A/N: Song for this part is Ryan Adams' Harder Now That It's Over. Final part - thanks to all those people who've read this little piece of what was meant to be smutty fun!

Part Six

Harder Now That It's Over

The bus was slow and the engine made a noise that was like a wounded animal at every damn corner the driver took. It was full of maids, gardeners, waiters and the other employees of the large resorts that resided on the beach of the Gulf of Mexico and was hotter than hell. Heero had secured a seat by one of the large windows but it did little to cool him down in the stifling heat, the breeze barely flowing through the vehicle.

This was the last bus. He'd been travelling for nearly three weeks and unable to afford anything more than buses, he'd been forced to take a long and unpleasant journey. He'd slept on benches, slept when he damn could and used what little cash he'd acquired from a few months of work in a shitty auto shop for minimum wage secured by a Parole Officer. It had been a harder damn three months than the three years he'd been locked up behind bars. That he was a free man, that he could walk along streets and stay in shitty half way houses but had no means of making the journey he wanted to make. And no means of contacting Duo.

Jail had been like juvie in many ways – but in many ways worse than juvie as in juvie he'd had Duo and the stolen moments in the shower and the cleaning closet and those moments when Duo was sucking his dick or had him pressed against a wall, thrusting their hips together until they found sticky release. Heero found he could deal with jail – the routine, the blandness of the space, the small cell and the restrictions even without Duo as he had that damn stupid dream still.

He'd made sure they gave him that piece of the magazine back. That it belonged to him and he had it on him when he was arrested and he needed it. Somehow they let him keep it. He supposed it was because unlike his belt, unlike his shoelaces or any other items he had on him, he couldn't turn a small scrap of paper into a weapon. And he could keep it. Fuck if they really cared.

That had been the first thing he'd done in his cell after meeting his cellmate – putting that picture onto the wall. His cellmate had the top bunk but Heero wasn't going to bitch about the concept of top and bottom. The thought had made him think of his time with Duo and those teasing conversations and every thought like that had stung so much that first week. His cellmate didn't protest as he put that image on the wall beside his bunk so that he could look at it lying on his bed, securing it to the wall with gum as he had nothing else.

Wufei was quiet and it turned out he was a better cellmate than he could have expected – he read on his bunk, meditated, and spoke only when necessary. He didn't take shit from the other prisoners as it seemed he'd proven himself once and that was enough – that the other prisoners had once thought the young man of Chinese descent was somehow an easy mark but his calm demeanour had been a rouse.

It had taken nearly the second year of his time in jail for Heero to discover that Wufei had been charged with murder and he would never be getting out.

The first week had been damn hard, pushed around and getting used to the new restrictions and routines on his life until the first item of mail arrived for him. He never got time to say a true goodbye to Duo – never got time to say not to do something dumb as fuck as try and contact him as that would inevitably lead to him being arrested. They knew he had an accomplice but Heero had not revealed anything in those interrogation rooms – never said a word about Duo and he was glad he was in a small rundown town with a shitty police station. He was charged and stood trial for the one robbery, not everything they'd ever done – his caution proven worthwhile as there was no other evidence to link him to any other crime and there was no real evidence about his accomplice. He lived with the hope that they never caught up with Duo those first weeks. It wasn't until the first postcard arrived that he was certain Duo was out of the reach of the law.

It didn't say anything on it – and Heero was vaguely disappointed that there wasn't a message even while thanking fuck that Duo was being sensible enough not to send him something that had obvious information on it. The postcard only had the words Santa Fe written with images of the city contained inside those letters and nothing else. More followed. Other places in New Mexico – each week one arriving diligently, his name and the address of the prison written in familiar capital letters as though each letter was written out carefully like a prayer.

It was months later that he received the first ones from Mexico. The final one from American soil came from El Paso until the next one he received came from Cuidad Juarez. When that one arrived, with the words in bold script over an image of the city, Heero knew he'd damn made it, and he carefully put it up on the wall alongside the other postcards and spent his nights tracing them with his fingers as though touching something that Duo had fucking touched would bring them closer together.

