* * * * * * * * * * *
He followed me.
I knew he would, eventually.
I knew he couldn't stand the fact that I disappeared every night, without an
He told himself he was concerned for the mission. That I might be a security
risk. I know him well enough, I know how that computer-like mind works. He's
got it all figured out. No room for error.
Well, I'm sorry, Heero, but I don't conform to your ordered universe.
I'm just as good a pilot as he is, but I look like I'm sloppy. I'm loud and
brash and love to be the center of attention, but I'm an expert in stealth
attacks. I look like I'm careless, but I hardly ever miss. I'm a boy, but I
have a long braid. I'm a boy, but I like other boys.
He can't figure me out.
That's just how I like it.
I can see him now. He just entered the club. If I hadn't wanted to be
followed, it would have taken him longer; I know he could trail me no matter
what. But I wanted him to follow me.
I want to see him in my world.
He stands there, blinking in the halogen lights that point directly at the
entrance, dazzled and unable to penetrate the relative darkness of the rest
of the club, yet.
It's meant to be that way. The rest of the patrons can peruse and study at
will the new blood, the fresh flesh that has arrived.
I found this club the first night we got here. Most good-sized cities have at
least one, and somehow I can always find them. Clubs that have the right
music, the right lights, and don't ask too many questions if you have the
money and the looks. I do.
So does Heero.
Though he's dressed nowhere near as flashy as me, I can see he's changed out
of the spandex for once. Tight black jeans hug his ass, the one I see in my
erotic dreams; and a white tank top hangs low on the sides of his torso,
showing off that incredible upper body. Arms that can bend steel. I've seen
him do it, and the memory of it still makes me hard. Add to that the messy
mop of hair and a face that could make angels cry, and he gets right in. I
doubt he knows how many others were not so lucky tonight.
I melt back into the shadows. I want to watch him for a bit longer. Make him
He walks in, not intimidated at all, and goes to the bar. I see his eyes scan
the room in his precise way. Anyone who didn't know him as well as I do might
think he was a robot. No expression on that pretty face as he orders
But I know better.
I've seen him, after a battle. I've seen the tightness when he thinks he's
not done well, the quiet triumph when he's fulfilled a mission perfectly.
I've also seen the anguish when he thinks he's fucked up badly. I've seen the
almost imperceptible wince of pain as he tends to his own wounds. He won't
let anyone else help. He is almost unreal. If I could, if the bastard wasn't
crucial to winning, I'd kill Dr. J myself for whatever he did to that boy to
make him that way.
Not that my own "mentor" was much better, but... I'm still human. I think.
I intend to find out if Heero is, still, too.
As unconsciously sexy as the boy is, I know it won't be long until someone
makes a move. And there she goes. Lynea, I think her name is, she tried for
me once too. She likes the young boys.
I watch, see her approach, see her say something. Heero's face tightens, and
he says something very brief. She leans in closer, and Heero scowls and grips
his glass, speaking again. Lynea gets the idea, and walks away quickly. I
wonder what he said.
Next customer: an older man whom I've never seen before makes his effort,
rejected once again by Heero. Now the boy is looking annoyed, and is scanning
the crowd more determinedly for me. I wonder what he wants to say to me. I
wonder what he wants. I hope it's me. Well, one way to find out.
Perfect timing: one of my favorite songs has just started, and I think I'll
let Heero watch me dance. See how he reacts. I insinuate my way out on to the
dance floor, as if I'd always been there. Sliding through bodies, bathing in
the harsh lights, moving to the trance beat, I'm in my element. I have to do
this to survive. I need it. I need the music, so loud I don't have to think.
I need the lights, so bright I don't have to see. I need the bodies, some
anonymous and some not, to move against me and with me and worship me. So I
don't have to feel.
Feeling is hard. Feeling hurts. I try to avoid it.
Then came Heero. With his burning blue eyes and a body to die for. He is
driven. By what, I'm not sure. If he was the typical romantic hero he'd have
gone off with his princess by now.
Lucky for me, he hasn't. He keeps fighting, and for some reason he fights
Well, I know one reason. We work well together. We mesh. I don't know why. In
battle, we're like two parts of a whole. I know what he's going to do, and he
knows where I'm going to be. Somehow. It's exhilarating, or it would be if
our lives and the colonies weren't on the line.
But then the battle is over, and so is our connection. He's back to
near-robot mode. And I swore to myself, just like always. Never feel. Never
want. Because if you want something, you open yourself to disappointment. Or
But I broke my own rule. Some time, some day, some battle, and I caught
myself just looking at him. With more than lust. One moment of inattention,
one dream too many and it was too late. Fuck.
I was screwed.
Not that I changed, not that he could see. I was still the same loudmouthed,
brazen Duo, making the same jokes, being the same. I flirt with everyone, all
the time. I flirt with him. He ignores it. I don't make my sexuality a
secret. He knows I'm still a soldier, I know when to put it away and keep my
pants zipped. He's never been able to call me on it.
