Woo hoo! It's my second bastardized Heero fic! Yes, Heero is a major, major major major, MAJOR jerk in this, so don't read if you don't enjoy Heero being an asshole. Couplings are 1x2 and 5x2 later, and some hinted 3x4, as always. Enjoy! ( Oh yes, those who have me on Author Alert, PLEASE don't kill me if you thought this was part three of Blood Stained Desert Rose! If you kill me, I can't finish the third part! Right right? ::sweatdrop:: )
Disclaimer : I don't own any of the following characters, Gundam Wing, the razors, the first aid kit, or the dishes Duo washes. I do, however, own whatever the hell I was smoking when I wrote this. ^__^
L U L L A B Y
I let out a small, shuddering breath as I sit down on the toilet seat, pressing the balls of my palms into my forehead before I reach for the razor blades under the sink. I locked the door to my room, so it doesn't matter if the bathroom portal is wide open, showing the act I am about to perform as openly as if I were on a stage to the damp, sex-scented bed I sleep on.
I pluck one of the razors from the stack and replace it behind a couple of spare Irish Spring soap boxes. The one I chose was the one I chose last time for the angry slashes on my right bicep, still red and just beginning to heal. There is still blood encrusted on the blade, which I deftly brush away with a finger. I breathe again, a sad, shaking, wet sigh, so wet it seems as if my lungs are flooded with the raging waves of my emotions, dignity and sanity.
Blinking away the tears that flood my vision, I place the blade at my wrist and press down, dragging it down my arm and playing along the vein, sliding alongside it but never crossing it. I watch the blood leak out, drowning in the fact that I am real and not merely a toy that he likes to play with. That because I bleed, I must have some purpose in life, however minuscule it may be. But lately, I don't think even doing this can prove that.
Earlier, I had offered to wash the dishes after dinner while the others drank coffee in the dining room. I was standing at the sink in the kitchen, scrubbing the grease off a plate when I felt a hand running up my thigh, a nose buried in my hair, teeth biting at my neck with the same lustful urgency I know in only one person. My hands moved to stop him, but he only gripped them tightly in his own. I felt Heero press his body against mine, and I gasped in shock. I knew what he was going to do, but here and right now? When our fellow pilots were barely six feet away, in the next room? Is he insane?
His hands reached forward and undid my jeans, yanking them down. I was too shocked to struggle, but I tried to turn around when I felt him hard and slick against my leg. And then I was just trying to hold in my shriek as I nearly blacked out, suddenly being shoved against the cabinet from the force Heero suddenly put on me. The world exploded as he thrust in, the dry rubbing of flesh making me want to scream again, fingers grabbing at the edge of the sink for support as my legs gave in. His thick member tore at my insides, and I was certain then when he was done, there would be nothing but scraps of torn tissue and muscle. Tears ran rivers down my face as I bled, my blood becoming his lubricant, giving little gasps of pain every time he moved, slamming me into the sink every time he shoved himself in. He snarled and grunted into my hair, and I felt some deep satisfaction to know that he was hurting too.
After an eternity of thrusting, he came, the hot fluid no more comfort than the blood it joined dribbling down my legs. He slid out and walked away, giving a hard yank on my braid before he left. Once I trusted my shaking legs to stand on their own, I pulled my pants gingerly up with trembling fingers, and scrubbed at my face with my hands. I was shaking so much as I reached into the sink to finish the dishes, I must've dropped everything I picked up. How could he? It was wrong... he was wrong. And it hurt so much... when I was done, I went upstairs.
And here I am now, in a bathroom and bleeding some more. I watch my salty tears splatter on my arm, into the blood flowing on my ruined pants. My stomach gurgles and lurches, and I feel bile rise in my throat. I slide off the toilet and lift the lid and seat up, vomiting into the bowl. I throw up everything I've eaten, and when my stomach is empty I vomit stomach acid, until all I'm doing is dry heaving. I cry to the dirty water, the chunks floating in it, and then I reach out, tearing several sheets of toilet paper from the roll and wipe my mouth with it. The toilet flushes and I drop the paper into the swirling water, bring the lid back down and sit.
