Giving In
by Sparcck

I'm hunting him.

We're running out of time at this school. I don't know, I can just feel it; it's this nasty twisting in my belly that tells me something big is coming.

So I'm hunting him. Before it's too late and he slips away--

Don't think it, Maxwell. Don't think the rest of that sentence.

But I do, of course. And I double back on my thoughts, and my mind constructs a perfect little freeze frame of him, bloody and broken, smoke rising from his still body.

So I'm hunting him.

He catches my eye from across the cafeteria and I grin mindlessly. He just stares, something in his eyes flaring up and making my belly tighten, and the anxious feeling I've been having all morning slithers into my groin. My tongue darts out to wet suddenly parched lips and he narrows his eyes and looks away.

I almost have him.

Maybe something changes in my eyes when I think about the look I saw on his face that night, because he's looking at me again but it's different, deeper.

I remember calling his name, the dizzying ecstasy that sped through me when I saw the shape of my name form on his lips, the way his eyes darkened as he watched me touch myself, the way his head arched back when he touched himself.

Then, it was about something else. And he was so beautiful, he is so beautiful.

What's wrong with me?

I have to recapture the feeling of the hunt, of the manipulation, of what I know the payoff will be.

As I stand I try to scent him, discern his unique smell of gun oil and soap. I remember the first time I stalked him to each class, memorizing his daily routine, the first time I caught the odor of lust on him as I stood quietly outside the stall he was showering in, always at night when no one else was around.

I knew he was thinking about me, could smell it rolling off of him. I picked up his towel, rubbed my nose in it, ran it down my throat, down my chest, marked it, and felt my heart thud heavily against my ribs when I thought of how it would then mark him.

I could smell myself on him the next morning when I ran into him before his first class.

He knew I had been there, I think. Knew, but couldn't prove it.

I'm still grinning on the outside as I gather up my books, toss one more glance at Heero, and make my way out into the bright, bright afternoon sun.

I don't want to leave this school, our third school together in as many months. I don't want the hunt to end, because it'll mean that we'll change, I'll change. I'm not sure if I'm ready to win yet.

I stop walking, a few students looking oddly at me as I glare, uncharacteristically, at the sidewalk, my knuckles white around the books in my grasp.

My reasons for hunting him are a problem: I think of him as he was that night, exposed in front of me, stripping me of my own shields; the look on his face wasn't generic fantasy, and I let myself have that picture of him, straining towards me, gasping my name.

But I reassure myself that the hunt -- the idea of the hunt, the thrill of making him want me -- makes up for it. It doesn't matter that he may already want me. He doesn't realize it, and it's what's in his head that's important. That's what I'll have.

My mind forms an unbidden picture of Heero, my brain doing this skip thing it does sometimes, overlapping thoughts and images behind my eyes until I get a little turned around for a minute. Like time stops and folds and I can poke a hole straight through and see past, present, and future all at once.

I see him: laughing in the heat of battle as he touches himself, face twisted with agonizing pleasure while he stares down the barrel of a gun at me, eyes narrowed with concentration as he lays in a bath of his own blood and gore, features blank and dead even as he approaches me from the direction that I just came.

I twitch and all the images narrow to a small point before shattering, and I'm left staring across a matter of a few feet into a pair of stern, calculating blue eyes.

Time glitch.

"Stop it," he says harshly.

I open my mouth to say something; instead my hand lifts to brush across the front of his shirt, pressing against his belly, instinctively trying to mark him at every chance I get.

He sucks in a low breath and I feel his stomach puff out against my hand.

I want him, I need him.

I jerk my hand back and grin lopsidedly.

He grabs my wrist with bruising force, speaking very softly, very slowly. "I said, stop."

My smile hardens to a diamond edge. I'm in control here. "So?"

He drops my wrist and turns sharply, continuing across the quad.

This is how we've been living for three months. He's going to crack soon; we're going to crack soon. I just want to make sure it's together.

I said, stop.

I don't want him like that.

My smile doesn't quite reach my eyes.


My knuckles rest against the cheap wood of his dorm room door, and I flush at my apprehension. This is the last night of the hunt, cut short but still in my control. My prey is caged; all I have to do now is calm him, reassure him, take him.

I push very slightly and it creaks open, the door latch not quite having caught the frame.