In moments of doubt, when three weeks passed between postcards or when the other prisoners gave him shit for his postcard collection, he'd think that maybe Duo had met someone else in fucking Mexico and on those nights he'd ball up his fists and stare at the bottom of Wufei's bunk and try not to punch the wall or the bunk or something or someone. Then the next postcard would arrive. They soon became non-descript, the locations no longer relevant – he got pictures of alligators and palm trees that said nothing about where Duo currently was and it was then that Heero guessed he'd settled in one place. And it was then he'd think that maybe he was there – maybe he was at that particular damn beach.

Now he was finding that out – stuck on the bus that was far too fucking hot, next to a woman dressed in a maid uniform for one of the large resort complexes and leaning his head against the dusty glass of the window and looking at the busy roads and the crazy driving going on around him. He tried to imagine if three years would've changed Duo.

Heero hadn't changed. Or maybe he had. Maybe he wasn't so angry – maybe his temperament had been helped by Wufei who taught him the art of meditation. He'd spent time reading, doing the things he'd never done as a child or teenager – denied those things by constant displacement and the constant changes in locations that had come with being the son of a man who acted as a hit man. Or whatever Odin was to him.

He wondered if Duo would have kept his braid. If he would still smile easily. Would still tell him to damn relax and not to think too much. He wondered what his lips tasted like, if he was still damn sensitive in that spot on his neck, whether he would still willingly get on his knees and suck him off like he used to. Heero ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, pushing it away from his eyes and continued to look out at the traffic. He supposed what he really wondered was whether he still loved him.

The bus finally stopped near to the heart of the tourist area, the employees of various resorts exiting and Heero grabbed his small backpack with what was left of his worldly possessions and followed out into the searing heat breathing in the toxic fumes of the bus before it pulled away, taking more employees to different resorts. He brought out a pair of cheap gas station sunglasses from a pocket in his backpack and secured them over his eyes before making his way towards the beach to walk along it to find that particular resort, removing the image from the pocket of his shorts to see the logo of the place one more time before putting it away for what hopefully would be the final time. Considering all the time that he'd spent looking at the fucking image, he did not need to check again but somehow, standing on the sidewalk under the hot sun over three years after that day where Duo had thrown it at him, he suddenly felt overly cautious again.

Huh. Maybe some of his old paranoia was resurfacing. He felt for a moment like he wanted to discuss that with his cellmate and Wufei would tell him how to banish the thought and breathe but he was so far away from that now. And he was finally where he wanted to be.

Heero walked towards the beach and made his way to the sand where he removed his sneakers, the cheap copied versions of Converse, and removed his socks, stepping for the first time onto warm white sand. It was a sensation he'd never felt before – never been on a warm beach as he looked out towards a turquoise blue ocean. It did seem damn like the image from that magazine. It felt oddly surreal. Heero walked down that beach, walking past the vast resort complexes that stood side by side, each one bigger and more blocky than the last. The buildings generally weren't too pretty but they all contained thousands of rooms and he passed each, walking through the vacationers – the mix of couples, of families and groups of friends.

The resort that was featured in that damn piece of paper was all that Heero had – that he had to guess that was where Duo would be as otherwise he had no fucking idea where in the world he would be. The thought of never finding him seemed disturbing, created a lump in the back of his throat and made him feel something he didn't want to contemplate. That the one person he had in the whole damn world had abandoned him. The person whose last words to him had been those whispered syllables against his lips.

"I love you, 'Ro."

Three years was a long time not to be with someone – a fucking long time to hold onto a memory – and it made him doubt that Duo would have. He'd been on the outside – not in a jail cell where all he had was memories and postcards and reading books and fucking meditating. Duo had people and sunshine. Maybe he just sent the postcards outta some guilt that he'd left Heero. That was all the fuck it could be.