My shoulders shake until I cradle my face in my hands and just cry, vaguely hearing my own muted sobs. It hurts. It hurts... all of it... so much pain and... what.. ? My eyes snap open and I find myself locked by a pair of ice blue eyes. I suck in my breath, fighting off an embarrassed blush as I look up. Heero's eyes slide down my face to my bleeding wrist, my bloodied pants. How did he get in? Knowing Heero he probably knocked the door down.
My mouth parts to say some angry remark I don't even know yet, but then his cold fingers close around my wrist and yank me on my feet with it. I give a cry of pain which, of course, he doesn't acknowledge, like he doesn't acknowledge my blood dripping on his fingers, doesn't care when I cry, when I bleed and beg him to stop when he takes my down every night, on my bed that smells of blood and semen. Yes, the almighty Shinigami begs, because I am completely helpless against Heero Perfect Soldier Yuy. I never cried before I met Heero, not when Solo died, not when the Maxwell Church turned into fiery debris and ashes.
These days, I regret skirting the crazy murderers and rapists on L2, because I was a virgin when I shot Heero and I came with him willingly, and this is what I brought myself into. He slept immediately and I couldn't tell him how much I realized I loved him. So I gave him everything I could, and what I could not give him he took, until he wanted things I did not have, and then I broke.
He doesn't ask what I'm doing. It's painfully obvious what I've done, so he opts for my own opinion. "What do you think you're doing?" What do I think, what do I think? If I could, I'd probably tap a finger against my chin, mocking a thoughtful manner. So many answers... well.. I know what I'm doing. But what do I think? It strikes me, and I laugh.
My shoulders shake with laughter, the mirth only reaching my face to part my lips and turn up the corners. My noise fills the room, the bitter sound drying the air. "Bleeding," I murmur, my eyes narrowing as I continue to laugh. If I don't stop now, I know I never will and that will prove that I truly am insane, that everything I've been through has driven me off the edge, from the destruction of the church to the destruction of myself.
Heero's fingers tighten around my wrist and I wince in pain, cutting off my laughter. His nails are digging into the cut, pulling it open, tearing at the broken skin. Bastard. For a moment there is silence, broken only by the ragged sobs I keep muted in my chest. His eyes narrow, until all I can see are two sinister blue slits. He leans forward and hisses violently in my face, more malice in the one word than I've ever experienced in my life. "Why?" Why? Why am I slicing my skin open like this? Is it really not that obvious? I know my mask isn't /that/ good. He's lying then. I know he is. Asshole.
If he doesn't know, fine! I'll fucking tell him!
I rip my arm away from him, the movement splattering blood on the mirror, distorting the reflection. "Because it's the only thing that makes me feel real!" I shout at him, screaming, my throat tightening with my words. "I feel fucking dead when I'm with you, like I don't exist!"
This unleashing of pain starts a new flood of tears down my face, burning like white-hot fire licking my cheeks. "Dead! I feel like nothing!" God, he's smirking. I hate you! "This!" I point furiously at the bloody razor on the floor. "This is the only thing that changes that!" I throw my hand around at the blood coating the walls. "This proves that! I wouldn't /have/ to do this if you weren't such a cold-hearted bastard!"
I swing at him then, my punch slamming him off balance, causing him to reach out for the wall, but his expression doesn't change. I hate him! I'll pound that smirk off his face, I swear to god I will! I close in and pummel his chest with blows powered only by my rage and sadness and hatred for him, but damn it, he doesn't even move! I scream curses at him, every single insult I know in every language I barely learned, but none of it works. I feel like a damn breeze to him, some wind blowing on a stormy day. I wish I were a piece of glass carried by the wind to scratch and tear at that pretty face of his, that tanned skin that, despite every self-destruction attempt I wish had worked, every battle and every fight, has never been marred.
