Disclaimer: See all the others; status unchanged.

Pairing: 1x2
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Yaoi, PWPish, spanking, lime/lemon, Duo POV

AN: Scribbled this up a few weeks ago - originally inspired by one piece in the 'house christening' series [ zerotwofan ] is commissioning from [ ponderosa121 ]. My thanks to [ merith ] for betaing this.

The Good Pain
by kebzero

Nursing a coffee mug, I sit at the kitchen table, awaiting the return of my housemate. It's been over a year since we decided to share living expenses - and pretty much everything else, including a bed. We had shared beds long before the house, though. Our home had come along with Heero's latest promotion, when we picked up and moved out of a run-down rented apartment in favor of a small house close to his new place of work.

We both took jobs with the Preventers, but not as field operatives. He went into the analysis department, while I became a filing clerk.

Don't laugh. It's not as boring as it sounds. Honest. Besides, it leaves me with more spare time than Heero - even if that's sort of a mixed blessing.

He's working overtime again. He called earlier to let me know, and I turned a bit pissy. He has promised he'd cut back on that, but so far he remains a pushover for whenever Une calls on him. I suppose I can't blame him for that, Lady Une can be scary when she wants to be.

I had still gone and done it, though.

A rattle of keys, the sound of the lock turning. I feel the hairs at the back of my neck prickle and my stomach makes slow summersaults. My palms push against the white ceramic, the remaining contents long since cold.

I hear him hang his coat up, take his shoes off, put the briefcase away on the dresser in the hallway. A shiver runs up my spine as at the sound of his footsteps. I look up as he stands in the doorway.

"Duo, I'm sorry, but Lady Une insisted..." his voice trails off, and he all but stares at me.

"Yeah?" I say, trying to sound as innocent as a guilty man can be. I suppose I still need to learn not to grin sheepishly when making that attempt.

Concern flashes his face. "What have you done?"

I rub an itch at the back of my neck, look at the old stain on the patch of linoleum in front of the stove we've never been able to remove. "Well... After you called, I wanted to cool my head for a bit, and..."

Brows closing, voice firm, with a tad of fright. "What did you do, Duo?"

I swallow, still grinning like a fool. "I decided to take a ride... on your bike."

He's running towards the garage before I finish the sentence. I close my eyes, grit my teeth, my lips curving to a nervous smirk as I await the inevitable.


I cringe at his tone of voice. Yeah, I'd been expecting that. Hell, it was only a tiny scratch. And a busted tire. And a light that would have to be replaced. It wasn't as if I'd meant to lose control and hit the curb like that... It wasn't as if I wanted to ruin one of Heero's favorite things. It was... a means to an end.

He's back in the doorway, glaring at me. "Do you realize what you've done?"

Tentatively, I nod.

It's all part of the game.

He walks over to me, grabs my wrist and gets me standing, only to hug me tight. "I love you, you bastard. You know that, right?"

Again, a slow nod. "I know."

"But I can't let you get away with this."

Faint smirk. "I know..."

I feel his hand brush down my back, across my hip, in between us to work the buttons of my pants. His other palm slides down my back, fingertips slipping in under the fabric of my boxers, kneading my right buttock. Another shiver up my spine; I know what's still coming.

His hand cups my balls and cock briefly, then slides off to my side. He pulls my pants and boxers down to my knees, fingertips barely touching my skin on the way back up. He lifts my shirt a bit to graze my belly, only to let the shirt fall back down, all the while looking me straight in the eye.

To most people, that face would have been intimidating, his eyes cold, dangerous. I can see beyond the chilled layer of blue, though. I know.

He grabs one of the kitchen chairs and sits down, loosens his tie, then takes a firm hold of my wrist again, coaxing me to lay down across his lap, my ass in the air, my growing erection pressing against his clothed thighs.

His open palm slaps my ass, and I clench my teeth. Another slap, another. The strokes are leisurely at first, sometimes hard, making me hiss, sometimes soft, making me whimper. Without warning, Heero stops, his hands caressing my reddening rear cheeks.

I suck on a breath; his touch makes me grind my hip against his thighs, my cock trapped between them. It's a good thing he's got more than one pair of work pants.

