Author: Karen, The Huntress
Rating: R
Warning: language, lemon, Duo's POV
Pairing: 1x2
Feedback: Always appreciated
Archive: DHML
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters.
Last Man Standing
My name is Duo Maxwell.
I'm an orphaned street rat, survivor of the Maxwell's Church Massacre, have traveled with the Sweepers and now, by some bizarre twist of fate, find myself Master of Gundam Deathscythe.
My challenging childhood made me tough and tenacious. In the role of pilot I'm obstinate and too often reckless, yet fiercely loyal my to friends and my enemies' worst nightmare.
Finally as the self-proclaimed God of Death I not only rain destruction and reap vengeance but pride myself on being a perpetual pain in the ass for Romefeller, the United Earth Sphere Alliance, OZ or any other impotent bastards who threatens the Colonies.
*********
It's been six hour since 01 and I gave the Mobile Doll industrial site our gift of destructive mayhem and Heero took the notion to fight.
Once the one sided brawl ended with an apology for my "asinine juvenile behavior" or whatever damnable descriptive terminology Heero strung together, the Perfect Soldier let down his guard just long enough to accept a small measure of comfort before we set course for a pre-assigned safe house.
After concealing Wing and Deathscythe in an abandoned chalk mine Heero and I hiked two miles to a secluded cabin encircled by dense forests.
The one room log structure could be best described as semi-primitive. Although equipped with electricity and--thank the saints--indoor plumbing, the "semi" part was the conspicuous absence of TV, radio, cell phone signals or a hot zone for Heero's beloved laptop.
A shabby green sofa flanked by oak end tables topped with metal lamps occupied the center area. A double bed and gunmetal gray footlocker containing extra bedding set opposite the kitchenette.
To the left of the scratched cast iron sink a compact refrigerator was filled with bottled water and a free standing cabinet was stockpiled with both canned and pouched foodstuffs, staples of sugar and instant coffee, pots, plates, mugs, various utensils, dish cloths and hand towels. Completing the basic amenities, a kettle and a two burner hotplate shared the limited counter space.
Yeah the semi-primitive cabin was not a luxury suite or a multimillion credit mansion but, don't get me wrong, I ain't complaining 'cause the Spartan conditions are sure as hell much preferred to sleeping in the Gundams.
*********
Late afternoon sun descends below neighboring hills. Shutters on the front windows paint long purple stripes across the central living area.
As the blazing fireplace provides warmth to dull the impending dusk's dank chill, I retreat to the bathroom's privacy to empty my bladder and change into stone-washed jeans and a red sweater.
Standing before the sink with the sweater sleeves pushed above my elbows, I soap up the black shirt worn on the previous mission to remove blood that splattered on the collar when Heero got in a lucky punch.
With the scrubbing on autopilot, I absentmindedly study my reflection in the mirror. "Maxwell, why do you always have to stir up some kinda shit?"
Duo, you did it again. Sister Helen's voice echoes inside my mind. Why did you start another fight?
Between rinsing, noting the discolorations are lighter then applying more suds, I mumble at my steam-distorted image staring back. "It was their fault."
What did they say to you?
I hold up the shirt for inspection; water trickles down my arms. "They said I smell like a sewer."
It doesn't matter what other people think.
"It matters what Heero thinks." I admit lowly.
Satisfied the stains had been conquered, I pulled up the stopper. While a crimson tainted whirlpool funnels out of sight the soggy fabric is wrung out as much as physically possible.
*********
I exit the bathroom, scoot a stray metal chair closer to the fireplace and drape my slightly dripping shirt over the back in hopes it will dry overnight.
Another length of split wood added to the fire belches up sparks and brightens the orange highlighted shadows that dance in fitful patterns along the rough-hewn log walls.
My stomach registers a grumbling protest which prompts an appraisal of available provisions. "There're tomato soup, pinto beans, baked beans in barbeque sauce, green peas, packets of dehydrated rice, coffee and sugar but no milk." I list the menu choices. "Also a dozen tins of those fuckin' horrible military Ready Rations." is announced with great disgust.