He doesn't know what true pain is! He doesn't know how much loss hurts, how it aches deep inside. I want to show him! I want to show him with such an overload of emotion that he dies of it! He doesn't know what it's like because Heero Yuy doesn't have a soul! I can feel him bring his arms up, attempting to close me into his reddened chest, can hear him muttering my name softly in my ear. I can't... this bastard.. I know what he's trying to do. He'll hit me, I know he will. If I give into him, I know what he'll do. "No!" I shout then, pushing myself away from him. Almost immediately my legs buckle and I slide to the floor, burying my face in my hands, breaking once more in front of beloved Heero.
It's not fair! He's standing there in the doorway, covered in sweat and blood with his tanktop hanging off one shoulder, a little evil smirk on his face like some sex god teenage girls dream about but know doesn't exist. I should love him! I should! But there is nothing I /can/ love, just a body, a shell with the horrific ghost of a human being inside. "I should kill you," I choke out between my hands and coughing sobs. "I should fucking kill you." Silence, then his footsteps, approaching me. He kneels before me and sighs the exasperated sigh of someone just beginning to lose their patience.
"Duo," he whispers, his voice deceptively gentle. When was the last time he said my name like that? When was the last time he said my name? "How are you going to kill me...," he murmurs. God, I can feel the malice in his voice, tangible evil I don't even have to touch him to feel. "... when you can't even stop me from fucking you?"
I suck in so much breath that my lungs probably exploded. My sobs die out to strangled whimpers. I... I don't have an answer for that. He reaches out and brushes his fingers against my cheek, his touch from which I cringe but don't move away. His words were like glue, sticking me here to this floor, making me immobile. His hands pass over my face, his fingers threading through my bangs, pulling them upwards and away from my face. Suddenly his hand tightens into a fist, my hair between those strong fingers, and he yanks my head painfully up, every feature and every flaw on display for him.
"Why don't you stop me, Duo?" He looks truly curious and innocent, as innocent as Heero can get. That's about as innocent as a rabid wolf munching on a few dozen sheep. "Because I can't," I respond, my voice throaty and nasal. I sniffle and swallow and glare at him. "You can," he insists. "Why?" I swallow again and blink, my chest trembling as I struggle to contain the sobs left over. "I can't. I never could." Damn, it didn't work. I sniffle again. There must be mucus lodged in my throat.
He seems about to pursue this, but he cocks his head and shifts. "Why don't you tell them?" I stiffen. Yes, why don't I tell them, the other pilots, my friends. Why haven't I told them /yet/? Funny, I seemed to ponder this for hours and now I'm at a loss when questioned. Merely because...
Heero yanks on my hair again. "Why don't you tell them?" He repeats. "Because I can't," I snarl, my words more than tinted with an animalistic rage. Heero smirks again and lets go of my hair, my head falling down like a broken marionette. He's moving behind me, stepping, opening, closing. A first aid kit clatters at my knees, my legs tucked under me. The noise causes me to flinch. I can hear Heero sighing distastefully.
"Clean this place up," he orders, then leans down, his hot breath on my neck. He licks the side of my face, starting at my jaw and drawing his tongue back near my eyebrow. At one time I used to enjoy that, but now it seems overly wet, slippery, nauseating, as if it were from a dog. "I'll be back," he murmurs. He straightens up and turns away from me, walking toward the door.
I look up, my bloody arm cradled against my chest. "Like hell you will," I spit, glaring at him as hard as I can with drying tears plastered to my face. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. "Hurry up," he whispers, and suddenly I feel as if I'm in a dream, like none of this real. Again. "We have a mission." And then he is gone.
I don't know how long I've sat here now. Hours maybe? Perhaps minutes, or maybe it's only been a second.
I pick up the kit, and pull myself to my feet, clutching the edge of the sink. I do as he said, cleaning up my cut and wrapping it in gauze, from the edge of my palm to my elbow. There is a red tint in the middle of it, where blood is already starting to stain the gauze. I wash off the walls, the toilet, the floor the mirror. By the time it's all done, I'm exhausted.
I can barely stand up, I have a headache and my arm is throbbing. Trying not to crawl, I shuffle out of the bathroom and collapse on the bed, curling into a fetal ball.
I'm waiting for him, aren't I? I'm laying here, not doing anything and he said we have a mission... yeah, I guess I am waiting.
Damn it.