"Who's there?" His head snaps up, and when he sees it's me, his eyes shutter something in them, something I don't have enough time to analyze before it's gone.

"I've come to say goodbye." It's not what I meant to say, but once I'm going I can't seem to stop. "I've got a bad feeling about this one."

I lounge back against the doorjamb, pushing the door open all the way. I have to recover for a second, straighten things out in my head, and I revert to mission talk. Got to make him come to me, make him feel comfortable, and then I can snap him up. "OZ's transport plan is good; they'll be taking two routes: by air and by land."

He just looks at me, his lithe body twisted around in the chair. The glow from his laptop illuminates his face and throws the angles of his high cheekbones into sharp relief.

"Heero," I say softly, drawing out the last syllable of his name. I can hardly believe how perfect he is, a sculpture--

It's probably been less than a second, but I curse that tiny moment of reflection and go on. I have to bait him, have to get him to ask me, to need me. "Could you take the air route?" I ask, my face the study of seriousness. "I'll fight them on the ground."

His body is tense, humming with energy, ready to shoot off of his seat. Almost there.

I take a step back out the door. "We'll lose unless we have our own plan."

The tension in his body rising higher and higher, and I see his pupils dilate and constrict into small points. I smile, take another step back, and for a second we're both very very still, locked together.

I know the instant I have him, the instant before he's mine.

Suddenly he's up out of his chair and standing in front of me, his body language arranged in a veiled invitation.

The moment I cross the threshold I know something's off, but I let it happen, let him think he's in control. I'm the bait here; it's nothing less than what I expected.

In one motion he has the door closed and me pressed against it, belly first.   He holds me head against the door, both my arms twisted up behind me, and leans close, speaking in low, threatening tones.

"I said, stop it. I meant it."

"Obviously," I say dryly, wincing when he grinds my face into the grainy wood.

"I mean it."

"Yeah, fine, you mean it. I heard you." I twitch my hands in his grasp, and my fingers slide over his wrist. "Now can you stop manhandling the equipment? Deathsycthe has very fine controls."

He holds me for a second longer and I feel him inhale against me, his ribs expanding, his nostrils flaring against my hair.

He's scenting me now.

No, can't be.

I press subtly back into him, my spine curving along the slope of his chest.

Suddenly he steps back, cold air flooding the space between us. I turn to face him and I feel my belly clench. Something's not right about this, about us, about the mission tomorrow. I felt it before but passed it off, and now the thought comes back, freezing me silent.

He raises a hand slowly, a look of intense concentration on his face. His fingers sort of collide with my chest, and his gaze shifts to look at the picture of his skin against my black shirt.

Almost like he's marking me.

But no. No. Can't be.

I watch my own hand come up to grasp his, holding it to my chest. It's the perfect picture, pale and bronze skin intertwined against a black void.

My face twists as I yank him towards me. I'm in control; we do this my way.

My hands are in his hair, squeezing fistfuls of the brown silk, holding him stationary as my mouth harshly takes his. Our first kiss is brutal, demanding, and I taste blood when teeth crush lips together.

He struggles against me, not to end the kiss but to control it, and suddenly everything slips just a bit out of my grasp, the world tilting and spinning on an odd angle.

I let myself go, the air thick in my lungs, Heero's mouth hot against mine, his arms rigid under my hands. It's a quiet struggle, the room charged and pulsing, the two of us locked in an embrace.

He slams me back against the door and the sound of the door groaning under my weight brings reality crashing back into focus.

He's very strong, physically stronger than I am, but adrenaline and experience give me what I need to push him off balance, sending him reeling back a few steps. He's panting, his lips wet and bruised, but his face is still hard, unrelenting.

He will give in to this. To me. He doesn't have a choice.

I launch myself at him and we go down in a tangle of limbs and hair and questing fingers and mouths. My teeth clamp onto his earlobe and give it a sharp tug. His hands worm their way under the back of my shirt, large, square palms flattened against my spine.

So I flip us, pull his arms from behind me and pin them to his sides in a bear hug, my legs wrapping around his knees, effectively immobilizing him. He fights back for a minute, until I run my tongue up his throat and all the breath comes flooding from his lungs. He gasps for air, my arms squeezing tightly around his solar plexus, keeping him from taking a good breath.

