Author: Karen, The Huntress
Rating: R
Warning: Language, angst, lemon
Pairing: 1x2
Feedback: Always appreciated
Archive: DHML
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters.
Lie to Me
After six hours of grueling guerrilla warfare in the snug confines of their respective Gundams, Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy have taken refuge with separatist rebels inhabiting the war-ravaged Sanc Kingdom's desolate fringes.
Functioning as the insurgents' crude encampment, the cluster of eight damaged structures offered imperfect protection from the elements however the remote site's comparative security was deemed fair compensation for the Spartan conditions.
True to Heero's predisposition for an orderly transition from one task to another, in twenty minutes, he'd utilized the communal showers and redressed in faded gray sweatpants and navy blue tee shirt with an oil stain on the sleeve.
Settled into his and Duo's assigned quarters and sheathed in a thin blanket, Heero slumbers dead to the world in one of four twin beds crammed into the ten-by-fifteen foot room that, despite the restricted spare, does have a few redeeming attributes.
The roof doesn't leak, the floor joists are somewhat solid and the paint chipped door has a functional lock which assures a modicum of privacy and for those modest amenities 01 and 02 are grateful.
Also anxious to shed his sweat-fowled clothing, the self-proclaimed God of Death registers no complaints regarding the lukewarm shower, the plain shampoo provided to cleanse his scruffy unbraided hair or his limited choice of khaki trousers and the olive uniform shirt he'd scrounged from the Angels of Mercy Thrift Shop on L2.
Nevertheless, there was relentless cursing when combing out Duo's damp hip-length mane became tediously protracted due to a rat's nest of tangles and his sore right shoulder that had been wrenched when Deathscythe Hell was rammed by a suicidal Aries.
Ultimately, yielding to achy joints and a hammering headache, the braiding was abandoned in favor of a loose ponytail.
Forty-five minutes later:
In expectation of comatose sleep Duo puts his battered body to bed but, besieged by continual calculations of beam scythe power levels, aerial displacements, gyrostabilizer adjustments and if the retro-thrusters firing sequences were calibrated correctly, his mind refuses to shutdown.
Finally when the nagging question of whether the quartet of fitfully blinking console warning lights indicated actual malfunctions or were scarlet poltergeists hell-bent on mischief, he gives up all notions of coaxing his body and brain into some reasonable degree of cooperation.
As ruby rays of dusk blush Duo's face, he stares out the spider web cracked window across a concrete courtyard littered with the corroding corpses of mobile suits entombed in snaky weeds sprouting from every ragged crevice.
Ten meters beyond the forsaken cemetery, a frontless building framed in blackened timbers and roofed with pitted corrugated tin shelters several ground transport vehicles and a peculiar assortment of Aries and Virgos, a lone Taurus and the skeletal remains of half a dozen Mobile Dolls stripped for parts.
Like bastard children shunned by an arrogant populace, Wing Zero and Deathscythe Hell stand off to themselves. Yin and Yang, the white knight and ebony-winged demon are imposing figures, yet the play of phantasmal shadows lends a human aspect to their forged features which softens stark angles and diminishes the emptiness in their soulless eyes.
Just inside the makeshift repair center a trio of MS techs lounge on storage crates, share a brown bottle Duo reckons is whiskey and engage in animated conversations accented with occasional laugher.
"If I weren't so exhausted," Duo mutters as the bottle is passed around, "I'd go down there, be sociable and bum some brew."
A pensive pause in the one-sided dialogue with his reflection then, "Know what would be even better? A couple of those weird cigarettes the Medics at New Edwards used to smuggle out the pharmacy, yeah, they'd make ya real mellow."
Twilight merges pink into purple. One by one halogen spotlights glow around the perimeter. With a weary sigh borne of bone-deep fatigue Duo gives up the idea that either getting drunk or high would cure insomnia or alleviate loneliness.
Thirty minutes more:
Encroaching darkness persuades Duo to switch on a warped wooden floor lamp but shafts of artificial light filtered through the dirty windowpane provides anonymity; besides he doesn't want to wake his fellow pilot, even though it takes a hell of a lot to disturb the Perfect Soldier.
Heero mumbles in his sleep.
Duo wonders if perhaps Heero's mind is also replaying the earlier battle, also analyzing readouts, evaluating data, empathizing with Wing's trauma or questioning if his grasp of reality has been forever skewed by the cold, manipulative Zero System.
"Fuckin' contraption." Duo growls as he crosses the night-shrouded room. "Every time Heero is hooked up to that damnable machine it drains his energy and muddles his mind and how it might be messin' with his emotional stability is anyone's guess."
A metal chair next to Heero's bed groans as Duo flops down.
The irate condemnation continues. "One of these times Heero's brain is goin' decide its tolerated enough abuse then he and Wing will go ape-shit and there won't be anyone or anything, not even me and Scythe, that'll be able to stop their murderous rampage. But, shit, it ain't Heero's fault. I'd like to grab Doctor J. by his shriveled balls, strap on the Zero helmet, calibrate the interface to exceed the red zone and turn that depraved old man into a turnip."