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To Be Continued...
Yeah, there is a continuation of this. The mission, remember? Hello! Okay, go review before I shove Super-Evil, Duo-Killing, Bastardized Heero Deluxe at you in a soundproof, padded room! ::cackle::
Disclaimer : I don't own any of the following characters, Gundam Wing, the razors, the first aid kit, or the dishes Duo washes. I do, however, own whatever the hell I was smoking when I wrote this. ^__^
L U L L A B Y
I let out a small, shuddering breath as I sit down on the toilet seat, pressing the balls of my palms into my forehead before I reach for the razor blades under the sink. I locked the door to my room, so it doesn't matter if the bathroom portal is wide open, showing the act I am about to perform as openly as if I were on a stage to the damp, sex-scented bed I sleep on.
I pluck one of the razors from the stack and replace it behind a couple of spare Irish Spring soap boxes. The one I chose was the one I chose last time for the angry slashes on my right bicep, still red and just beginning to heal. There is still blood encrusted on the blade, which I deftly brush away with a finger. I breathe again, a sad, shaking, wet sigh, so wet it seems as if my lungs are flooded with the raging waves of my emotions, dignity and sanity.
Blinking away the tears that flood my vision, I place the blade at my wrist and press down, dragging it down my arm and playing along the vein, sliding alongside it but never crossing it. I watch the blood leak out, drowning in the fact that I am real and not merely a toy that he likes to play with. That because I bleed, I must have some purpose in life, however minuscule it may be. But lately, I don't think even doing this can prove that.
Earlier, I had offered to wash the dishes after dinner while the others drank coffee in the dining room. I was standing at the sink in the kitchen, scrubbing the grease off a plate when I felt a hand running up my thigh, a nose buried in my hair, teeth biting at my neck with the same lustful urgency I know in only one person. My hands moved to stop him, but he only gripped them tightly in his own. I felt Heero press his body against mine, and I gasped in shock. I knew what he was going to do, but here and right now? When our fellow pilots were barely six feet away, in the next room? Is he insane?
His hands reached forward and undid my jeans, yanking them down. I was too shocked to struggle, but I tried to turn around when I felt him hard and slick against my leg. And then I was just trying to hold in my shriek as I nearly blacked out, suddenly being shoved against the cabinet from the force Heero suddenly put on me. The world exploded as he thrust in, the dry rubbing of flesh making me want to scream again, fingers grabbing at the edge of the sink for support as my legs gave in. His thick member tore at my insides, and I was certain then when he was done, there would be nothing but scraps of torn tissue and muscle. Tears ran rivers down my face as I bled, my blood becoming his lubricant, giving little gasps of pain every time he moved, slamming me into the sink every time he shoved himself in. He snarled and grunted into my hair, and I felt some deep satisfaction to know that he was hurting too.
After an eternity of thrusting, he came, the hot fluid no more comfort than the blood it joined dribbling down my legs. He slid out and walked away, giving a hard yank on my braid before he left. Once I trusted my shaking legs to stand on their own, I pulled my pants gingerly up with trembling fingers, and scrubbed at my face with my hands. I was shaking so much as I reached into the sink to finish the dishes, I must've dropped everything I picked up. How could he? It was wrong... he was wrong. And it hurt so much... when I was done, I went upstairs.
And here I am now, in a bathroom and bleeding some more. I watch my salty tears splatter on my arm, into the blood flowing on my ruined pants. My stomach gurgles and lurches, and I feel bile rise in my throat. I slide off the toilet and lift the lid and seat up, vomiting into the bowl. I throw up everything I've eaten, and when my stomach is empty I vomit stomach acid, until all I'm doing is dry heaving. I cry to the dirty water, the chunks floating in it, and then I reach out, tearing several sheets of toilet paper from the roll and wipe my mouth with it. The toilet flushes and I drop the paper into the swirling water, bring the lid back down and sit.
