Author: Traumatickage
Pairings: 2x1
Rating: M
Warnings: Dark. Heero POV. Did I mention it was dark? Cause it is. Some lime.
Notes: It was supposed to be a drabble but it didn't want to stay that way. It grew a plot. Fancy that.
Feedback: Always welcome!
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He made me need. He made me want. He made me aware of the cold reality of loneliness, of my own induced seclusion.
It shouldn't have happened. It was a mistake.
Petty disagreement over priorities. Mission was a failure. Two men dead. Five injured, three of those fatal, breathing their lasts breaths. Another six missing. Our teams were ambushed. A trap.
I wanted to search for the missing agents, infiltrate the base once again, hunt down the leak that sold us off. He wanted to retreat to base, call for back-up, let them do the job.
We fought. First with words. Then with fists. I punched, he ducked. I kicked, he blocked. I was suddenly on my back, on the loose dirt. He was on top of me before I realized. He was faster than I remembered.
We wrestled on the ground. Violent and unforgiving. Scratching and elbowing.
I kneed him on his side, beneath the ribs. He groaned in surprise, in pain. Before he recovered, I pinned him to the ground. My body weighing him down, making sure he was immobile. Still, he struggled.
I looked at him; at eyes that screamed murder, at the cut on his eyebrow oozing blood. I felt my cheek pulse, remembering where he decked me. I let him kick; waiting for him to go give up, to call out, to talk some sense.
He did. He growled my name and I looked. And he looked at me.
Too fast. He was always too fast for me.
His mouth was on mine. He bit me. His hands on my hair, yanking, crushing me to him. I choked. I choked him.
He let go.
I scrambled. Rolling away.
I was panting and so was he. The unsettled dust stung at my eyes.
A shadow.
He had crawled towards me. His lips were red with my blood.
He noticed me staring and licked them clean. His eyes always on me.
It was a mistake.
I reached out and pulled him to me. I savaged his mouth. His hand already down my pants, working on my zipper.
I let him take me on all fours, like an animal. Like a beast in heat.
I bled.
I came. He came inside me.
I liked it.
He threw my pants at me after we were done, both recoiling at the touch of the other.
Before any discussion was made, we were contacted by radio. Back-up. The decision was made for us.
So he won.
Three of the missing men had turned and killed the other three. Group activity. Problem was bigger than we predicted. Two of those with fatal wounds died. The other was bed-bound, likely never to work as a field agent again. Body count was unacceptable.
Preventer restructured and re-evaluated its agents. Most of the staff was on probation. An almost impossible feat, Preventer has branches all over the Earth Sphere and Colonies. All its agents were not on pay role. All missions were postponed. All data classified. It was a messy operation. Ineffective.
At night I still remembered his hands on me. The way he moved behind me.
It made me want to scream.
A month later, I was cleared.
I didn't care.
Missions once consisting of fighting terrorists attacks, illegal drug and gun trade now ran to capture its own rogue agents, who soldPreventer secrets to the highest bidder.
Ironic.
Wufei killed five of his own agents. Then two more that he had trained himself before he resigned. He called this a travesty of justice, a mutated version of the ideal.
I can't say I didn't agree. Yet I did nothing of the sort.
I kept at it.
Maxwell and I were once again assigned together. I noticed he seemed worn and weary. Most of us did these days.
Mission ran smoothly. There were no arguments. No drawbacks. I ignored the hard pull in my chest, ignored the dull ache that filled my being.
It was a mistake, after all.
Two months passed.
The agency was empty. Or at least I thought so. It was afterhours. My head was pounding. My back ached. My eyes straining. I had left my second gun in my locker at the seventh floor gym. Sloppy.
The elevator opened and I walked the remaining distance on automatic. I was distracted by the white fluorescent light.
I was halfway toward the locker room before I became aware of his presence, beating furiously at a punching bag. Sound usually echoes because of the high ceiling here. But he was all too silent. Only taking calculated breaths to keep his heart rate down.
The God of Death.
If he saw me, then he made a good point at ignoring me. I pulled my gun out, my hands going through the usual motions. Check the safety. Check the magazine. The gun was in my holster and I was once again walking to the exit.
"Heero."
I stopped. Duo Maxwell. He who was homicidal enough as I was suicidal. He who disguises his own darkness so well others might not even perceive it. Blinded. He plays his games well. Too well. I wonder when his madness would consume him. Before mine caught up with me or after?
