared of the confusion caused by the sudden fall to the ground, Duo had his own weapon out and was sighting on the next trooper coming into view.

Heero rolled off of him, even as he fired, and both scrambled to leap into the underbrush on opposite sides of the trail, laying down cover fire at the small squad of soldiers they'd stumbled upon, and receiving a volley of shots in retaliation.

"Don't think you're off the hook, Yuy!" Duo shouted over the barrage. "You said my ass was perfect!"

"You heard me wrong!" Heero yelled back, picking off a soldier who'd tried to take cover behind too small of a sapling.

Duo fished in his pocket for a grenade, tucking his gun between his knees as he yanked the pin. "Bullshit, Yuy!" he hollered back, counting down five and then lobbing the grenade into the cluster of enemies. "Fire-in-the-hole!"

Both Gundam pilots dove face down into the leaf litter, hands over their heads for protection as the forest was rocked by the explosion and trees were blown into kindling and rained down on top of them.

Heero came up first, shaking the debris from his hair, and peering through the haze, gun in hand, to see if any of the opposition had survived.

Duo rolled onto his side, coughing and waving a hand to clear the smoke. "Any movement, 'Ro?"

"None. I think you got them." He cautiously eased to his feet, wincing at the stab of pain from his shoulder and making his way towards the scattered bodies and smoldering twigs. He let his gaze rake over the clearing, scanning for the slightest hint of breath or flicker of motion in the bodies.

Duo limped up beside him, grinning from an adrenaline high. "They picked the wrong time to fuck with the God of Death," he said unsympathetically, before turning his attention to Heero. "Now—about my ass—."

"Forget it, Maxwell. We've got to clear this area before their reinforcements come. You know they had to hear that grenade." He darted an accusing look at the other pilot. "You might've tried a less—noisy method of attack."

"Oh, and non-stop shooting was so much quieter—."

Heero quickly searched among their fallen enemies, picking up a spare gun, just in case, and tossing one to Duo. "Quit your bitching," he advised, scanning their surroundings and picking a new direction. "I think if we can get over that ridge, we'll be in the valley where we left the Gundams. We should reach them within the hour."

"Assuming there aren't more patrols for us to stumble across," Duo countered, tucking the spare gun into the back of his trousers, and pulling his soggy jacket over to cover it.

Heero had already started off in the chosen direction, and Duo limped quickly to overtake him, falling into step a few paces behind again.

He let the conversation drop for the moment, still catching his breath from the hasty firefight and strenuous hike.

Perfect ass, indeed. He let his gaze drop to Heero's again, smirking as he reflected that the Perfect Soldier had an ass to match. And he didn't mind looking at it for however long it took to locate their hidden Gundams.

Of course, touching it would be even better. He imagined it'd be as hard-muscled as the rest of the Wing pilot, but with the softest, most silky skin—so perfect for sliding his fingers over—for grabbing onto. And how might it taste—?

He had to find out. And with one little slip of the tongue, Heero had given him hope that eventually he could. He just needed to be patient—to wait for the right opportunity—to keep the lines of communication open.

Fuck! He needed to make sure Heero knew the admission had been well-received and the admiration was definitely reciprocated.

"I take it back, Yuy," he spoke up just as the Gundams came into sight. "I was wrong about this not being a romantic walk in the rain." He grinned as Heero shot him a skeptical look over one shoulder. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time—flattery and a firefight."

He thought he saw a fleeting smile cross the normally-stoic face; but Heero turned away before he could be sure.

"And your ass is fuckin' perfect, too," he added blithely. "I'd save it any time. You just put it in these capable hands and—."

He was muffled by a sudden, hard, rain-slicked kiss, as Heero had stopped abruptly and turned on him, pulling him up against a hard, blood and rain-soaked body, and slamming their lips together.

He fought down the whimper as those lips devoured his and a hot tongue dove for his tonsils, thoroughly exploring his mouth in the process. Though he could barely feel the arms he was gripping, for his fingers were chilled to the bone, he could sure as hell feel the burning hot mouth merged with his.

Heero pulled away, a fierce gleam in the deep blue eyes. "If you want me to put my ass in your hands, you'd better keep up, Maxwell." He turned and headed for his Gundam, leaving Duo gasping in the rain momentarily.

Then the Deathscythe pilot shook off his stupor, grinned like a madman, and dashed for his own machine. Keep up? If he had his way, he'd keep Heero up all freakin' night—once they got back to the safe house and tended their wounds—or maybe each other's wounds.

And maybe they'd have to check for any injuries they might have missed. Anywhere. And everywhere.

He groaned, even as he fired up Deathscythe and set out in pursuit of Heero, who'd already thrown Wing into motion, apparently intent on giving his partner a run for his money.

Or maybe a walk—a nice, romantic walk in the rain.