He continued walking until he found the resort and walked towards the spot that the picture had been taken from and feeling an idiot for the hopeful thought that Duo might be damn there – that he might just be sitting on a sun lounger waiting – as that was a stupid fucking idea. Instead, he saw tourists with skin reddening in the heat of the Mexican sun being delivered cocktails by bored looking waiters dressed in really bad bright white outfits and it was all very wrong from the image he had in his head. For a second, he thought he'd just walk away, go back and get a bus, find somewhere else to go and find someone else and maybe fall in love again… But fuck if he could. Heero had never been an open person, always taught to be closed off and quiet and never let anyone in too much and the only one who had ever got past those defences was Duo. Fuck if anyone else would be able to.

But he couldn't stay where he was. Too conspicuous or something and he turned to walk away when he saw him. For a second he thought he was going damn insane as Duo sure as hell did not dress like that – in a million fucking years Duo would not be in a white polo shirt and white pressed shorts and white tennis shoes, the only black a belt, and he even wore a white cap to keep the intense sun from his eyes. Yet it was him – yeah a little older, a bit more tanned but the braid still trailed out from underneath the back of the hat and he still walked with that ever so slight swagger even though he was carrying a tray of pink and orange cocktails, small umbrellas inside them. Heero watched him deliver those cocktails to sunburnt tourists and didn't dare get his attention but maybe he was staring too damn much or something – his eyes had always been too fucking intense – because then Duo looked up as he placed a bottle of water down next to something that could've been a tequila sunrise and their eyes met.

He could see the moment of shock, quickly followed by that of recognition and then Duo was straightening up, swiping empty cocktail glasses and approaching him.

Heero didn't know what to say. Shit. Words were never his forte – too many times he'd been told in his life to not speak and not give shit away by Odin. Just tell people he was a good dad and they were a happy family so when confronted with Duo for the first time in years, he still didn't know what to say.

"Heero?"

It was weird to hear his name said like that – he'd nearly forgotten how it sounded when it came out of Duo's mouth. How good it sounded. How only he could make it sound.

"Duo," he said, the only thing he could think of to say.

Unable to have some big beautiful emotional reunion on the beach as Heero had imagined it, he only held onto his sneakers and scanned Duo's body and face.

"Fuck… I gotta work… give me two hours and meet me out front, 'Ro… but fuck… you're here."

"Yeah, I'm here."

They were a long two hours, longer than any of the other's since they were separated as he loitered out front of the resort, watching people walking in and out and waiting for Duo to appear. At nearly two and half hours later, a small black car with peeling paint appeared and the horn beeped at him – Duo saluting him from the driver's side and indicating for him to get in. He did and the car rattled away, the engine sounding as unhealthy as that of the damn bus he'd arrived on.

They didn't speak much on the car ride, Duo asked about his journey, how long he'd been out of jail, talking as though they were strangers, the ride oddly tense as Heero rubbed his sweaty palms along his cargo shorts and tried to find a way of articulating what he wanted to say. When they pulled up at a dilapidated small block and Duo parked the car on the side of the road, Heero realised they'd arrived at where Duo was living and followed wherever he led.

The place was above a laundry, the smell of detergent and chemical seemed to linger, the windows were covered by heavy metal bars and it made Heero think of his own cell. His cell where he counted down his days, put up those postcards and images that arrived in the mail every week, and tried to imagine Duo here.

Heero wanted to comment on the place – the one room that reminded him starkly of the time they'd spent at eighteen and nineteen living in that one room apartment in the northwest but he couldn't say anything flattering. The ratty blankets on a single bed, the bars on the windows, the cracks in the walls and in the ceiling that Duo had covered over with stupid posters – none of it was quite like the image on those postcards, the image on the piece of advertising that Duo had carried around since he was a kid. In those dreams it was always perfect, hot beaches and sand and Duo wasn't dressed like a waiter and didn't have a small name badge with a resort name underneath the capitalised MAX.

"It ain't much but… ya know," Duo said with a shrug and it was the first time they'd ever been awkward around each other. They'd always known what the other wanted, how the other felt, but three years was a damn long time and despite the fact that Heero had thought about him every day behind his bars, he didn't know what to say now.