My shoulders shake until I cradle my face in my hands and just cry, vaguely hearing my own muted sobs. It hurts. It hurts... all of it... so much pain and... what.. ? My eyes snap open and I find myself locked by a pair of ice blue eyes. I suck in my breath, fighting off an embarrassed blush as I look up. Heero's eyes slide down my face to my bleeding wrist, my bloodied pants. How did he get in? Knowing Heero he probably knocked the door down.
My mouth parts to say some angry remark I don't even know yet, but then his cold fingers close around my wrist and yank me on my feet with it. I give a cry of pain which, of course, he doesn't acknowledge, like he doesn't acknowledge my blood dripping on his fingers, doesn't care when I cry, when I bleed and beg him to stop when he takes my down every night, on my bed that smells of blood and semen. Yes, the almighty Shinigami begs, because I am completely helpless against Heero Perfect Soldier Yuy. I never cried before I met Heero, not when Solo died, not when the Maxwell Church turned into fiery debris and ashes.
These days, I regret skirting the crazy murderers and rapists on L2, because I was a virgin when I shot Heero and I came with him willingly, and this is what I brought myself into. He slept immediately and I couldn't tell him how much I realized I loved him. So I gave him everything I could, and what I could not give him he took, until he wanted things I did not have, and then I broke.
He doesn't ask what I'm doing. It's painfully obvious what I've done, so he opts for my own opinion. "What do you think you're doing?" What do I think, what do I think? If I could, I'd probably tap a finger against my chin, mocking a thoughtful manner. So many answers... well.. I know what I'm doing. But what do I think? It strikes me, and I laugh.
My shoulders shake with laughter, the mirth only reaching my face to part my lips and turn up the corners. My noise fills the room, the bitter sound drying the air. "Bleeding," I murmur, my eyes narrowing as I continue to laugh. If I don't stop now, I know I never will and that will prove that I truly am insane, that everything I've been through has driven me off the edge, from the destruction of the church to the destruction of myself.
Heero's fingers tighten around my wrist and I wince in pain, cutting off my laughter. His nails are digging into the cut, pulling it open, tearing at the broken skin. Bastard. For a moment there is silence, broken only by the ragged sobs I keep muted in my chest. His eyes narrow, until all I can see are two sinister blue slits. He leans forward and hisses violently in my face, more malice in the one word than I've ever experienced in my life. "Why?" Why? Why am I slicing my skin open like this? Is it really not that obvious? I know my mask isn't /that/ good. He's lying then. I know he is. Asshole.
If he doesn't know, fine! I'll fucking tell him!
I rip my arm away from him, the movement splattering blood on the mirror, distorting the reflection. "Because it's the only thing that makes me feel real!" I shout at him, screaming, my throat tightening with my words. "I feel fucking dead when I'm with you, like I don't exist!"
This unleashing of pain starts a new flood of tears down my face, burning like white-hot fire licking my cheeks. "Dead! I feel like nothing!" God, he's smirking. I hate you! "This!" I point furiously at the bloody razor on the floor. "This is the only thing that changes that!" I throw my hand around at the blood coating the walls. "This proves that! I wouldn't /have/ to do this if you weren't such a cold-hearted bastard!"
I swing at him then, my punch slamming him off balance, causing him to reach out for the wall, but his expression doesn't change. I hate him! I'll pound that smirk off his face, I swear to god I will! I close in and pummel his chest with blows powered only by my rage and sadness and hatred for him, but damn it, he doesn't even move! I scream curses at him, every single insult I know in every language I barely learned, but none of it works. I feel like a damn breeze to him, some wind blowing on a stormy day. I wish I were a piece of glass carried by the wind to scratch and tear at that pretty face of his, that tanned skin that, despite every self-destruction attempt I wish had worked, every battle and every fight, has never been marred.
He doesn't know what true pain is! He doesn't know how much loss hurts, how it aches deep inside. I want to show him! I want to show him with such an overload of emotion that he dies of it! He doesn't know what it's like because Heero Yuy doesn't have a soul! I can feel him bring his arms up, attempting to close me into his reddened chest, can hear him muttering my name softly in my ear. I can't... this bastard.. I know what he's trying to do. He'll hit me, I know he will. If I give into him, I know what he'll do. "No!" I shout then, pushing myself away from him. Almost immediately my legs buckle and I slide to the floor, burying my face in my hands, breaking once more in front of beloved Heero.