"Give in?" I purr into his ear, licking along the shell of it, swiping into the sharp dip just above the lobe.

He looks quizzically at me, the expression almost comic on the simple planes of his face.

Then it changes into grim determination and he flexes his elbows, breaking the circle of my arms, his hands coming up to catch the tie in my hair, slipping his fingers under it and giving it a sharp pull, snapping it.

I rear back, my hands going to my hair, trying to catch it before it could fall free.

He tries to block me, but as strong as he is, I'm faster and I quickly pull the mass into a loose knot, pushing him away and scrambling to my knees.

I smile, nastily, I know, I can't help it, and it stops him, a brief flash of confusion crossing his face. I stand slowly and he moves with me.

That's right.

I slide my hands under my own shirt and across my belly, pulling it up above my navel. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, thrusting out my hips, stepping closer to him; I can feel how hot he is even from this distance. I push my shirt higher, my nipples hardening to small points when the cool air hits my flushed skin. My muscles tense, expecting to feel fingers on me.

Heat is rolling off of his body in a wave like that off a mech's superheated armor after a hard battle. But he doesn't move, and, frustrated, I open my eyes.

He's staring at me: not at my skin, not at my hands, but at my face, his gaze burning into mine.

Time folds for a moment again, and I'm horrified to feel myself waver slightly.

I see him, two images interlocked with each other: in Howard's garage, hands clutching a soldering iron in a tight fist even as his body shudders with release when his hips jerk and he arches his head back against his Gundam's exposed frame; he doesn't take his eyes off of mine, even though I'm naked and writhing and all but begging him to look at me.

He reaches out, through the vision, punctures time and takes my wrist, still holding my eyes as he draws my hands away from myself and to the hem of his own shirt.

I watch as my hands fumble to get his clothes off, even as his hands work steadily on the small buttons of my overshirt.

And then, suddenly, inevitably, we're both naked and I can't stop my hands from wandering all over his body.

Time fragments again.

I tug him gently towards me then turn us both so he's backed up against his desk, thighs meeting the edge and pressing very slightly so that he has to lean back, going up on the balls of his feet.


I watch his eyes as my hands move down his body, and then I transfer my gaze to follow them, memorizing everything.

A scar below his right nipple, the thin line very very white against the caramel aureole. The slope of flesh where his ribs end much more shallow than mine, padded with thicker muscle. A number tattooed on the left ridge of his pelvic bone, black ink still vivid, the edges raised very slightly. A line of hair running from his navel to flare out straight and shining at the base of his cock, the downy hairs of childhood marred by a thin peppering of darker ones.

I trace the same line down my own abdomen and his hands grab and hold the edge of the desk as I reach my own cock, hard and full and so different from his.

I run my fingers over his cock in a mirror of what I'm doing to my own, mapping the differences, feeling like I did when I was becoming acquainted with my own body all those years ago.

He's heavy in my hand, his foreskin barely able to contain the pinked, wet head that's trying to peek through. My smile is soft and wondering as I tease it further back and watch with fascination as he has to still his hips from moving, knuckles white against the cracked brown desk.

I have no memory of parents, no memory of people who may have had me circumcised, but I know why I'm bare: people on L2 were under the impression that a cut male had a greater chance of surviving the plague, an infection that lasted years and didn't care who it took with it.

And here, in front of me, is a boy who is probably the strongest person I know, scarred and hurting, but still impossibly alive and fighting and this little sheath over his virile, proud cock is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I rub the heads of our cocks together, squeezing them both in my curled fists, and the desk gives way under the strain of Heero's hands, splintering and cutting into the flesh of his palms. He doesn't seem to notice, instead he grasps my arms and walks me back to the bed; we sink onto it, the tangy smell of blood mingling with sweat and lust and Heero's own scent, one of war and death and life and it's making me feel dizzy with desire.

Hunter. Hunted. It's getting more and more difficult to tell us apart, which is which, but I can take control again.

I swiftly turn us again and I let my mouth traverse the territory I've memorized with my hands: adding an angry red indentation of teeth just under that long white scar, licking down the hill of his ribs, smoothing the bump of the brand on his pelvis with my lips, inhaling those dark hairs and their more adult scent, down, down to that uncut cock, standing out from silky brown hairs.

