by Uru-Chan

***You were in my dream, you were driving in circles. Around me...***

Gravel churned noisily beneath the tires of a checkered cab, shattering the oppressive silence. The man's arms hung lazily about the wheel, swinging the car in a wide, lopsided arc. A slight figure stood poised on the curb, his shadow lean and spidery against the motel wall. One hand darted free of his jacket, fingers splayed to shield him from the retreating headlights.

"Itai," he signed wearily, swiveling away from the broad yellow low-beams. Beyond the chalk colored drive, the motel sprawled, cheap and unassuming, into the distance. "Shimatta," Duo growled softly, stuffing both fists deep into his pockets. "All that work, and I still gotta crash here tonight." Stone ground loosely beneath his feet, dust caking the toes of his zippered boots. Violet eyes gazed furtively up at the blackened string of windows, teeth worrying his lower lip.

Good thing it's way past Heero's bedtime. Shit, Man, I bet he was pissed when I stood him up. I didn't want to come home tonight. Duo's mouth turned in a grimace of disgust, the neon vacancy light casting a sickly pallor across his flesh. One hand grasped the warm contour of his key, rubbing the serrated edge against his thumb.

Nothin' but Mr. Perfect fucking soldier, typing away all day long, and that SOUND! Makes me wanna bust it up. Makes me wanna grab him and beat the shit out of him--or maybe I just wanna bury my face in his neck n' tell him everything, let him fix it for me, make the whole damn mess just fade away. Maybe I just don't wanna think about it anymore. But that's not gonna happen, is it Baka? So you walk the streets at night, just like you used to, lookin' for somethin' to ease the pain. It's been so fuckin' long, he whispered miserably.

Duo clutched the tip of his braid, stroking it reassuringly as his room grew uncomfortably near. Sound still throbbed in his aching skull, random lyrics surfacing through the haze of exhaustion. His thoughts turned to the distant club, the utter perfection of tonight's downward spiral. He'd liked the way the boy moved, the feel of that silver vinyl, smooth and slippery against his flesh. The way those narrow, dark eyes branded his hips and ass, assuring him that, backseat or closet, they'd be possessed without a second thought.

I thought for sure he'd pan out, Shinigami lamented, twitching the tuft of chestnut hair between his fingers. He shut the car door, and he stuck the keys in the ignition. I could hear that annoying warning chime as he leaned across and grabbed my face in his hands. He kissed me like he wanted to warn me, rough and hard and suffocating. And I grinned, cause' I didn't mind a bit. I always figured Heero'd take me hard... And he did look a little like Heero.

He was too buzzed to drive straight, and by the time we made it to his place, he was steerin' with one hand down my pants. I had to zip em to walk up to his flat, though, and shit, man, these pants are tight! The guy had a nice place; I was kinda lookin' forward to crashin' there, once he'd 'had his way' with me of course. I was lookin' forward to that too. He really was pretty... The American sighed noisily, raking his fingers through a fringe of streaked chestnut. He smoothed them absently across his pale face, smudging his cheeks with paint.

Geez, Man, I really must be cursed. I was so damn close! The second the lock clicked, he had me up against the wall. The way he touched me--god it felt good to be held like that, locked in place by somebody real, somebody flesh and blood, and rock hard just from lookin' at me.

Next thing I know I'm starin' up at the bedroom ceiling, panting and groaning while this guy tries to cram me down his throat! I grabbed his head: I wanted to feel that dark, thick hair, wanted to hold him there where I couldn't see his face, just thrust up into that hot wet mouth and imagine, god, it was so damned easy to imagine...

It made me so hot, just thinkin' about it, seein' the look on Heero's face when it was finished, comin' up for air, crushing his mouth to mine, and the taste of me on his lips. I was so far gone I wasn't sure who was suckin' me off anymore, and it didn't really matter just then, because I was sure I wasn't gonna survive it.