Instead, he studied Duo as he stood in that white uniform, the awful polo shirt and pressed shorts looking completely out of character for his Duo. He then looked towards the bed, the crumpled sheets that indicated more of the Duo he'd told to run from that jewellery store and that was more his Duo – the untidiness reassuring.

"You can shower, ya know, the water pressure is shit but… we had worse in some of those motels…"

He realised he'd not said anything, the heat in the room unbearable and the tension from the car ride even more stifling in the heat of this tiny place. He didn't know what to say. That he'd spent nights rehearsing on his bunk, looking up to the one above him and listening to Wufei's calm breathing and the soft rustling of fabric as his cellmate moved above him. It was those times he thought of this – of Duo being some kinda free spirit living on the beach, sleeping in hammocks or something equally ridiculous. It was those times he thought about being close to him again – remembered what it felt like to kiss him and touch him and fuck him. It felt strange to see the practicalities. That he was working in a resort, that he lived in a shit hole but that he had made it. He supposed dreams were worth shit anyway.

"You didn't…" he began and stumbled over the words. He wanted to say "you didn't find someone else" or "you haven't been fucking someone else" but nothing came out.

And Duo looked at him fully, yeah, he was more tanned, maybe had a little more definition to his muscles that had not been there at nineteen, but when he looked at his eyes nothing had damn changed. Still blue. Still big. Still his fucking Duo who just nodded and seemed to understand him like he always had.

"I didn't," he said. "Ya know, you wanna know the number of times I get propositioned in this sexy as fuck outfit." He paused and gestured towards the white, the joking making the tension dissipate a little. Heero felt the corner of his mouth turn into a small smile. A smile no one else had ever received but Duo. "But ya know, there was only ever you, 'Ro."

Heero stepped forward, the room was barely big enough for them to be separated by much distance but it felt significant or something. More like the gap of years than the actual distance. He still hesitated at reaching out, he felt like it was a fucking dream or something but his dream versions of this moment were always more cinematic. He didn't smell detergent and chemicals, he wasn't this fucking sweaty, and Duo wasn't a cocktail waiter in a shitty white uniform. So it had to be damn real.

Duo spoke again, realising that Heero wasn't going to give him anything even as he was trying to articulate something. "Ya didn't… ya know, meet someone in prison," he asked, his voice suddenly small, "ya know, the whole dropping the soap, prison yard bitch thing?"

"No. That seems to only happen in the movies. Or porn."

He got a small laugh for that – low, familiar, something that he'd started to forget how it sounded after all that time apart. "Yeah, maybe watched too much porn without you. Kinda had to deal with the sexual energy somehow…"

"You missed me?"

"Shit… babe, every fucking day. I hated myself every night for leaving you there…"

Duo's posture was awkward, his eyes downcast and Heero never thought of it – that Duo must've felt damn guilty for him being free while Heero sat in a jail cell. He made the final step forward so that they were virtually touching.

"I didn't blame you," Heero said slowly. "I needed you to be free. I needed to know you were somewhere better."

"Yeah, well it kinda sucked, Heero. You said we'd go down together."

"I loved you too much for that."

"And now?"

Heero only nodded and found he didn't have to say anything else as Duo had leaned forward and his arms were wrapped around his neck and his lips were on his. Only the lightest pressure on them, almost like the ghost of a kiss, like the final kiss he'd dreamed about every night in jail, those whispered words against his own. The kiss deepened slightly, Duo's head tilting to the side, his mouth opening but it was a lazy kiss, slow, and nothing like he thought their first meeting would be like.

The kiss parted despite every fibre of Heero's being not wanting to be separated from Duo for one more damn minute.

"I need to shower… I've been travelling for days…" Heero said despite the fact his body was responding to the proximity of finally being this damn close to Duo.

Duo just played with the sweaty hair at the back of his neck, looked up at him, a glint in his eye that Heero had forgotten but was so difficult to ignore. Too fucking hot not to.