He and I aren't that different, in that respect. I'm sure he knows this. I'm sure he knew it even before I did.
His knuckles were wrapped in tape, black. I snort at that. Trust Maxwell to do everything his way. His black undershirt and sweats clung to his frame. He looked as dangerous as the day I met him.
And I wanted him.
He walked towards me with a predatory gait. I did nothing but wait. I didn't exactly understand my reasoning when it came to Maxwell. Maybe playing these games with Death would bring me closer to the end I was waiting for?
No matter.
He was as quiet as a shadow. His eyes glinting. I'm shoved to a wall. One of his arms snaked around my neck and he kissed me, hard.
He was fast.
His other hand was undoing the buttons of my shirt. I don't help him undress me. I don't undress him. I just stand and let him kiss me and fuck me in indiference. As if it didn't matter.
But that's a lie.
I was hard and he knew it. I wanted him and he knew it.
He made quick work of my clothes and he was in me, going in and out at a thunderous pace.
I screamed as I came, feeling him impale himself deeper and deeper. It was fast and violent and rough. I would have never believed it otherwise.
His tongue stroked long and wet at my neck. I growled when he came inside me.
A few seconds passed, before I felt him pull out of me and shift. My eyes were closed.
"Heero."
His fingers were working me back to erection. His tongue was licking the seed that was drippling down my thigh. I looked at the picture of him, all flustered and smelling of cheap sex. It made me hard but...shame. Then came the shame of needing this release. Of needing him.
I was less than graceful, kicking him off me, pulling my pants back on. Escaping.
Escaping like a coward. That was never graceful.
I was out of the agency, glaring at the white spots incriminating my pants, before the anger hit me.
I was in a rage. For letting him use me, for liking it.
Yes, I was raging. But I was madder at myself than him. I was more than capable of stopping it, he made sure of it.
But I still wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him because I was hurting.
So, I waited. I poised myself a top the roof two buildings down the street where the agency was located.
And I waited.
I don't know what it was that I was thinking. Maybe I wasn't. I wanted it over. The misery, the waiting. The questions. The insecurity. I wanted it all over. My mind shifted and I was back at War. Duo was a threat, therefore, he needed to be eliminated.
I went crazy. Just like it was bound to happen. This would be the excuse. And I took it.
It wasn't long until he strolled down the street.
I pointed.
I shot.
He was down.
He was dead.
My mind told me he was dead but my eyes saw him move. Clutching at his shoulder, bleeding.
I then realized my hand was shaking.
His eyes, eyes of a madman--crazed and haunted--stared right at me. He smiled a cold smile, large and twisted. Those eyes told me things I wanted to ignore. I felt exposed. I read his lips. "I can see you," he said. "I can always see you."
I ran.
I didn´t know how I knew, but he followed.
The alley I turned to was narrow and dirty. It stank of accumulated trash and urine.
I didn't care.
I didn't allow myself the luxury of thought.
Regret. Shame. Disappointment. Disillusion. Abandonmet. That's all there was.
I felt him before I saw him. His face was oddly devoid of expression. A few minutes ticked by, neither of us willing to break the silence. Neither of us willing to let old monsters out their closets.
He kissed me. Hot and moist and I felt his sweat. I pushed him. He let me.
I faced the brick wall, my back to him.
An opening.
Danger.
Nothing happened.
I realized something warm was coating my hand. His blood. Blood I spilled.
I heared him grunt.
He was looking at me. I knew before I faced him again. He always did. I didn't understand it.
I didn't understand his eyes.
"Why?"
I didn't notice I said it until he answered: "There is no why. There just is."
I didn't understand but I didn't feel the need to. I just let it.
He walked away. I only stared. The dark accompanied me back to my cot--the sixth this year--and engulfed me completely as I settled to bed.
I woke up disoriented the next day. The gun under my pillow grounding me.
I knew what I had to do.
I broke in. His locks gave me some trouble. Maxwell was paranoid. Good.
There was a silencer at my face when I cracked the door open. Better.
Maxwell seemed amused if fucking pissed. I noticed his shoulder was wrapped tightly with gauze. I didn't apologize because I wasn't sorry. If I hadn't I wouldn't have come to accept this.
Whatever 'this' was.
He shrugged. "Fair trade. I shot you twice."
This time I was the one who kissed him. This time, I was the one who pulled his pants down and stroked him hard and firm. I still wanted him inside me and he obliged.
We both resigned the next morning.
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The End.
Or is it?
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