Author: LoveyouHateyou
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Rating: NC-15/M
Pairings: Duo and Heero
Warnings: References to male/male love.
Disclaimer: I do not own them although I would like that. I really, really do. All rights with their original owners.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Well, Heero's thoughts while Duo's at it with him. Hm. It takes someone like Heero to be able to keep thinking...
xxx
No matter how hard I try to keep my eyes shut, he won't let off now. I know that because I can hear his breathing deepen and quicken, he's heading south on me - well, when lust grips him, there's hardly anything stopping Duo.
Not that I mind. At least he's going to do something pleasant with this blabbermouth of his - ohhh, damn you, Duo... but that IS nice...
I had no idea just HOW good all this can be, and he's a natural at anything to do with sex. He loves it, he lives it, he is walking desire. He tickles me with his hair, and I'm gone - the little creep knows this all too well. I think he knows ME too well, I let him see too deeply into my mind, and he's climbed right into me without a second thought.
I should have... ah... known... try to think of something other than what his tongue is doing to me down there or it will be over in a second...
His hands on me are so soothing and so damn arousing at the same time, all callouses and heat, rubbing down my sides and my thighs. I know those hands: they're surprisingly small, spiderthin, and for their size damn hard, but when he makes love to me, they are gentle and passionate and incredibly tender.
How can he do this to me? How could I allow him so close? It scares the hell out of me because it means he can hurt me where no one else can. It's wrong because we're at war... gods, this is good... before Duo got me, I had no idea that there is something even further south than south to make love to, and that's where he is busy now, driving me white-hot mad.
Think. Of. Something. Else.
Mostly he just pisses me off. He's good with words, I'm not. I have to think about them first, put them right, until they're perfect, logical and most important of all, don't give me away. So it makes me feel dumb and awkward when he jabbers on about something, usually getting it all so right, so precise - astonishing given this is Duo Maxwell - I always know exactly what he feels, what he sees, and mostly also what he thinks.
Because Duo has no compunction in opening up to me, baring his very soul. It leaves me feeling rather inferior - he is so brave doing this, dropping all his shields, just for me, knowing full well that I can hit home. I HAVE hit home on various occasions, and usually end up feeling like shit about it, but I can't help it - if he's so easy to hurt, I'm easy prey too, for when he aches, I will as well. So I'm trying to harden him up.
It's wrong to expose yourself to hurt. He should know that. I'm doing my best to try and teach him just how stupid he is to leave himself so naked. But no matter how often I leave him sad and bruised, he will try again, hopeful and cheery, to get through to me. He has no idea that he's broken me down already. I wish he'd give up on me, but then, to imagine this nearly kills me.
If he'd only be patient enough to hear me out, for once, but he isn't patient. He is jittery, jumpy, always ready to run if he gets spooked.
If Duo dropped me, I'd be dead. So I wind his braid round my wrist and grab a handful of his hair, just to make sure he stays with me, and I keep bruising him to toughen him up against all the others that will try to get to him, and I fail miserably. I hate failure. I hate him for making me fail, for showing me there's more to life than perfection - I've never been taught this before. I know nothing else but striving to be perfect, the Perfect Soldier, the ultimate fighting machine.
Duo would never have become what I am. He's not suited for the job because he loves life. I court death.
So I let him have his way with me, making love with his hands, his mouth, his entire being, to my body and my soul until they melt into one with his, and even in taking me like this he's giving himself entirely.
Is this what love is about? I wouldn't know. I've not been taught about love.
My groin knots and burns under his touch, his caress, his incredible mouth, my mind aches because I hate feeling so damn weak and yet I cannot help craving him, all the time, my mate, my friend, my everything. He makes me go into meltdown, searing and blinding, stealing my breath and my composure, but he doesn't know that my brain's still switched on, unlike him - he is completely gone when he's in the throes of release. I don't get the benefit of small deaths. For me, only the one Death is waiting, and one rotten day it'll get me.
And then what will become of him? It causes me to panic every time it crosses my mind, for I know he hangs on to me as much as I cling to him. He should know better. He could do better, with his pretty face and laughing eyes, his long mane and skinny frame. Tough as nails, and such a damn soft bet on the inside. It is plain wrong. Yet this is Duo, and I would not have fallen so hard for him if he were any different.
He has me in turmoil. He's tipped my world upside down, thrown himself at me with abandon, and made me FEEL, against every instinct, against my will. I was taught not to do this. It's dangerous, and I can see why. He turned me into an utter mess, but I refuse to let on. It frazzles him no end, but that's it. He'll never know if I can help it because I couldn't bear him submitting, doting, devoted. I like him struggling because it makes him stronger - sometimes, he scares me for he seems so frail but at the same time so rough. I know he doesn't like the rough bit, but he needs it. Letting him slump into me would mean leaving him defenceless to this ugly world.
I cannot do this for I'm not sure I could protect him even now, while I'm alive.
Birdsong. His hair thick and wiry in my grip, his smiling face hovering above mine. He kisses me, I close my eyes and press my face against his shoulder. He mustn't see me now, but I have the silly feeling he doesn't need to look at me to know... because his arms wrap around me, and he tugs up the blanket over both of us and holds me still and close in his warmth.
And you, I hear myself ask, and he says, later, in this sated, casual tone that tells me he's happy.
That's fine by me. I like him happy for then, I'm content. It's me making him happy.
I think we're on a day off today.
I also believe I know what he's planning. He can be so damn singleminded.
And that's fine by me too.
xxx
The End