Ch' Duo spat bitterly, mouth turning in a pathetic grin. Shoulda' known it was too good to last. Heero n' hot sex ain't ever gonna mix, even in the back of my hentai little mind. And wouldn't you know it? Right before silver-boy gets me off, the door busts open and his roommate's standing there turnin' colors in the doorway! I zipped up and made a break for it; the guy was too busy yelling "fag" to stop me. Fuck!

Duo paused before the last pair of paint-peeled brown doors, rummaging briefly in his pocket. Violet eyes slid shut in a brief moment of indecision before he jabbed the key into the lock. It's late, Baka; what are you afraid of? Heero's bound to be sleeping. Please....please be asleep...

The American paused to unzip the dust-caked black boots, leaving them to slump formlessly against the tiles. Barefoot, he moved silently into the narrow hallway, navigating by the dim haze of neon through the blinds. He started as the door clicked shut behind him, far louder than he anticipated. Oh shit--

"Okaeri, Duo." The American flushed crimson at the low, slightly nasal voice, trembling with anxiety. Heero flipped the switch on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with pale yellow light. The Japanese boy sat casually on the mattress, one leg drawn up, his arms resting across his knee. Fully dressed, he gazed, unblinking, at the braided boy, his mouth drawn in a scowl of disapproval.

"H-Heero," he stammered hoarsely, glancing uncertainly at the door. Maybe I can make a break for it.... No, he admitted miserably, this was Heero Yuy. He'd never reach the parking lot.

"You know," the Wing pilot murmured, unfolding his limbs; "I could have sworn I told you to meet me here at six." Duo edged uneasily from the advancing pilot, vaguely aware he was being maneuvered away from the door. "Do you know what time it is, Duo?"

"Uh...2AM?" The American grinned foolishly, drawing the jacket nervously across his naked chest.

" 2:25," Heero supplied, closing relentlessly on the trembling boy. Shinigami's smile crumbled as the Wing pilot drew uncomfortably close, encroaching on the meager space between beds.

"Uh...Heero, why are y--"

"Where have you been Duo?" the Japanese boy rasped, arms folded across his slim, muscular chest.

"Oi," the American stammered defensively. "Look, man, I'm sorry I missed my "curfew" OK? Maybe I had somethin' better to do than sit around listenin' to you type all night! What the hell's your problem anyway? Since when do I gotta report--"

"Kisama! Shut up, Duo." The American blanched, flinching as Heero's fingers snagged the seam of his jacket, fingering the worn material. "I asked you a question," he murmured harshly, eyes fixed on the stark contrast of black leather and pale, glistening flesh. "I want to know where you were tonight. And who you were with." Duo's tongue darted out to moisten his lips, staring dazedly at the Japanese boy's fingers.

"C'mon, Man, it's obvious isn't it? You're the perfect soldier: why don't you figure it out. I'll give ya a hint: this ain't no dinner shirt."

"I know what this is," the Wing pilot replied flatly, sliding his hand beneath the boy's jacket. Duo flushed, gasping softly as Heero stroked patterns against his chest. The Japanese boy drew his fingers free, gazing impassively at his glitter-smeared flesh.

"Now," he continued softly, cobalt eyes darting abruptly up to lock with glazed violet. "I don't give a fuck what you do on your own time. But who you choose to do it with....civilians, old friends, old lovers--that's where I draw the line."

"What the hell are you talking about? Are you accusin' me of blowin' our cover? Fuck, Man, I know how to guard my own goddamn ass! You're right Heero Yuy, what I do on my own time IS my own fuckin' business! You just stay the hell--"

"Iie, Duo," the Japanese boy hissed, coiling the halves of the American's jacket in his fist. He thrust Shinigami against the wall, ignoring the shrill clatter of glass as a picture frame slid to the floor. "I saw you," he continued hoarsely, relishing the expression of sheer terror on Duo's face. "I saw you...dancing with that boy. I saw the way you teased him, the way you rocked your ass against him like you were--like you wanted to--Kisama! Goddamnit Duo, you practically screamed 'fuck me!' Did you let him take you home? I wonder if you even got that far. Did you find a backroom? A bathroom stall? Or maybe you just let him screw you in the alleyway!"