I used to wonder if I was a pain junkie. For much of my life, I've been everyone's favorite punching bag. There were the street gangs when I was a kid, some roughnecks in G's entourage that he couldn't control, not to mention vengeful soldiers within the Alliance, OZ, Romefeller and White Fang, never mind all the smaller factions. I went up against all of them, hurt them, killed their friends. They had a right to be mad, I suppose.

With my big mouth, I pissed off some of the guys at Peacemillion too, and despite all the damage I dealt, I still took a fair beating before Heero spotted the fight and intervened. I never did ask Howard if he offered dental coverage. Probably not, as that day would have cost him a fair bit of money - and I'm sure he'd have given me hell about it, if that were the case.

Heero's hands smooth over my skin. One moment, he rakes his fingernails across, only to softly soothe his fingertips along the same trail a minute later. I look over my shoulder, catch his smirk as he kisses the palm of his hand excessively, then presses it against my sore ass. I hiss through clenched teeth.

Spit isn't water - it's faintly acidic.

The slaps start again, a steady rhythm this time. Every time, I raise my butt to meet his hand, each impact driving me back down, his thighs rubbing my trapped cock.

It's got to be his hands. We've tried all sorts of crops, canes, paddles, even wet towels - none of it was the same. Hands-on experience is the only thing that counts. Another hard impact, somewhat to the side of my flushed rear. I rock my hips to the side, in against Heero, sense the bulge in his pants, know I'm not the only one sporting a flagpole.

I turn my head to give him a glare out of the corner of my eye. The bastard's smug smile gets me even more worked up. I make a low growl. "Fuck me, Heero... Please..."

I can see he's eager, know he wants to - but he's hesitating. He has wanted to ever since his palm first cupped my bare ass. Punishment, indeed. We both know it isn't. He's well aware I'm getting off on this.

He's not pissed at me for taking his bike for a spin without asking permission, and not really for me making a mess of it, either. It's all just an excuse - an excuse for the both of us to get to the good pain.

Like I said, I thought I was a pain junkie - but I'm not. It's not the way my red ass throbs as he wrests me out of my shirt that's giving me a thrill. Not how I clench my teeth and hiss as I sit up in his lap, wincing as my rear makes contact with his pants.

With a little help, my pants and boxers join my shirt on the kitchen floor. He takes a hold of me, lifts me up, carries me off to our bedroom, making it seem effortless.

The bastard makes to drop me on the mattress ass first. Mimicking a cat, I try to turn around fast enough to land on hands and knees, coming halfway, hitting the bed on my side. The impact stings, but that's okay.

Watching him strip is always fun - even when he does it as fast as now, tossing away his tie, clawing off his shirt, dropping and stepping out of pants and briefs, leaving him naked in all his glory. All for my sake. God, he's gorgeous...

He joins me on the bed, remembers, crawls toward the dresser for supplies. I touch his shoulder, shake my head. Not today. Instead, I lean in and quickly take his erection into my mouth, swiping my tongue along as much of the surface as I can, as fast as I can.

Tonight, I want it fast, hard. No time for creature comforts. He's on his knees, his hands on my head, soft moans out of his throat as I lube his cock with spit. He lets go a low growl when I pull back, turn over on my hands and knees, grabbing one of the pillows.

He palms my sore butt in retaliation. I hiss into the pillow, relieved when he relents. From the corner of my eye, I see him suck on two fingers, soon enough trailing the slick digits down my crevice, brushing over the pucker. My turn to growl.

Preparations are done fast; I'm already fairly loose from the day before. I remember, and relax. Heero enters me, fast and hard like I want it, his crotch impacting my throbbing butt, and I cry out, part in pain, part in ecstasy. There's the strangest sensation of wholeness for that brief moment we're attached, neither doing more than breathe. Deep inside me, I feel his cock twitch, and push my hips back in reflex.

It's funny how things come to be. I've never been fond of taking a beating, not from anyone. Yet, I've always been proud for enduring the pain, whether I deserved it or not.

At the orphanage, it was different.

Now, don't get me wrong; they were good people. Father Maxwell couldn't hurt a fly. For all I know, he never even tried. Most of the time, he was more of a pampering, forgiving grandfather than a strict father to us.

