Author's Note: Well, that escalated quickly.
Warnings: Sex (nothing graphic), bad language, worse decisions.
Sometimes, instinct is more than work, train, sleep. Sometimes instinct is drawing a gun and aiming it at a target before you even see them.
The safety's off, and my finger's on the trigger before I recognize Duo in the pre-dawn shadows. That strange mix of languid confidence and painful tension, the suggestion of an easy smile, even in the dark.
He's got a travel carrier and four takeout coffees; when I lower my gun, he holds them out to me.
"How do you like your coffee?" he asks.
I flick the safety back on and slip my gun back into the holster. My pulse is racing, and I tell myself it's adrenaline, not the familiar, careful rhythm of his breathing. It's been a week now, since the box, the plant, the book. Long enough to convince myself of how little it meant. Just some whim. Nothing important.
He shouldn't be here. I've seen what Earth does to him. What I do to him.
"I drink tea," I say.
"That's not your line." He grabs a coffee from the tray, and holds it out, watching me until I finally reach for it. "You're supposed to say, 'I like my coffee like I like my men. Totally fucked up.'"
His fingers brush mine as I take the cup, and I feel his gaze rake over me, slow and predatory, as he holds on a second longer than necessary.
And it feels like resurrection, the way he looks at me. Like taking a first breath, after drowning. If he's been haunting me, why is it that I feel like the ghost? Like I haven't been alive since the last time he touched me?
I step back. Remind myself of the cost. The sick joy in his voice as he hissed, 'I missed this' while he kissed me. Not me. War. An excuse to kill and die.
"You left the plant," I say, taking refuge in the banal.
"Yeah." He glances toward my window, where the now leafless brown stick still sits. "Great job on that, by the way. Never liked green."
I take a swallow of the burnt, bitter coffee, hoping the taste will jolt me awake. But I'm already more awake then I've been in months.
"What'd you do with the book," he asks. "Burn it?"
"I don't burn books," I say, and some of memory of myself takes offense at the very idea. As if you can burn cities and leave the books intact. "Why the Xunzi?"
Why any book? Why is he here?
I know why he's here. His gaze never leaves me. His breathing is quick and sharp.
"It's in Chinese," he replies, setting the tray on the ground without taking a coffee for himself. "And the shopkeeper said it was smart."
If you don't know a man, look to his friends.
Look at what he does to his friends? The fire in Duo's eyes is as much self-immolation as it is desire. He was fine, until I sought him out, I try to remind myself.
And remember instead, his hand on my chest, his breath matching mine. How it felt, to be that desperately observed.
He's watching me with just as much attention, now.
"Duo," I say. "What are you doing here?"
And why do I need him to say it?
He licks his lips. Shrugs. "Thought I'd hang around for awhile."
There's still a debt between us. I dragged him out of hiding. Asked for his help. It wouldn't be honorable, to turn him away.
(It would be honorable to hit him on the head and drag him back off this fucking planet, leave him floating somewhere in space, away from me, from the preventers, from this world and its want and its poisonous beauty.)
"Come inside," I say.
"Thanks."
I know it's a mistake before the door even closes. Before Duo takes off his shoes and wanders over to my desk, where the Xunzi still lays open, margins cluttered with my added notes. His demon is oxygen, but I'm the one who feels breathless.
It's not that I thought I was over this. But I thought I'd figured out what to do about it. That when I left him back with Howard it wouldn't matter anymore, what I might have wanted. What I might have felt, in the dizzy intoxication of his violent, self-destructive desire.
And now he's here, and I feel as good as I have in months. Awake. And all I want is to see how far I can take it. I already know how much better it can be.
His eyes meet mine, and I swallow at the open hunger there. This is the part where I leave. De-escalate.
"Do you-" I start to say, but he steps toward me, too close, and I can hear the rough hitch in his breath. All I want is to taste him.
"Can I stay?" He leans in, hair brushing my cheek as he whispers in my ear. "I make a very entertaining house guest."
"So does a live grenade." If I touch him, will there be anything left but shrapnel?
"Happy to find you one later." He moves closer, the space between us narrow as a blade. His breath is warm against my neck. "We gonna do this?"