"You followed me, you son of a bitch!" Duo wriggled in the Japanese boy's grasp, only to be shoved more firmly against the wall. "Hanaseyo! Aw, shit, man, what difference does it make? It's not like I'm gonna marry him; it's just a quick bang anyplace you can get it. I didn't even know the guy!"

"Liar," Heero growled almost inaudibly. "You've seen him before, Duo. He's an old friend from L2, isn't he? K'so, Duo no baka, how could you fall for an asshole like that!" The heart-shaped face blanched as he processed Heero's words, lips parting slightly in shock.

"Look, Man, I dunno what the hell you're on tonight; I don't know why you followed me to that club, or why you're convinced me n' silver-pants are an item. But I swear to god, I've never seen that boy before!"

"I have," Heero whispered, breath scalding the other boy's cheek. "I saw him in the alley, when he pulled you over like he owned you. And I saw him tonight in the club, rockin' his goddamn crotch against your ass. He mouthed some words at me, Duo," he hissed angrily, tightening his grip on the American's collar. "Do you want to know what he said? He said you were his, Duo. Because he'd already fucked you. And you want to know something else? I believe him too. You dream about him at night, did you know that? You moan his name in your sleep!"

"H-Heero, I--" The braided boy's mouth opened and shut on whatever he'd meant to say, brows arched plaintively in despair. "I did know the boy in the alley. But--but Heero--I swear, that wasn't him! I didn't know the boy I was dancing with! Maybe it was a trick of the light, or-"

"Iie! Yamero!" The Japanese boy released Duo's collar, and Shinigami slumped miserably to the floor. He stared guilessly up at Heero, eyes glazed with confusion. The dark-haired pilot grasped Duo's pack from the un-made bed, yanking the zipper free. The American shouted hoarsely in protest as Heero flung the contents about the room, shaking the bag until his valuables littered the carpet.

He snatched at a plastic bag, fingers tearing it impatiently open. The American winced as the Wing pilot shoved a newspaper clipping in his face, his own fingers grasping loosely at the edges. Two boys grinned fearlessly back at him, radiating a fierce and indomitable friendship. Heero yanked the clipping free, whipping it angrily about to reveal the sketch on the flip side.

"This is the boy I saw touching you tonight," he murmured furiously, fingers trembling. "This is the name you cried when he fucked you in your dreams! I thought better of you, Duo. He's cheapened you, can't you see that? Kisama! I never dreamed you'd spread your legs for such a--"

"Heero, no!!!" Duo's fingers snatched blindly for the sheet of paper, his body pitching forward in desperation. "Iie! Please, Heero, please don't do it! Shit, Man--you don't know what you're doing to me!"

"I know what you're letting him do to you," the other boy ground out furiously, yanking the page far from Duo's grasp. The Japanese pilot gripped the prize in his hands, shredding the article into a dozen jagged pieces. He flung the little handful of paper at the horrified American, mouth curled in a snarl of anger and disappointment. Duo crouched on the floor, one arm extended, tiny shreds of newspaper fluttering down around him.

Ki-sa-ma...One hand clenched the nearest mattress, his slight body trembling violently with rage. "Kisama--you son of a bitch!" The American inhaled sharply, thrusting himself upward, his fist recoiling to crack against Heero's jaw. The dark head snapped slightly with the force of the blow, blood trickling from his lower lip. Oh fuck oh fuck! Duo whispered frantically, backing uncertainly away from the bristling pilot. I can't believe I hit him! Sure, the bastard deserved it but....oh FUCK!

"Heero? Gomen, ne? I--"

"Omae o korosu." Shinigami doubled over, gasping for air as Heero's fist connected with his stomach. Fingers gnawed into the fabric of his jacket, yanking him violently about before slamming him unceremoniously to the floor.

