Author: LoveyouHateyou
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Rating: NC-15/M
Pairings: DuoxHeero (2x1) - an odd one, because... well, you will see, but I maintain this is the right order.
Warnings: Thoughts of happiness and angst. References to male/male sex.
Disclaimer:I do not own them although I would like that. Especially Duo who is a survivor, and Heero in surrender mode. All rights with their original owners.
Spoilers: None.

Summary: Someone's gotta do it, and Heero won't be the one, ne?

xxx

Duo has taken me for a walk. Really. Our day's chores are done, dinner got eaten, dishes tidied away – he did it, without prompting, and I knew something was up. He simply asked me whether I would like to come with him. What can I say, that I could not resist his smile, warm and without mockery, that I love the way his eyes shine at me, that I still have to figure out their colour because it keeps changing with the light, from deep grey to purplish blue...

All of this is true, but deep inside I know it is not the whole truth. It is a beautiful evening, the park is whispering in the light breeze that cools down the smouldering heat of the summer day, sleepy birdsong fading with the last vague light. The air is heavy with the heady smells of damp earth and wilting grass. In the morning, it will be laden with dew, he tells me, and if it is sunny, the meadows will glitter like myriads of diamonds. He blushes a bit at this, and his shoulders tense, ready for whatever scathing retort, but I have none. I am amazed and humbled at his ability to see the beauty of life. I have long lost this, or maybe I never learned to open my eyes to these things that have nothing to do with missions and war. Perhaps I need him to show me.

He has picked this time, for me. I know this from the way he gives me sideways glances, his smile deepening as he finds I am enjoying this, and a bit of relief showing in his eyes, too. Is he glad that I do not berate him about this as a waste of time, better to be used for studying?

Our steps crunch softly on the gravelled path, and I think I would like to walk on like this forever. It feels good to have him close, guarding my back in battle, filling our still room with the vibrancy of life and my existence with a purpose. He gives me the completeness I have been looking for without knowing it, the fullness that counters the vacancy of loss or victory in war, the meaning that has been lacking in everything I have done so far. Rules are my framework to live by if there is nothing else to keep me going, but they cannot fill my heart.

He can. He has done it, with such ease that it scares me cold. And I should not be drawn to him like this for it cannot work; he is my comrade-in-arms and not a girl waiting for me to return home. I am frightened of destroying what has become our friendship because I have come to realise that I need it. I am afraid of not being enough for him, of not doing him justice, of not knowing so many things he seems to know. Like making love instead of having sex.

No, I am not clueless, not innocent, and not afraid of the act. I had my share of watching and trying, sometimes nice, other times less so. Battle comfort, perhaps. My heart was never in it. This time, if we were to cross the line, it would be. Was this why I kept fighting him off for so long?

Now the struggle has ended. Pilot down: the Perfect Soldier is out cold.

My entire set of co-ordinates has shifted. I am lost, and I want him to show me the way. What kind of leader am I?

xxx

Heero likes this. Walking under the old trees, in the stillness of the evening; even I manage to keep my mouth shut most of the time. He has crossed his arms and lowered his gaze, dark bangs falling into his face so I cannot see his expression, but he wanders along anyway, and so I know he is enjoying it.

He even has let off his usual dress code – uniform shirt, trousers, boots – and is content to wear his tank top and sweatpants, with a pair of sandals to complement the look that shows off his muscular body and fluid motions in a way that sets my head spinning. He is unaware of the effect; he never realises, he would be mortified if he knew, and he would rather die than use it on purpose. He has this kind of innocence that makes him all the more alluring.

We reach the banks of the small lake in the centre of the park and he stills, tilting back his head to look up into the sky. Above the city skyline and the bowl of smog, the first stars gleam brightly on the dusky horizon. Still higher, the last shimmer of light fades away into the black stillness of space, eternal night, cold and silent. I need to clench my teeth to suppress their clatter; it's ridiculous how easily I get cold, and my old uniform jacket does not much to keep the chill out.

