little death
From a prompt on tumblr: The first time they sleep together, Heero asks Duo how on earth he could possibly have been raised in a church.
The first time they slept together, Heero was nervous—though he certainly didn't want Duo to notice. He let Duo take the lead, not because he was being generous, but because, well, Heero'd botched enough shit up in his life. This was important. He gasped sharply when Duo nipped at a particularly sensitive place right under his jaw while his hands—those warm, rough hands—explored under his shirt, unearthing a multitude of delicious noises Heero didn't even know he could make.
And, judging from the look on Duo's face, he thought the same thing, before he found Duo's lips on his again, a hand leaving his skin to cradle the back of his head as the other decided to go forth where no one had ever been before. Heero cried out without meaning to when he felt Duo's too-hot hand stroking him, and Duo swallowed his breathy exhale, prying from him yet another delicious noise as Duo did things with their tongues that Heero didn't know you could even do.
In the bleary haze induced from being awoken and being awoken in this sort of fashion, Heero didn't even realise Duo'd had his pants half off. When did that happen? He didn't really care, and from the look on Duo's face as he spread his legs, neither did he. He looked different, somehow, with his hair undone and strands of it spilling over his shoulders as his fingers teased and prepared him. Duo pressed a finger to Heero's lips before kissing him again, hungrily and possessive and needy, opening his mouth more in a gasp when Duo slid into him, stoking a fire Heero didn't remembered lighting, but didn't care.
He didn't care because it was Duo. Duo, whose hands kept up their exploration, tracing old and new scars, finding where they intersected like roadways on a map. Despite Duo wanting him to be quiet, Heero found that difficult as Duo shifted himself this way and that, changing the angle inside him and God Heero'd never felt like this in his life, like he was in the middle of flames, yet not getting burned, so hot and wild and free and alive as Duo pressed him harder into the mattress, biting his neck and collarbone, worrying the teeth on the skin so there would be marks.
Heero muffled his cries using Duo's shoulder, meeting those thrusts, getting lost in the frenzied pace as he inched closer and closer, nails digging into Duo's back until everything tensed and he crashed and crashed hard in Duo's arms, but it was okay because it was good. It wasn't a bad sort of crash where you feel terrible. Maybe crash wasn't a good word, but Heero couldn't find any, not in any language he knew. He gasped and shuddered against Duo's body and felt every muscle against him tense.
Duo whispered his name in his ear before Heero felt something warm and sticky between his legs, dripping down his thighs, and Duo, exhausted, just lay there on top of him mouthing at the bite marks he'd left, arms tight around him.
And all Heero could think to say was, "How the hell were you raised in a church?"
He heard Duo laughing against his neck.