I wrap my hand around the base of it and watch as the foreskin pulls under my fingers, exposing more of his shining shaft, pure almost, protected. As he can protect--

I can't take my eyes off of him, watch as my tongue comes out to lick away the first drops of seed at the tip, running along the vein on the underside, feeling it jerk and sway and Heero's whole body stretches taut.

There's more.

After knowing this, knowing this part of him, this part of him that seems to be the source of his strength, I have to know more. I have to have more.

I nip gently at his sac, feeling them roll cool and damp against my teeth, and a strangled sound escapes his throat.

I let my lips rest there a moment, waiting to see if he will stop me.

Of course, he doesn't.

Because. There's more.

I let my mouth trail down the baby-soft, hairless skin between his testicles and his entrance, my tongue darting out to lap gently at it. His hips jerk slightly and I feel his thighs tighten under my palms. "It's okay," I whisper, little puffs of air raising small bumps on the smooth skin. I swipe my tongue into the crease beneath his sac. "I can stop."

He grunts and lifts his hips, nudging my forehead with his erection. I smile slightly against him and he breathes out, the word "No" drifting and just barely reaching my ears.

I go back to where I stopped, smoothing over the patch of skin with the pads of two fingers. It's so still down here, this dark little space between my mouth and his flesh. I inhale deeply, taking in his musk, a smell that now, separated from its usual association with war, is pure male, all Heero.

His hand drifts down to my hair, his fingers gently stroking just the edges of my bangs, not making an attempt to hold or guide, just not able to not touch.

Oh, there's more.

Give in?

I hear the echo of myself from earlier and I lift my head to look at him, my lips parting to ask him, ready to smile in triumph, to laugh with release, but his voice stops me.

"Duo," he breathes and the sound is rough, laden with emotion, and it propels me to meet his eyes as I slide my hands under his ass, lifting him gently.

Give in?

His pupils are huge, the black growing larger and larger until they have engulfed almost all of the blue discs of his eyes. I feel like I'm falling into him and I can't look away as I spread his legs a little wider.

He moves with me, tilting his hips up, and suddenly everything changes, the world sliding just a little more askew. This small act of trust makes my eyes sting and all now what I'm doing becomes almost sacred. I forget what I was going to say, forget why; I feel like I've never touched another boy before, feel like I'm discovering this for the first time, exploring the different textures of skin as my tongue travels down towards his entrance.

Now I spread his cheeks open and the sight of that little pucker, tightening and relaxing convulsively, is almost too much for me. I touch it lightly with the pad of my thumb, circling and massaging, and his hands drop to the bed, clenching fistfuls of the sheets.

It's darker still here, and infinitely more quiet, and his scent surrounds me. I'm in awe of this, of what's happening; I breathe out against him and I watch the ring of muscle open slightly as though it were a secret passage built just for my touch. I want to worship him, devour him, and I've never felt anything like this before.

Give in?

I know if I looked at him I would see the question in his eyes.

He's trapped me good, and here I thought I was the hunter.

I hesitate, my mouth hovering over his entrance.

For a moment everything is still, waiting, we're both holding our breath. This feeling, this act; two fifteen year old killers, hurting and hurtful, now almost one body, intertwined. I see my hands, pale fingers splayed against burnished flesh, and I, no longer burdened by the thought of trapping him, of getting him, I need to know, I need to know him.

Electricity seems to arc between us: my mouth is tingling, the fine hairs guarding his entrance bristle against my lips, and then I lean forward to complete the circuit and it's--

Oh, God. Heero.

He tastes like nothing I've ever tasted before, and the small, pulsing muscle is smooth and slick under my tongue. I feel more than hear his sharp intake of air and I probe further as he hisses it out through his teeth, opening himself to me.

He'll know me. He'll know me and I don't care -- better, I want him to. I'm in him.

I nuzzle my nose into the flesh I have just mapped, inhaling him -- us -- and I pull my tongue out to make slow, deliberate circles around his entrance before plunging back inside again, deeper, harder; this time his body jerks and he lets out a soft sound and I feel like I need to get closer, closer, Heero.