We stand there, watching the stars rise that even when we fly the suits seem so distant that they make my heart shrink. Nightfall comes chill and dank. His arms are bare. So I edge closer and lean against him, my heart leaping to my throat as we make contact. He is warm despite the coolness of the night.

He unfolds his arms and lets them fall by his side. My hand finds his as if by itself. For a breathless moment, I half expect him to shy away, to stalk off, leaving me behind. Instead, his fingers entwine with mine and squeeze them, hard, warm, and I can sense a shudder running through him.

He is scared. Of wanting this, of being defenceless, of living. But we cannot live by hiding behind our shields all the time; life means we get hurt now and then, and we will overcome hurt and battle on, live on, grow stronger and sometimes weaker, but we can win this, war or not. We are young now. Forgoing love would mean to bury ourselves alive. Loving and perhaps losing means agony but time can mellow the worst pain into bearable memories. He will learn all this if he lets me teach him, and I cannot spare him the pain that goes with it, but I can cushion him, be there for him, catch him when he is falling.

And be held when my strength fails me. I know he can hold me. I hope he'll want to.

Slowly, he turns to face me, his eyes glittering in the light of the stars, his face still, questioning, wondering. For a heartbeat, he holds my gaze, before closing his eyes in quiet, proud surrender

Trustful. Offering. Waiting.

And I know that he is mine.

xxx

Love means strength and need. Love has a name, a face, and a body. Duo helps me lay down on his jacket that he has spread on the damp grass by the lakeside, he tries to warm me with his bony frame despite shivering with cold himself, he kisses me with a tenderness that makes me want to cry. Whatever next... it frightens me no end.

When was the last time I knew the feeling of tears stinging my eyes? I cannot remember, but now they gather behind my closed lids and damn me if they do not sneak out beneath my lashes and trail down my cheeks. Why would I be crying now? I am happy. I am scared. But soldiers are not supposed to cry.

He is gracious, generous, endlessly patient, guiding me gently, searing passion restrained by love. He lets me have him because he is afraid of hurting me, but it is him leading, and that is fine by me. I can let myself fall, dig my hands into his unravelling braid, forget everything but him holding me, in his arms, inside his body, in his heart and soul.

I am loved.

He thumbs at my cheeks and whispers some silly little words of comfort, his lips brushing over my face, my eyes, my mouth while he is rocking me sweetly into him, his lanky body arching against me, his limbs enfolding me, his hands roaming over my flanks, my back, my face. He does not tire of caressing me, as though he could not believe it, as though he were holding something rare and precious and were afraid of breaking it.

He is sweet and hot and passionate. He gives himself without restraint, and I cannot help but lose myself in him in a haze of fire, sweeping through me in blazing waves until I can only sob and gasp and hear him whisper soothing nonsense into my ear while his hands weave eagerly through my hair. I feel as though I have cheated on him because I could not hold out longer, but he kisses me silent when I start choking out words of regret.

I want him. I want him to have me the way he let me have him; for once, I want to be the one giving. I have no words, so actions will have to do as always, and he accepts graciously, if a little surprised. 'Sure?' he gasps. Sure, Duo, love me for you have taken my soul already, and I do not even know how it could happen.

No, there is no pain. He is so gentle, takes me so slowly, I want more, want to be bruised, want to feel what he felt, but he will not be rushed. He kisses, caresses, takes his pleasure in sending me mad with longing, until I hardly realise that my hands clawing into his hair must hurt him, and my teeth leave black marks on his shoulder and neck. He is keening softly when he comes, his arms buckling, and sinks on top of me, panting and damp with sweat, his hair splaying over us like a cloak of feathers. I am reeling.

What have we done?

I will hurt now when he hurts, for we have become one.

Fear sinks icily into my heart. I have lost what makes the Perfect Soldier: my disdain, my fear of life. The closeness of Death does not soothe me any longer; I want to live, with him. But there is no future for such as us.

There is only now.

Because we are soldiers, and our business is death.

xxx END xxx