No fuckin' way am I lettin' you get away with that! Duo locked his legs between the other boy's, toppling Heero down on top of him. They struggled for several moments, the Wing pilot maintaining his grip on the American. The braided boy writhed furiously beneath him, wrists locked firmly in the other pilots fist.

Duo was vaguely aware of a sharp, metallic jangling, and the hard expanse of Heero's torso, arching to grasp something just beyond his reach. Iron fingers closed on worn leather, one hand thrusting him down as the other struggled to yank the jacket free. The Wing pilot's fingers splayed across his back, pinning him effectively as something closed vice-like on his wrists with a resounding "click." Duo froze, his cheek pressed to the carpet, violet eyes flying open in utter disbelief. My handcuffs? Shimatt--

"Get up," Heero hissed softly, clenching the American's pale shoulder. The Japanese boy thrust the trembling pilot to the wall, jamming his right knee between Duo's legs. "There," the Wing pilot whispered, hands falling to clutch the slender, vinyl-clad hips. "You're going to keep them that way, aren't you?"

"H-hai," Shinigami rasped, breath growing ragged as the hot, wet pressure of the pilot's mouth closed on his throat. Teeth grazed the fine white flesh, gouging tiny pinpricks along his shoulder. Duo groaned softly, arching as Heero's fingers slipped into his waistband, anchoring him for a series of short, hard thrusts. Violet eyes threatened to roll back into his head as the Japanese boy ground his denim-clad erection against Duo's backside.

Oh my god.....Heero, he's....nnnnnn--he's actually--Oo~ shit...he really IS gonna kill me... His mouth fell open in a silent "o" as Heero yanked the zipper free, exploring him with warm, callused fingers. The American rocked desperately in the other boy's grasp, head lolling back against Heero's shoulder.

"Iie...Yamero." The nasal voice grazed the shell of his ear, one hand darting out to grasp his vinyl-clad hips. Heero's arms wound about the boy's waist, grasping the slick fabric in both hands. He sank gradually to his knees, peeling back the skin-tight garment until it pooled at Duo's ankles. Smirking at the lack of underwear, he tossed the discarded pants at the nearest mattress. The American twitched slightly, the tuft of his braid sweeping the under-curve of his buttocks. He lowered his chin, letting his head rest loosely against the wall.

Behind him, he could hear the rumple of denim, the soft flutter of a black shirt. The Japanese boy returned to crouch behind him, pausing to squeeze the soft white flesh of his thighs. Strong hands slid upward to clench his buttocks, squeezing rhythmically before pressing them firmly apart. Duo flinched violently at the slick pressure of Heero's tongue, yelping softly as teeth grazed his right cheek. He writhed helplessly, moaning hoarsely as the boy found his mark, drilling obscenely into Duo's body.

"Heero!" the braided boy pleaded, squirming about uncontrollably. "Y-yamete! I can't--" The Japanese boy leapt to his feet, backhanding the startled American.

"You've never said 'no' to anyone," Heero hissed furiously, fingers tracing the hot, flushed contour of Duo's face. "And you're sure as hell not gonna say it to me!" The braided boy winced at the dull roar of tearing fabric, eyes flying open as the scrap of t-shirt brushed his lips.

Holy shit! Either Heero's a closet S&M freak, or that Baka actually thinks he's raping me! Itai! Kitto he didn't have to sinch it so tight! Feels like my mouth's full of wet cotton...I don't mind a little bondage, but that gag...I LIKE to make n-nnn!

Duo stiffened as Heero's fingers penetrated him, stretching him almost impatiently. He gasped softly as they jabbed the inner wall, deliciously aware of the cock pressed insistently against him. The American rocked against the intruding digits, groaning as he imagined being penetrated by that hard, hot, length, his own sex twitching at the fantasy. Heero yanked his fingers free, and Duo flushed at the sound of him moistening his own flesh.