"Fuck a shower… you're only gonna get sticky and sweaty again, right?"

Heero had every intention of that, one hand already drifting to Duo's ass, the other around his waist splayed at the small of his back. The kiss had only been chaste, familiarising, tasting but still his dick was hardening against the onslaught of feelings that having Duo in front of him, next to him, against him… the stuff that he'd dreamed of alone in his prison bunk, jerked off to when he got the fucking opportunity. Yeah, his body wanted Duo now. Fuck the shower.

He leaned back forward to reinitiate the kiss – regretting for a moment the stubble of a few days minus shaving and thinking that Duo might not appreciate going to work with stubble rash but Duo didn't seem to give a shit. The kiss was open mouthed, impatient, bumping of noses and clashing of teeth and tongues thrusting and warring. It was unlike any kiss they'd ever had and felt too fucking good.

Duo needed to be out of that shitty uniform straight away, Heero thought, the white and the pressed shorts so unbelievably out of character and contrived. It wasn't the boy he'd met in juvie – the carjacker, the gangbanger, the boy with a wide smile, those wild eyes, who jacked him off as a thank you and changed his damn life. He wanted his naked skin tight up against his own and he indicated his need for Duo to be naked by pushing the white fabric of the shirt further up Duo's back until they separated, a few steps apart, hastily getting out of clothing, too impatient to sensually undress for the other. Instead, Heero watched the shirt get thrown to the floor, the stupid ass white tennis style shoes be untied and taken off and finally the shorts and boxers, as he dropped his own clothing to the floor like it was skin he didn't need anymore.

It was an achievement they managed to get undressed. It would've been easier to just fuck still in some damn clothing but then he wanted Duo's naked skin against his own and he was damned if he was going to miss the opportunity of his sweaty slick skin rubbing against his, the feeling of two naked bodies moving against one another without the barrier of anything else. For a second, Heero just looked at Duo, naked as he was in his jacking off fantasies but then ever so slightly different – he was more tanned, not just in the arms and legs and face like he'd seen against the white of his clothes but along his torso, his muscled pectorals, his abs. He'd always been so pale – never lived outside the northwest where it rained all the time and they only got sun in the heat of summer sometimes but now… he also noticed the scars had almost entirely faded. One solitary scar from his beating was the only evidence of that time and for some reason, the fact that those scars had finally faded made Heero feel something he couldn't quite identify but his heart was beating faster, his mouth was dry and he didn't get a chance to contemplate that feeling as Duo's hand made its way down his chest and to his hard dick, gripping it firmly.

"Fuck, I missed you," Heero said, a moan escaping his lips at the feeling of someone else touching him like no had for so fucking long.

"Feelings mutual, babe," Duo replied, taking a step back towards the bed, wrapping his unoccupied hand around Heero's neck and leading him towards it, the other hand not leaving his erection.

They tumbled onto the bed without any elegance – he thought he heard Duo's head connect with the wall and he heard a muffled "damn" as elbows and knees knocked together a little uncomfortably. Heero found himself on top of Duo, his face buried in his throat and he lapped the sweaty skin there for a second before shifting and letting Duo move underneath him more, aligning their bodies, their dicks. Duo's hand slipped from its grip on his cock in their tumble to the bed and he reached up to touch Heero's face, running his thumb over his lips, Heero licking at the digit before his hand held his stubbled jaw.

"I kinda didn't think this would happen," Duo said quietly, a sudden sadness in his voice, "but I wanted it so fucking bad." He chuckled and looked away for a second under the scrutiny of Heero's deep blue eyes, his hand slipping from his jaw before he turned back towards him, a curve on his lips that was the same one Heero had seen as fifteen in the cleaning closet, at nineteen in a hundred sleazy motel rooms, in a car, in a rich person's bed… too many times to count but Heero didn't need to think of those memories as he had Duo now – hot, sweaty and hard underneath him and that was all that mattered. "Damn, I'm sounding all chicky and shit… you wanna fuck me?"

Heero thrust his hips forward in response and said a low "yeah." He really didn't need to articulate any more feelings than that.