Suddenly tears of frustration sting Duo's eyes.
"Dammit, Heero, why didn't you lie to me? When all this idiocy began, why didn't you swear we'd be okay? You should've promised our bodies would be unscathed, our minds kept safe from this madness and that guilt wouldn't rape our souls.
I've been lied to all my life so why not convince me the war is an illusion, make me believe we have a snowball's chance in hell of surviving, tell me---"
Every muscle flinches when something touches Duo's arm. Pivoting in his seat, watery violet sight locks with Heero's fretful blue eyes.
"You all right?" Heero inquires in a concerned tone.
Embarrassed by being caught off guard, Duo fumbles over his reply. "Yeah, just tired, ya know, couldn't sleep." he reiterates.
Without hesitation Heero curls his fingers around Duo's hand and tugs to encourage his comrade to join him.
"Come to bed."
"With you?" is asked for confirmation.
Heero nods then scoots over as far as he can without overshooting the safety margin.
The bed creaks under two bodies' combined weight. Duo sighs when Heero's strong arm pulls him closer.
"Duo?"
"What?"
"Do you ever have doubts, I mean, if what we're doing is going to change anything?"
I'll be damned, there is such a thing as miracles. Duo thinks to himself, Heero Yuy, who constantly analyzes mission parameters, calculates probabilities, rechecks Wing's diagnostic evaluations and always seems certain of his actions is havin' qualms over us makin' a difference.
Duo shrugs then answers honestly, "I don't know." before he flashes his best cheeky grin. "Odds are we probably won't live to see the end anyway so why worry 'bout it."
Heero considers his partner's fatalistic assessment of how fate might deal with the unpardonable sins of Gundam soldiers and assassins created by their unwarranted attack that killed Field Marshal Noventa.
"If you're of the opinion our destinies are ultimately allied with the devil then I suggest we make the most of our limited time." Heero declares then crushes Duo's lips with a fiery kiss designed to temporally halt their running headlong into death.
As darkness caresses the unanticipated lovers, hands explore. Clothing is divested, bodies relish in the intoxicating sensation of skin on skin and friction produced by grinding groins enkindle the heat of passion to a flash point.
Like entreaties chanted to heaven, moans become mantras and curses vocalized at a fever pitch emphasis the urgent desire for sexual release.
To Duo's surprise Heero spreads his legs. "Take me."
Any reservations that his partner is not a willing paramour are put to rest when Heero takes Duo's engorged penis and nudges it against his anus.
Despite the authorizing actions, Duo asks. "Are you sure?"
"Now." Heero begs unashamedly.
As a prelude to preparation, Duo licks his index finger for easier insertion. The next two fingers are hurried in their inclusion then withdrawn and replaced in insistent degrees by Duo's throbbing length.
Heero groans from the mutual onset of raw pain and exquisite pleasure spawned by their union. Panting and pleading, sweat damp body trembling with need, Duo also responds to his own eager demands for immediate satisfaction.
Now fully seated, Perfect Soldier and Death God engage in the anxious act of desperation to, if only for a moment, escape duty and the recurrent reminder of their tenuous mortality.
On the verge of coming, Heero sucks in a breath and hisses. "Lie to me. Scream my name. Proclaim you love me even if you don't mean it."
Abandoned by his senses, Duo struggles to comprehend the breathless beseeching yet, within the last guarded fragments of his heart, a flicker of realization prompts him to comply.
"HEERO!" is shouted as both men writhe in the throes of forceful orgasms.
"Love you." is whispered through the afterglow's sated haze.
Twenty minutes afterward:
Unfettered hair caped around his bare shoulders and cocooned in double blankets, Duo has at last been lulled into peaceful sleep.
A third mantle of roughly woven fabric enfolds about Heero's nakedness. Silhouetted by the full moon's silvery radiance, he stands at the window and contemplates the enigmatic complexities of war.
While he agrees in principle that rebellion is the logical course of action to liberate the colonies, it's also difficult to fathom how the intricate interplay of warmongering politicians, fascist military leaders and materialistic industrialists has spawned so much misery.
Puzzlement plaguing his thoughts, Heero speculates the likelihood that five diverse Gundam warriors could merged into a cohesive unit.
Further reflection examines why the talkative, crafty and dangerous pilot with a braid was the only person able to persuaded him to re-evaluate his belief that "life is cheap, especially mine."
Supposing he isn't going to solve any universal mysteries such as which came first the chicken or the egg, Heero eases down to sit on Duo's bed.
The mattress sags. Duo blinks through a jumble of bangs.
"Hey." is sighed lazily.
Heero tugs the blanket tighter, reclines next to Deathsycthe's drowsy master and apologizes. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
A moment of silence before Duo snuggles closer. "Remember when I said "love you"?"
"Hai."
"That wasn't a lie."
"I know."
OWARI
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