It's not fair! He's standing there in the doorway, covered in sweat and blood with his tanktop hanging off one shoulder, a little evil smirk on his face like some sex god teenage girls dream about but know doesn't exist. I should love him! I should! But there is nothing I /can/ love, just a body, a shell with the horrific ghost of a human being inside. "I should kill you," I choke out between my hands and coughing sobs. "I should fucking kill you." Silence, then his footsteps, approaching me. He kneels before me and sighs the exasperated sigh of someone just beginning to lose their patience.
"Duo," he whispers, his voice deceptively gentle. When was the last time he said my name like that? When was the last time he said my name? "How are you going to kill me...," he murmurs. God, I can feel the malice in his voice, tangible evil I don't even have to touch him to feel. "... when you can't even stop me from fucking you?"
I suck in so much breath that my lungs probably exploded. My sobs die out to strangled whimpers. I... I don't have an answer for that. He reaches out and brushes his fingers against my cheek, his touch from which I cringe but don't move away. His words were like glue, sticking me here to this floor, making me immobile. His hands pass over my face, his fingers threading through my bangs, pulling them upwards and away from my face. Suddenly his hand tightens into a fist, my hair between those strong fingers, and he yanks my head painfully up, every feature and every flaw on display for him.
"Why don't you stop me, Duo?" He looks truly curious and innocent, as innocent as Heero can get. That's about as innocent as a rabid wolf munching on a few dozen sheep. "Because I can't," I respond, my voice throaty and nasal. I sniffle and swallow and glare at him. "You can," he insists. "Why?" I swallow again and blink, my chest trembling as I struggle to contain the sobs left over. "I can't. I never could." Damn, it didn't work. I sniffle again. There must be mucus lodged in my throat.
He seems about to pursue this, but he cocks his head and shifts. "Why don't you tell them?" I stiffen. Yes, why don't I tell them, the other pilots, my friends. Why haven't I told them /yet/? Funny, I seemed to ponder this for hours and now I'm at a loss when questioned. Merely because...
Heero yanks on my hair again. "Why don't you tell them?" He repeats. "Because I can't," I snarl, my words more than tinted with an animalistic rage. Heero smirks again and lets go of my hair, my head falling down like a broken marionette. He's moving behind me, stepping, opening, closing. A first aid kit clatters at my knees, my legs tucked under me. The noise causes me to flinch. I can hear Heero sighing distastefully.
"Clean this place up," he orders, then leans down, his hot breath on my neck. He licks the side of my face, starting at my jaw and drawing his tongue back near my eyebrow. At one time I used to enjoy that, but now it seems overly wet, slippery, nauseating, as if it were from a dog. "I'll be back," he murmurs. He straightens up and turns away from me, walking toward the door.
I look up, my bloody arm cradled against my chest. "Like hell you will," I spit, glaring at him as hard as I can with drying tears plastered to my face. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. "Hurry up," he whispers, and suddenly I feel as if I'm in a dream, like none of this real. Again. "We have a mission." And then he is gone.
I don't know how long I've sat here now. Hours maybe? Perhaps minutes, or maybe it's only been a second.
I pick up the kit, and pull myself to my feet, clutching the edge of the sink. I do as he said, cleaning up my cut and wrapping it in gauze, from the edge of my palm to my elbow. There is a red tint in the middle of it, where blood is already starting to stain the gauze. I wash off the walls, the toilet, the floor the mirror. By the time it's all done, I'm exhausted.
I can barely stand up, I have a headache and my arm is throbbing. Trying not to crawl, I shuffle out of the bathroom and collapse on the bed, curling into a fetal ball.
I'm waiting for him, aren't I? I'm laying here, not doing anything and he said we have a mission... yeah, I guess I am waiting.
Damn it.
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To Be Continued...
Yeah, there is a continuation of this. The mission, remember? Hello! Okay, go review before I shove Super-Evil, Duo-Killing, Bastardized Heero Deluxe at you in a soundproof, padded room! ::cackle::