He'd wondered if it would feel like the first time again, those nights in jail when he'd imagine Duo underneath him, all pale skin and long limbs, all eyes closed, braid messy, lips bruised from the intensity of their hurried kisses and he'd stroke himself to completion imagining the "fucks" and the other words falling from Duo's mouth as he buried himself further into his body. It didn't feel like the first time, it felt like something falling back into place, as he thrust into Duo, his hips moving in a lazy rhythm, trying to hold onto the moment rather than come hard and fast.

It was easy, making jokes about the fact that there wasn't a ton of lube left as Duo just looked at him and said he had "fucking needs" and that whacking off was one of them. It was easy pushing his fingers inside, feeling Duo's hitching breath, the shivering of his body as he finally hit prostate and he was stretched enough to take him. It felt easy to slide his cock into resisting muscles until Duo's body relaxed, accepting him and then he was buried balls deep inside and it was easier than breathing to move his body against and inside and feel so damn connected to someone.

"Jesus – fuck!"

Heero only smirked into Duo's shoulder as he responded to the sudden movement and he'd switched the position, Heero moving back onto his heels and bringing Duo up into his lap – his face buried into his shoulder and his hands running down his sides as they slid against each other. It was too hot, too sticky, sweat running in rivulets down his neck and back, Duo's hands on his shoulders as leverage so that he could bring his body crashing down into Heero's.

They stalled a few times, taking breaths to meet each other's mouths and take a little more time over the thing, looking into eyes, connecting hands until they couldn't take it anymore – bodies striving for release and shuddering against one another until they collapsed onto the bed sheets, breathless and uncomfortably entwined around one another.

For a few minutes, they stayed like that – the closeness and heat of their bodies unbearable but necessary to feel connected for the first time in over three years. Heero finally moved, his weight maybe just a little too much on top of Duo's and rolled next to him, the small size of the bed putting him in direct contact with the wall.

He watched as Duo moved, walked over to what generously could be called the kitchen which only contained some kind of mini fridge and a microwave and Duo was picking up a bottle from the counter and walking back over naked. Heero's eyes fluttered closed, for a second thinking it was a fucking dream, and then opened them again as weight settled on the bed and he saw Duo unscrewing a bottle of tequila.

"Guess this is to us and finally making it n' all."

Duo offered the bottle and Heero hesitated for a moment trying to remember the last time he'd had any alcohol before taking a swig from the bottle and nearly choking on the potent taste. It had to be either strong or cheap. Or both.

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Duo said with a chuckle as he passed it back and downed some with only the tiniest hint of an expression on his face. "Forgot you ain't had any booze in forever."

He screwed the top on the bottle, putting it on the floor, and moved back to lie on the bed, resting his head on Heero's chest and Heero found his hand reaching to run down his shoulder blades and run his fingers along the braid as much as he could reach.

"I didn't think it would be like this," Heero admitted quietly and he heard another laugh.

"It ain't quite what we planned, ya know, but we'll work it out." Duo was quiet for a moment and then sat up and looked straight into Heero's eyes. "Ya know, I can try an' get you a job at the resort. Always need gardeners or tennis coaches or some shit."

"Do I have to wear a uniform like that?"

"Hey, asshole, you'll find cougars think I look hot in it so ya know, increases my tips. Plus I'm sure they could get ya wearing somethin' worse… spandex maybe."

Heero snorted, the exhale of breath moving his bangs ever so slightly and Duo grinned, kissed him and returned to his position against his chest.

"No to spandex, 'Ro?"

"No."

"I know it ain't what we imagined…" Duo said softly, his breath against Heero's sweaty chest. "But we're here and it's us forever, ain't it?"

"Yeah… forever."

Heero felt the smile against his skin and he continued running his fingers over slick skin until the exhaustion of days of travelling, weeks of not sleeping and years of being apart from the guy he loved took their toll and his eyes closed and he slept thinking – yeah, it wasn't what they dreamed but it was real and that was better.