Inside, he is soft and firm, musky and tangy, salty and sharp and sweet: always opposites, just like the boy himself. I crook my tongue up almost playfully, pushing on the inner ridge of muscle, and I slide one hand up to his, clutching desperately at his fingers.

He latches onto me and squeezes as his body twists on the sheets.

I can't help undulating my own hips, my arousal throbbing, trapped between my thighs and my belly and I moan into him, thrilling in the shudder that runs through him. I can barely think, the taste of him -- how could anything be this good -- clouding my mind. My tongue slides from him and now I'm sucking softly on that little hole, trying to get everything I can from him before--

I stop for a moment, frozen, my mouth still on him.

A flash of heat and anger suffuses me as I shove aside that thought violently, struggling to get myself under control again as I stab my tongue back up into him. His belly spasms and he sits half-up, probably sensing the barely restrained desperation in my renewed actions.

I make a keening noise when he drags my head up, pulling my body along to rest on top of his.

He doesn't make a sound when he kisses me and gently laps at my lips, the roof of my mouth, runs his tongue behind my lower lip. I know he's tasting himself and the thought makes me impossibly harder.

"Heero," I say raggedly. "You-you're-- Are you--"

"Fine," he replies softly and he turns us over so he's on top of me, his hips grinding down into mine, his teeth digging onto my shoulder as I throw my head back, gasping. "You?" he adds after a moment of suckling at my skin.

"Fine," I rasp out. "Heero, god, what is this--"

He holds my face in his hands and everything changes again; things slip into each other, interlocking, finding the pieces that were missing and welding them in place.


He rubs against me slowly, deliberately, and I feel his arousal sliding hot and wet against my own.

"Mine," he says again and I nod desperately, thrusting against him wildly.

I know him, and the truth is so sharp it hurts.

Now I feel one of his hands sliding into my hair, cradling the back of my skull while his other hand drifts down my chest to rest over my erratically beating heart.

The look in his eyes. He doesn't say anything, but the unspoken syllable is implicit and I don't want to see it, don't want to hear him say it. This wasn't supposed to happen. We don't have time for this, we don't, in all honestly, have the capacity for this.

So how is it that we foolishly -- and Heero Yuy is not foolish, he is calculating and calm and in control -- think we can do this and get away with it?

But I can't look away, and he holds my gaze as he travels down my body, charting it as I have his, recording every twitch, every muscle strain, every scar and hair. He stops at my cock and I have to close my eyes when a small, pink tongue peeks out of his mouth and touches the tip of it. I can't see this, please, I can't feel this, it's too much.

Before I realize what's happening, he engulfs me, swallows me whole, and I surge up, crying out, curling my upper body over his head and clutching at his back, digging furrows along his spine with the pads of my fingers.

He grunts, a familiar sound that will never hold quite the same meaning for me, and a laugh bubbles out of my throat. I try to choke it back, but I can't and what comes out is sort of a half-laugh, half-sigh, with his name mixed in somewhere.

He pauses, and I swear I feel his lips curl upwards around me.

I can't stop myself from thrusting once into his warm, wet mouth, but he grabs my hips to still them before I do it again. I can't stop the whimper that worms its way past my lips. I can't stop at all, can't stop.

My body thrashes helplessly on the bed, unhinged. I need to anchor myself, need the security of him. So I try to guide my drifting limbs slowly sideways, angling myself to the left and down and I scrabble for his hips, my fingers catching somewhere around his navel and pulling frantically, bringing his lower body up towards my head.

Heero, somehow, understands what I want and he lifts his head away to press soft kisses over my cock and into the hair that curls wildly at its base, as he slides himself up and around me, throwing one leg over my shoulders so he's straddling my chest backwards.

His erection bumps my chin and something bursts in my chest. I laugh breathlessly -- pure laughter that I haven't felt in years -- and then it dissolves into a moan when he scrapes his teeth lightly down my cock and squeezes his lips together, creating a suction that is so good it's almost painful.

I scoot up a little and stretch as far as I can, spreading his cheeks again with shaking hands, and there's that pucker, wet and shining and ready for me, and I greedily take it, claim it, running the flat of my tongue over it firmly.

My cock is released from his mouth with a wet pop and he runs trembling hands over my thighs, commanding, pleading, demanding, "Inside me."