Strength is just another flavor of weakness. And what does that make honor, except a new style of shame? And I want him because I want him, because he's been burnt into my mind since the last time, because he isn't work train sleep and he never will be.
Because nothing's ever felt real, like he does when I pull him against me, when I press my teeth to his skin.
The way he exhales, it's pure release. Like I've already given him what he came for. And that's fine. But now it's my turn.
He tears off my jacket as I press him against the wall, my hands under his shirt, fingers seeking his scars as he grinds his hips against mine, and oh fuck, I just want to hear him moan like that again.
His ragged nails dig into my skin as he fumbles at my belt, already rushing things. Last time, he took the lead, made it fast and brutal and desperate. I slam him back against the wall, capturing his wrists and dragging them above his head, pinning him with one hand as I lean forward, my full weight against him.
"Stay." The command comes harsh and needing. I want my name on his lips. I want to look into his eyes and see nothing but myself.
And I should stop. Have to stop. Now, while he's still in one piece.
He grins at me, wicked. His eyes are a slim ring of blue around a pool of black."You've got an interesting idea of hospitality, Chang."
"My house." I kiss him, hard, until he arches up against me, mouth open like an offering that I'm happy to take. "My rules. Work for you?"
He shudders, breath coming in a pant, and I almost back off, until I realize, he's only mirroring me again. My own rough, urgent breathing.
"Fei, you kinky bastard," he says, attempting token resistance against my grip.
Not until him. I pull back, just a little, still holding him in place. Wait for an answer. And I know what I am to him. I know he's only kissing me for the taste of spilled blood on my skin. He wants me like poison, and I want him like light.
"I could stop," I say. I could, still, stop. If he just asked me too, I could stop.
He tries to reach toward me, every lean, dangerous muscle of him twisting in the effort. "Keep going."
I squeeze his wrists, pulling them up a little higher.
"Like this?"
"Yes," he says it like a prayer. "Please."
It's all I need to hear.
It's possible, with enough time, pent-up desire, and bloody-minded stubbornness, to wear even Duo out.
"Right," he says muzzily, as I come back in from the bathroom. "Just gonna- yeah."
"Go to sleep, Duo."
"Fuck you, Chang. You-" He manages a laugh. His eyes are already mostly closed. "But later."
I wait. He mumbles, incoherent, then even that stops. His breathing falls out of sync with mine, and it's not an improvement. Duo breathes like a rabbit, sharp little gulps of air. Asleep, he abandons the blissed-out sprawl of seconds before, turning on his side and curling in on himself, until he's a tight ball at the edge of my mattress.
The lingering traces of euphoria leave me in an ice-water rush, as I watch him effortlessly fall back into pain. Forget everything that came before. This is what happens to him, when he's near me. If I had half the honor I used to pretend to-
But what would that version of me, scholar and heir, know about any of this? He'd quote me lines about the tyranny of passion, tell me that true strength meant rising above baser instincts. And then he'd see what happened when his colony burned, and he'd learn what it meant to give into desire.
Revenge is only a different sort of wanting. The soldier didn't understand that either.
And me? The ghost? Whatever's left when the ideals are stripped away? What do I know of anything?
I know Duo shouldn't be here. He's lost weight, since I last saw him, and he's let his hair grow shaggy and unkempt. He looks gaunt and haunted as he sleeps, a scarred, discarded husk from the war.
I know I want him here. That if I just allowed myself to lie down next to him, I, at least, would find a little peace. Something like peace, anyway.
But I stay standing.
Eventually, my phone buzzes, and I excavate it from the pile of our clothes. There are 7 texts from Heero, all variations of 'Report in.' The most recent simply says, 'There in five.'
The apartment smells of sex and sweat, my skin is red with the tracks of Duo's nails, and oh yes, he's passed out naked on my bed. Which is, essentially, in the living room.
Dammit.
'I'm fine.' I text back. 'No need to come. Will report in shortly.'
He doesn't respond.
Three minutes later, Heero pounds on the door, the sound saying he'll be breaking it down shortly. Duo jolts awake and reaches for his gun. At my gesture, he falls silent and still.
"Heero," I call through the door. "I told you I was fine."
"Open the door," Heero replies, voice utterly flat.