On the sofa a bootless Heero is situated so a single lamp illuminates the wrinkled paperback version of "Wuthering Heights" acquired during his uncover assignments at Peacecraft Academy. "Rice, pinto beans and water will be fine." he states his supper preference.
A pot filled with water for the rice is put on the hotplate to boil. A smaller saucepan will heat up the beans if I can find a can opener. Rummaging through the cabinet not only locates the opener, but unearths half a bottle of Irish whiskey from the cupboard's furthermost recesses.
With an ecstatic grin, as if I'd just discovered the detailed pre-production schematics for a secret OZ Mobile Suit, I call to my partner in crime. "Lookie what I found."
The dog-eared book is lowered just enough for Heero to peer at the cobweb festooned brown bottle. "That stuff is liable to be poisonous." he declares.
Using the stone hearth as a table, Heero and I sit cross legged on a thick woven rug before the crackling fire and enjoy plates of rice and beans, water for Heero and a mug of well-aged whiskey for me.
When a sip of the caramel colored liquor burns my throat all the way down, I exclaim, "DAMN!" then swipes Heero's water bottle and, without authorization, swallows several long gulps.
A smirk tugs at Heero's lips as he resists the urge to snicker.
Eyes watering, I target a glower that rivals 01's fiercest glare and manage to hiss, "Don't even think about it."
Finally tempted beyond even his maximum degree of self-control, Heero doubles over in fits of unapologetic laugher.
Now it's my turn to strongly consider engaging in fisticuffs, instead, I opt for a surprise tickle attack.
It's not common knowledge and he would certainly deny the condition if asked, but the Perfect Soldier can easily be defeated with a simply sortie to the ribs.
Collapsing into a fetal curl, Heero swats my hands and whacks my shoulders in an uncharacteristically uncoordinated defensive maneuver. "I swear-you're a-dead man."
Undeterred by Heero's stammered threats, I straddle my opponent and state my terms of surrender. "Kiss me."
"No way in hell." he growls as he grabs one wrist.
My free hand continues to tickle. "One kiss and I'll stop."
Without warning I'm jerked down on Heero's chest. Caught completely off guard my lips are crushed by a kiss so passionate it steals my breath and causes my heart to hammer.
Suddenly the match of wills is forgotten in a flurry of foreplay.
Hands roam.
Fingers fondle.
Cloths are divested.
Flickering firelight shimmers on damp skin and the glow pales in comparison to the flush of stimulation.
Heero turns the tide.
Pinned beneath his weight, I spread my legs and moan my encouragement when his centered manhood presses against my anal opening.
With controlled pressure he crosses the threshold; inch by glorious inch until fully seated.
A few expertly aimed thrusts are all that's required to push us passed the point of no return. Grasping my throbbing penis I pump in time with my newly confirmed lover's escalating momentum.
An incredible climax spirals us into ecstasy.
Entwined in a tangled embrace we catch our breaths. Heero eases out and lies down facing me.
Taking my hand he locks his blue eyes and whispers a private promise. "Just as our bodies were joined our hearts will be forever united. Duo Maxwell I love you."
Tears pooling in my eyes, I make my own vow of commitment. "Heero Yuy this is my solemn promise. If an army of ten thousand stands between us. If all the angels in Heaven and every demon in Hell conspire to keep us apart, I pledge my protection and in the name of love will vanquish each challenger until I am the last man standing."
*********
Rain patters on the windows.
In our bed, Heero sleeps serenely.
I bank the fire against the chill then, just before switching off the lamp, notice that a crinkled red ribbon has bookmarked a certain section of "Wuthering Heights".
Yielding to my curiosity, I part the pages to discover a paragraph underlined in faded black ink. In the margin beside the highlighted sentences "Duo" is inscribed in equally faded red ink.
With a sigh I behold my peacefully slumbering partner then read the words emphasized so many months ago in a whisper:
"So he shall never know I love him and, not because he's handsome, but because he is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."
OWARI
Author's Note: The words Heero underlined is an actual quote from "Wuthering Heights".
Thank you for reading!!
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