I suck in a lungful of air and plunge my tongue into him with no hesitation, as far as I can.

He lets out a hoarse shout and his hands tighten on my limbs, digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise.

He takes me back into his mouth, takes me all the way in, sliding me possessively into his throat until I feel his lips against my pelvis.

I butt my head forwards into him, stab my tongue in further, my muscles spasm in painful pleasure and freezing heat shoots into my belly.

Wedging my face into the cleft of his ass -- I almost can't believe the trust and the intimacy of this moment, it makes me feel heady and weightless -- I let my hands slide between his thigh, capturing his erection, stroking in time to the thrusting of my tongue inside him.

In time to the rhythmic pumping of his lips around my cock, in time to the clenching of his inner muscles around my tongue, and the small, tight circles his hips are moving in.

There has to be something one step further, one step more into a place where I'll dissolve into him.

Then I feel him shift as he pulls my legs up until my feet are flat on the bed and, without breaking the rhythm of his mouth, he unerringly finds my own entrance, sliding two fingers slowly inside. He swallows around my cock, the muscles of his throat contracting around me, and fire races through my veins.

I can hear, feel, taste his heart thumping, no longer the heartbeat of a soldier, but that of a lover, and I know it matches mine.

He's knows me.

I can't think this. Heero, please don't--don't let me think this, please, don't-- don't stop.. Just don't stop, Heero, don't stop.

My hands move faster on him, his body, his arousal, his entrance slick with sweat and saliva and my hips jerk up in time to the two thick fingers in my own hole, and I've never felt so filled up, never realized how empty I was before this.

I'm breaking apart as I breach the atmosphere, but I'm not afraid to see myself falling up, away from earth.

He's falling with me, his body moving jerkily and small sounds vibrating along my cock from deep in his chest.

The vibrating moves up and unfurls through my limbs, and my whole body rocks, shuddering and I feel like my flesh is being burned away by the heat of him on top of me.

"Heero," I sob out against him, into him and he pulls me out of his mouth, rubbing my cock against his cheek.

"Duo," he echoes, his voice harsh, his hot breath washing over me. His voice is unsteady ands his breath catches as his muscles start to seize and spasm. "Come," he says roughly, gently, and I hear him in my head rather than out loud. "Now. Come. With me. Come--"

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, Heero.

Something breaks inside of me -- or him, or us both, because I can't tell us apart anymore -- and he only needs to suck me back into his mouth once before my back arches forwards at the same time I feel him cry out around me.

I watch the ring of muscle convulse violently, feel his belly suddenly suck inwards and his warm seed spills out, covering my hands, my chest, and my head snaps back as I come at the same moment and he swallows me, seems to pull my soul out and swallow that, too.

And we're so high up I can't see the ground, spinning and feeling and this is so right like nothing has ever been right before; I can see us, myself, crawling inside his skin or maybe I open mine and he nestles in here with me and the stars are so bright here, exploding across my eyes and my skin...


And just as suddenly, everything is still again. He is heavy and reassuring on top of me, inside of me, all around me, as I slide back to reality.

I massage him slowly, nuzzling into the soft flesh below his entrance, soothing it with my tongue as the muscles there relax back to normal. I can feel his wetness drying onto my skin, and I feel like he's branded me with himself.

I become aware of him lapping at the last traces of my seed sliding down my softening shaft, his fingers still moving gently in me. Bringing each other back to earth, together.

I want to cry, I want to laugh, I want to never leave this space, this little space that is still so soft and dark and safe.

He rolls off me and onto his back, his arm snaking around my calf. I turn on my side, grasping one of his ankles and pulling him close.

We lay like that, curving around each other, for so long that I lose track. I curl into him and rest my cheek on the hollow below his knee, and I feel him do the same, one arm drifting around my hip, the other firmly around my leg, his fingers stroking the juncture of my knee and thigh.

Give in.

"Heero," I whisper hoarsely and I don't expect an answer, not really, so as I feel myself falling to sleep in the ensuing silence, I'm not sure if the smile I can feel curving his lips against my shin is just my imagination, and honestly, I don't care.

Romantically, foolishly, I like to think that I can feel our hearts beating together, off-kilter, just one person, neither of us Heero Yuy or Duo Maxwell, and I feel like I... I could be like... we could just...