But I knew the difference.
So I started going out even more. Heero had made it plain he wasn't
interested, so I set out to find someone who was. Lots of someones. Every
I was trying to drive Heero out of my heart.
It didn't work.
It was, is, empty.
But it's all I have.
Of course, like any idiot in love I still have hope. Ridiculous, pointless
hope. Hope that makes me read more into Heero's glances, Heero's words. Hope
that sprung eternal when Heero started to question where I was going.
Batting my eyes, I offered to show him.
He watched me go. I could feel him.
And I hoped.
And there he is.
He's seen me now. I can always feel his eyes.
I'm dancing. By myself, with the whole room, with no one, I'm dancing, and
he's watching. What does he see?
Does he see my hair, loose against my back, twirling free as I've never done
around him before? He's only seen it braided. I set my hair free for two
things: dancing and sex. He's never seen me do either.
Does he see my clothes? I wasn't wearing these when I left. High gloss PVC
pants, low and tight. Cobweb shirt, tight and completely see through, long
sleeves dangling off my arms. Black boots, steel toed and heavy.
Does he see my makeup? I've never worn it around him before. Black kohl
around my eyes, purple lipstick, gold glitter on my cheekbones; nothing
compared to what many around me are wearing.
Or does he see me? Dancing, hips thrusting, a pantomime of sex but all alone;
arms in the air, hips swaying, head thrown back, and I never thought how much
dancing really is like fucking. It's all about rhythm.
I let him watch me.
I turn. Look up.
Our eyes meet.
Through the smoke, through the lights, through the bodies.
I don't bother to look surprised to see him. I smirk, crook my finger and
invite him to join me. I'm sure he won't. He'll leave, storm out and I'll
slink home later. Alone.
He's moving. He's walking toward me. People flow out of the way like water
and it's like slow motion and he's there. In front of me. He looks at me. He
looks indecisive. He's not sure. I realize I've stopped dancing, watching him
intently. I have the feeling that if I break eye contact with him he'll fly
off like a wild bird.
He says something. In the noise it's impossible to hear. But I can read lips,
"I had to know."
"Dance with me and I'll show you."
And I start to move, slowly. He watches me. Slowly, I reach out and take his
hands in mine. He doesn't resist, exactly, but it's not easy. I put his hands
on my swaying hips, and he snatches them away as if he's burned. I smile, and
do it again, moving just an inch closer, and he closes his eyes and his hands
tighten on my hips, right on my hipbones, and grip tightly, and I could
almost die with joy from that simple movement.
Now *I* know.
Slowly, still swaying, I place my hands over his to hold them there. I move
faster, following the music, and his hands move with me. He looks down,
looking at his own hands as if he can't believe, as if they are acting
independently of him. I change my motion, adding in a small circle, so that
my hips brush perilously close to his with every pass. Still he watches.
I take a chance; I remove my hands from his and he looks up, startled, into
my eyes. I place my hands on his shoulders, and he relaxes just a millimeter,
and it's the first time I've felt those shoulders, and I think I could spend
my life tracing his body with my fingers.
Ever so slowly, he starts to move, move with me. I slide my hands farther
over those shoulders. Drawing him closer. There's barely an inch between us
now, and I ache to close that distance. What would he do if I pressed against
him? If he felt my arousal? I've been hard since he entered the club. Just
from watching him. Now that he's here, dancing with me, touching me? I'm a
fucking rock. It's all I can do to not throw him to the floor and fuck his
gorgeous brains out. But I get the feeling he's never done this before.
Oh, Heero... never rubbed your cock against another hard-on on the dance
floor? Never been pushed up against the wall of some seedy club with cheap
carpet on the walls to deaden the sound, the fibers rough against your face
as your pants are yanked down around your ankles? Never rubbed your erection
against the cleft of some boy's firm ass, drinking in their moans like wine?
You haven't lived.
I'll show you everything.
If you'll let me.
In the dark, I can't tell if he's hard too. But I can't wait. I close that
last inch, fitting my hips to his. We're exactly the same height. The
advantages of that become crystal clear as my arousal hits hiss. Yes. Maybe
there is a god. He's hard too. I look closely at his face. His expression
goes from embarrassment to realization in a few seconds. He feels how hard I
am. Words aren't necessary any more. His eyes meet mine, finally.
I drop my hands to his hips now. Pulling him closer. Dance with me, Heero. I
move my hips, his hands still on them, tightening. I can't resist. I slide my
hands around to cup his ass, that ass that I've stared at so many times, the
ass I want to bury myself in. It feels even better than it looks and he gets
even closer to me, his hands gripping my hips tight enough to bruise but I
don't care. I intend for us both to have lots more bruises before this night
Our eyes and hips locked together, we move to the music, as one. His eyes
flutter shut when I start to rub rhythmically up and down.
Yes, this is it, this is what I want: to see your face twist with passion and
pleasure and know it's for me. All for me.