Wow, you really are the perfect soldier, the braided boy snickered. If all else fails, improvise. Heh, I don't think spit's gonna cut it this time. You're in an awful hurry to nail me to the wall...

Duo's eyes squeezed shut at the pressure of Heero's tip against his opening, one callused palm clenching his shoulder. A low, keening whine escaped his lips as the Japanese boy thrust, his bound hands curling into trembling claws. The Wing pilot hissed sharply as Duo's fingernails raked unconsciously at his belly, his mouth falling to rest against the boy's shoulder. Hot moist breath shuddered against his skin, growing increasingly erratic with each thrust.

Glazed cobalt eyes fixed on the boy's braid, grasping it in one hand, and snapping the black rubber-band. He unraveled the sweat-slick length with an almost panicked urgency, blanketing Duo's flesh. Unable to bear the sensation, the American jerked his head, tossing the bulk of his hair across his right shoulder. Duo mewled plaintively, paint-streaked chestnut rippling with each beat of the Japanese boy's hips.

Heero's right hand snaked out to grasp his partner's sex, eliciting a raw moan of gratitude. The wing pilot's fist encircled him roughly, his thumb closing hard over the tip, jerking angrily at the rigid flesh. Duo's body arched repeatedly, straining into the tight channel of the other boys' fingers. He moaned noisily behind the damp gag, breath ragged, moisture trickling along his chin.

"Let me...tell you something," the Japanese boy whispered fiercely. "The Duo...I know could..never love a prick like that! Masaka!" Heero's hips snapped slowly now, delivering sharp, furious thrusts. "And do you know why?" The American groaned helplessly in response, his head flying back in a mass of unbound chestnut. The Wing pilot grasped his chin in one hand, leaning in to rasp hotly against his ear. "He's got too much self respect for that."

Heero's fingers squeezed a merciless counterpoint to the slow pulse of his hips, until the low, rich voice half-screamed behind the gag. Duo's features contorted with release, Heero's fingers still pumping his slippery flesh. The Wing pilot joined him shortly, spilling himself deep within his partner's body.

Marking me, Shinigami mused, sinking to the carpet in a tangle of sweat-soaked limbs. He was vaguely aware of Heero's fingers, jostling his bound wrists, freeing them with a metallic click. He drew them unconsciously to his chest, massaging them to return circulation. Behind him, the Japanese boy fumbled with the make-shift gag, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor. The American draped himself across the dark-haired boy, nestling dazedly against his chest in a wet sticky heap.

"Duo--" Heero rasped cautiously, his tone sharp with anxiety.

"Nani?" the American questioned softly, half buried beneath the fall of damp chestnut.

"Gomen, I--Duo, you're bleeding...."

"Huh? Oh, that. Yeah, I figured I might be."

"Duo!?" The violet-eyed pilot sighed noisily as Heero jostled him about, lifting his chin into the light.

"Look, man, I hate to ruin it for ya," Shinigami whispered, grinning rakishly in the lamplight. "But that wasn't rape."

"Kisama! Duo no baka, what the hell do you call what I just did to you! Restraining you, gagging you, using you without your permission?"

"I call it one hell of a goo~d time." The American winked suggestively, locking his arms about Heero's neck and settling in for a kiss. "But only 'cause it was you."

"Hai. Only me," the Japanese boy repeated, fisting a lock of Duo's omnipresent hair. "Mine," he announced fiercely, cupping the heart-shaped face with one palm. "Mine, and nobody else's."

"Ryoukai" the Deathscythe pilot quipped playfully, dazed by the implications of Heero's claim on him. It's what you always wanted ne? What Solo swore you'd never have... Solo...K'so, you idiot!!. That boy's got a list of "Things keeping me from Duo," and Heero's # 1, 2 and 3! Shit!!

"I hope so," Heero replied almost menacingly, stroking the plane of Duo's face. "Because if I catch that asshole touching you again--"

"I know," he grinned uneasily. "Omae o korosu."

On to part twelve. Back to part ten.