Sister Helen ran a tighter ship, but her punishments tended to be subtle; small tricks to make us realize what we'd done wrong, a carefully selected word to make us think it over, do good what we'd done bad. It was only when we'd been really bad that she would resort to less refined means of punishment, perhaps reasoning that was the only way we'd learn that particular lesson - the only way we'd get that we were punished, and learn not to do that again, attaching the memory of the deed with the memory of the pain.

She spanked me. Many times. She could never do it with strength; her slaps were really fairly soft, even when she tried. Much as I'd like not to, I do have some basis of comparison in getting my ass kicked, if not spanked - until Heero, at least.

I never turned to look at her when I was bent over her knees. Instead, I stared grumpily into the floor and took my punishment, murmuring how it wasn't my fault to start with. Whether that was true or not varied.

Sometimes, I thought I felt tears land on my lower back and bare butt. I know she didn't like using force. In retrospect, I understand she only did what she thought best at the time - only did what she thought I might learn from, when words failed.

Little did she know, bless her soul.

I don't know if that's where this kink of mine started, but I suppose it could be. Amidst all the other physical pains and discomforts the world has lashed out at me in my brief life, her spankings were... almost a boon. Sister Helen did not do it to hurt, didn't hit in spite or in anger, bout out of concern; out of love.

Yeah, I realize that hitting a child is generally the wrong way to raise one, but her slaps were too weak to be considered violent. I should know. Perhaps, subconsciously, that's why I got into trouble so often back then, just so that she'd pull me aside by my ear and haul me off to the back room, pull down my pants and coax me over her lap for judgement. I craved that paradoxical sign of affection.

Don't get me wrong, there was nothing sexual about it - not back then. That started with Heero.

Heero always tries his best to please me. Now is no different. His thrusts are rough against my rear, his hands roam my sides, my upper arms. His chest against my back, shallow thrusts into me. I feel his teeth at my neck, tilt my head to give him better access as he suckles a sensitive spot.

He straightens up, puts his palms on my shoulder blades, shifts his hips and pushes in as deep as he can. I bury my face in the pillow, stifling the moan somewhat. The pain is almost forgotten now, smoothed away by how his fingertips brush across my back, my sides, reach under my belly to pump my cock a few times.

After another deep thrust, he pauses. "Around," he orders between soft pants.

I happily obey, and with a little help, I find myself on my back, looking up at my lover, a sleek shine of sweat forming on his skin already. I grab at his pecks, play my fingertips across his nipples. My grin becomes a grimace as our position shifts a bit, letting the mattress touch the reddened skin of my ass.

And I love it.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I tap my heals above his rear, silently pleading for more. The hesitation is plain to see on his face. Hurriedly, I reach up to cup his cheek, trailing my fingertips to the corner of his mouth, off his chin, my other hand continuing to rub a nipple, a ragged moan my reward.

He's still not moving. Impatient, I give him a soft kick at the small of his back. Giving me a flash-frown, he smirks again. Good.

Heero sets a pace, a furious pace, pounding into me with abandon, his balls slapping against my tender ass, and I know I'm losing control as much as he is. My fingers claw at his chest, one hand finally reaching around his neck, pulling him down.

The thrusts are slower now, and we share a series of sloppy kisses, our breathing all in pants and gasps. I grit my teeth at the pain, at the pleasure.

Even now, there's concern on his face, a fear he's not doing the right thing, even though I asked him to fuck me. Quietly, I plead for him to speed up again. The second time around, he nods agreement. Close now, so close.

His fist wraps around my cock, and he makes an attempt to pump me in time with his thrusts. Too close. All but screaming his name, I come, wet streaks shooting up along my belly. I barely register when he builds up to a roar moments later, releasing inside me.

I suppose that's another kink of mine. I like it when he comes inside me, giving me the ultimate mark I'm his, as much as he is mine. I like how his seed slides down my sore ass when I get up later. Think of it as a strange sort of soothing cream, if you like. There will be time to clean up the mess later.

Pulling out now, Heero collapses on the bed beside me, soaked in sweat as I am, a silly grin on his face, most likely mirroring my own. As soon as I can muster the strength, I pull him close for a kiss, paw lazily at his body, look how his eyelids are fighting to keep open for business. I graze my fingertips along his cheeks as he finally gives in, closing his eyes.

I watch him for a while, then roll over on the side, the ache in my backside signaling in again. I know I'm leaking, but I don't care. My warm butt-cheeks throb in pain still.

But it's the good pain.


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