The music surrounds us, moves us, fills us. We move together, and the
anticipation builds up along with the friction until we're all but doing it
right there on the dance floor. Heero slides his hands up to the small of my
back, and one hand slides in my hair, moving up.
A shiver runs through me as his hand runs up, tangling in the hair close to
my head, grabbing a handful and pulling my head closer. Yes, this is what I
want, I don't want it slow and sweet, I like it hard and rough and violent,
like my music and my life.
I meet him halfway, and our mouths clash, teeth drawing blood, uncaring as we
enter each other's mouths. Kissing Heero is just what I thought it would be.
He's inexperienced, but he makes up for that in sheer will.
We pull back, panting, and I realize we're still out on the dance floor. The
kiss was so good that I'd forgotten where we were. His eyes stare back at me,
glazed, his kiss-swollen mouth still open, my taste on his lips. He's the
sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life, and I can't wait any more. I want
him. Need him. Now. Here.
I hold his eyes as I slide my hand between us, down, down, to cup his arousal
through his jeans. I watch his eyes roll back in his head, and I squeeze
rhythmically. I feel rather than hear his moan. He drags his eyes back to
mine and I raise my eyebrows.
He looks back at me, and a tiny frown crosses his handsome face as he thinks.
Then he nods, once, and I smile. And I turn, quickly, grabbing his hand and
pull him off the dance floor, cock throbbing, need him *now*.
I pull him to the bathroom; the inside is nearly as dark as the club, lit
only with blacklights and it's just as well. As soon as we're in the door
he's all over me. Months of pent-up need crash over us both, and his hands
are everywhere, clumsy but perfect in their roughness. Yes, Heero, that's it,
give in... to me... the music is muffled but still loud in the room. Rhythm.
Expertly my hand is in his pants, unzipping, diving for that hot hardness,
slippery skin over steely flesh and its in my hand, I'm holding Heero in my
hand, finally, and he sags against me. I pull a few times and his breath is
harsh in my ear and I know he can't take much right now. I slide my hands
around to the back of his jeans, my other hand joining the first inside his
pants, pushing them down. No undergarments; nothing between me and Heero's
perfect ass at last. I slide them down until they're at his knees; that will
have to do. My hands are back at his ass, kneading, sliding into his cleft
and he's so hot he burns me. He's clutching at my shoulders now, and he tells
me what I already know:
"I've never done this before."
I look at him, and before I can ask, he adds:
"I want to."
I have to warn him.
"It will hurt. At first."
I barely recognize my own voice. Nor his, when he growls.
"I can take pain. I even like it. Sometimes."
Now it's my turn to whimper. Fuck. He really is perfect.
I spin him around, then, by the shoulders, and shove him against the sink. He
gets the idea and bends slightly, gripping the sink and spreading his legs as
far apart as the jeans around his knees will allow. God, yes. Perfect.
Lube, where's the fucking lube... I finally dig it out of my pocket and
unscrew it with trembling hands. I unbutton my pants and try to tell myself
this is just another fuck but I can't lie to myself any more. I've wanted
this for far too long, and I hope I can even get inside that virgin ass
before I come.
No time for prep, Heero awaits me as I slather on enough lube for six cocks,
just to be sure. I touch myself as little as possible; I'm on a knife edge as
And... I'm inside...
Jesus he's so tight and I push and it's never going to fit and I'm sure it's
hurting him but oh fuck I can't stop and suddenly he relaxes and I'm in, all
the way in and I think of anything, anything but what I'm doing so I don't
make this the world's quickest climax because he's pushing back, driving me
deeper and I'm fucking Heero Yuy and he's so tight and hot and I'm in heaven.
I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood and I get some control at last. I
shift my hands to his hips, steadying him as I pull out a little and shove
back in. Heero grunts and pushes back again. I want to ask him if he's all
right but I can't speak, can't even think of the words and I don't have to
because he's telling me, he wants more and I give it to him.
Pull back. Drive in. Grip those hips a little tighter. Soon I'm slamming into
him, I can see how his fingers grip the sink but he keeps asking for more,
harder, deeper. Who would have thought Heero would be louder than me during
I feel myself losing it, I'm drowning in Heero, so I reach down with one hand
and find his cock, bobbing and dripping beneath him, and without losing
rhythm I stroke him, rough and fast and then he's a fucking vise around me,
so hot and tight and my hand is covered as he comes, and nothing in the world
could keep me from following him into the oblivion of release.
We come to, what could have been hours later, OZ could have walked in and out
of the bathroom for all we knew, and I'm still inside him, still hard but I
pull out carefully. I don't know if he's hurting because it's too dark in
here, but he seems ok as he pulls up his pants. I hope I'm not the only one
I want to ask him what just happened. If he'll ever let it happen again. I
want to kiss him. But we just look at each other. My heart starts to break.
Does he regret it already? I don't.
Then he gives me a twisted smile, the only one I've ever seen from him. And
"Let's go home, Duo."