I could tell him that he can't just go around breaking into people's houses, but of course he can. And, in his place, I'd probably do the same. He doesn't know what he can't see. And it's not like a dangerous terrorist with a gun isn't hiding in here.
Behind me, Duo muffles a laugh. He hasn't even reached for a sheet.
At least I'm dressed.
"Now, Chang," Heero says, trying the handle.
"Fine," I snap. I open the door a crack. Thankfully, the room is arranged so that he can see my desk, not my bed. "What do you need, Yuy?"
"You're late," he says.
I glance at my watch. "I am 15 minutes late. I told you I was on my way."
"You're never less than an hour early," he states. He's trying to look behind me, and I brace my foot against the door to keep him from pushing it further open. Not that I'd win that fight, if he really tried.
"Thank you for the wakeup call," I snarl. "Now, you can leave. I'll be in shortly."
"Let me in."
"No."
"Why?"
I hear Duo shift behind me and tense. If I don't get rid of Heero, he'll only be too happy to assist.
"Yuy, why the hell do you think?" I ask, not blushing, because I am not a child and I can screw who I please, when I please.
He finally looks at me. Not 'assesses the situation for further threats' but looks at me. My hair is down, I haven't showered, and the t-shirt I threw on isn't enough to hide all the marks of Duo's attentions. Give the man credit though, he doesn't even crack a smile.
"Call in, next time," he says at last. "Thought you were compromised."
"Sorry," I say. And mean it. "Things came up, umm, rather suddenly."
Duo's snicker in the background isn't what I'd call quiet. Heero frowns, brow furrowing. Trying to place the voice?
But all he says is, "I'll see you at work."
At which point, he retreats enough for me to slam the door in his face.
"Ashamed of me?" Duo asks, with a grin. He's propped up on his elbows, right hand still resting on his gun. Awake, he maintains the illusion better. I can almost believe he's, if not ok, then no worse off than he's ever been.
But I'm not as blind as I'd like to be. I can see the near explosive tension beneath the languid calm. And yes, I am ashamed.
"Will you be here when I get back tonight?" I ask.
"Don't know," he says. "Don't like to plan that far ahead."
I can imagine coming back to an empty apartment, to shadow and silence, to work train sleep. No more than what I deserve. I can also imagine coming back to Duo's corpse. So much less than what he deserves.
I could teach him the trick of surviving this peace. Shut down. Let go of everything you believed, and let the current of duty carry you. Easy for me. But Duo? Duo has always been so aggressively alive.
"I can take you to the shuttleport," I say. "Get you back to space."
"One fuck and you're done with me? Brutal, Chang." He sounds amused. But that could mean anything. Duo may not tell lies. But he is a lie, all the same.
So, I try the truth. "Earth isn't good for you. You said as much, last time you were here."
"I'm done with good for me," he replies. "Time to celebrate some bad habits."
"Duo," I say, and even to me it sounds wrong. Too concerned. "You should go back."
"Wufei," Duo mocks, turning my name into a whine. He's on his feet in one smooth, violent motion, gun never leaving his hand. So utterly dangerous, broken, real. The only thing in color in my stark white room. And now he's angry, in my face, and still holding a gun. A smarter man might be concerned. I want to fuck him again.
"Let's get this straight now," he snaps. "I'm not your boyfriend. I don't need your help. I came here for a good fuck, and you are a very good fuck. But that's it. Don't get attached."
I grab his right wrist with care, a parody of earlier, and pin it to his side, flicking his gun's safety on while I do it. It shouldn't be as easy as it is. Wouldn't be, if he was, say, eating regularly. Sleeping on occasion.
"I thought you didn't lie," I say. "You think I don't know why you're here?"
He doesn't answer, just glares at me.
"We all want to die." The words come soft, and I don't think I meant to say them. "I can't fight you on that. But I'm not going to help."
This is, in fact, news to me. Turns out, maybe I do still believe in honor. Which makes me a fool, as well as a bastard.
He wrenches his wrist out of my grasp. "Then what good are you?"
"I ask myself that all the time."
The muscles in his face turn his lips upward. It's not a smile. We have nothing to say to each other, and we've worn out our other means of communication.
Duo turns away. I grab the rest of my clothes, and head for the shower.
When I get out, Duo's gone.