Eternal One Night Stand
by Tayles
A dark figure, rutting above me on the bed, hands holding in an unyielding grip as he strives to bring about his own satisfaction for the night. His motions are sharp, sparing no pain as he tears sensitive tissues in his hunger; his need to fill the most base of human urges. Grunting, thrusting, grinding, pain. As if with only a cursory thought a hand jerks me off in time to violent thrusts. Pleasure. It stops as quickly as it started, sticky liquid filling me as he groans, already pulling himself out and away from me, not noticing that I never reached my own end. Now all I feel is numbness, cold, and loneliness.
Heero Yuy – just my eternal one night stand.
Bedsprings creak as he rises and gets dressed once more, like he didn't just fuck me into the headboard. I don't bother to watch him leave. I've learnt my lesson. The sight of him, emotionless, leaving me in soiled sheets and just returning to the mission, hurts too much. I've never tried to kid myself that I was anything more then a convenient screw for him. Never more important then the mission, never more important then any other of the tools he uses. A vessel. I'm there for him at night, when the tension gets too much for him and he needs release. Never anything more.
He's gone. I can already hear the clacking of keys in his room next door. On his damn laptop again. Sexual needs taken care of for another night. My job's done.
I roll over to face the door, cursing myself as I feel a tear mark it's course down my cheek. Laying with my face half against the pillow I can breathe deeply, smell where his hair rested against it in the moment after orgasm, when even he needs time to recover and just be. It's getting harder and harder to deal with. You'd have thought that by now I'd be used to it. De-sensitised - like my training de-sensitised me to physical pain. But every night it hurts more. Like a soul-deep ache in my chest that won’t go away no matter what anybody says.
‘Weakling!’ Wufei's voice, echoing through my empty head. As if I didn't know it already. As if I hadn’t reprimanded myself a hundred times over for letting Heero use me like this. Weak not to push him away, weak not to tell him that it hurt, weak not to tell him that our nightly ritual meant far more to me then it did to him.
‘You don't understand, do you Duo?’ That one's Trowa. Ever the calm voice of reason. But his words only brought pain when he said them quietly that day he and the others found out about my situation. It was laughable. Of course I didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why I put up with it, why I let him take me every night, why I almost looked forward to it just to feel his body against mine. And I certainly didn’t understand why he chose me. All I understood was that for those few moments he needed me.
‘He's hurting you Duo. He's not worth it.’ Even Quatre, blue eyes sad and pained as I sobbed in his arms that day didn’t have an explanation. His space heart felt my confusion but could do nothing to remove it. Perhaps I should have listened to his words back then. If even Quatre - who is always willing to think the best of anyone - says give up on him then maybe… maybe…
Oh, who am I kidding? I wouldn't ever bring myself to give up on Heero. I know the only time he touches me is when he needs something, his kisses are brutal, a fierce crashing of his lips on mine. But I wouldn't give it up. Not for anything. Those violent kisses that leave my lips sore and bruised are all I have.
The clacking pauses. I can almost picture him looking about expectantly for me. Sure. It was just sex, right? It's done, over, now get back to work, baka! I wince as I sit up; I'm still sore. But, can't keep the Perfect Soldier waiting, now can I? The bed sheets stick to me as I try to stand. Gross. I end up putting new sheets on this bed every damn day. Pulling a face I rip them from the bed, wadding them into a ball and throwing them in the hamper to wash later. It never happens in his room. I sometimes wonder if he even realises there's a bed in his room at all. I've never seen him sleep.
Sighing, I reach for my clothes and dress, once again becoming the God of Death as I don my black outfit. It's only when he tears them off of my body that I lose that protective mask. OZ would love to know that wouldn't they? That underneath the impressive Gundanium armour, beneath the cool black clothes, is just this skinny, pale little boy who's madly in love with a guy who barely registers my existence.
I pass by the mirror, hardly glimpsing at it. I know too well what I'll see. Big, empty eyes, unusual in colour but haunting in their sorrow. A jester's smirk glued into place, hiding me from the world. Braid, messy from earlier activities, looking lacklustre now. I've been neglecting it. It needs brushing, washing. All of me needs cleansing.
"Duo."
I turn to see him standing in the doorway and I damn my heart for leaping at the sight of him. He really is beautiful, for all the cruelty that beauty can create. He's got teeth marks showing just at the neck of his tank top and a scratch on his cheekbone but he's already rid himself of any remnants of our, heh, lovemaking.
"Hey," I reply easily. "Don't worry, man, I'm just coming."
"I wasn't worried."
No. I didn't expect for one minute he would be. Hoped, prayed, maybe. Expected? Of course not.
"Your braid is a mess. In its current state there is a risk of catching it."
He noticed? Well, of course, the mess it is in at the moment would have me shutting it in the hatch of Deathscythe - that would be bad for the mission. "Yeah, I guess I should brush it or something." Reaching for the comb I decide to try my luck.
"Hey, Heero? Would you brush it for me? I can't get at all the tangles by myself."
A cold cobalt gaze is levelled at me. "Unacceptable."
"Aww, why not? It'll only take five minutes."
A sharp shake of his head. "You are capable of doing it yourself. You are a Gundam pilot, Duo."
And don’t I know it. One last try, hoping my fragile heart will withstand the rejection I already expect. "But I’d like you to do it. Please?" I hadn’t held it together: desperation laced my voice and I can picture how needy I look, standing here with my smile slipping and one hand holding out the comb plaintively. A frown crosses his face and I wonder if I’ve gone too far.
"Are you ill?"
His question catches me off guard. Damn, the mask I'd so carefully constructed is falling apart. "Me?" Feigned innocence. "No."
"Did… I hurt you?"
Now that startles me. I stare at him for a moment before I follow his eyes guiltily to the small but incriminating bloodstains that have gone through the sheets to the mattress. Has he really never realised that before? Not noticed the blood on his cock as he pulls out of my torn body? Never seen the tears or heard the sobs that escape even when I try to be quiet?
I shrug and wave a dismissive hand, deciding it’s best to just play it off like everything is normal. "Nothing Shinigami can't handle-"
He cut me off with a glare, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Did. I. Hurt. You?"
Sister always told me to never tell a lie… so I bend the truth instead. "A… a little."
His knuckles are turning white. The colour drains from his face. "I'm sorry."
And I can believe him when he says it. Despite all the deaths he's dealt he still can't bear to accidentally inflict pain.
"Can I do anything?"
Did he really just say that? Heero, the Perfect Soldier, is standing in my doorway offering… offering what exactly?
"Not unless you want to help me shower." It’s a poor attempt at a joke, even though I know he has no sense of humour. I don't expect a response, not really, but he nods sharply.
"If you require assistance."
I don't but I'm sure as hell not going to object. I nod acquiescence, stunned by this sudden show of compassion. He looks me up and down once before meeting my eyes and nodding.
"I'll run you a bath. It will be better for you." He steps forward, fingers encircling my wrist. He sits me down on the bed, I can see it's awkward for him, unfamiliar. I don't want it to be awkward. I want so badly for it to be natural - the ability for him to be gentle with me. But I know better then that.
"It's alright," I say, heart dropping even as I force a smile. "I can do it myself." I go to stand but strong hands on my shoulders, not grasping, not demanding, press me back down.
"No," he's turning already, entering the adjoining bathroom; "I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I want to try to make up for it." I can hear the water running in the tub now, a soothing counter-point to Heero's low voice.
A few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Heero still in the bathroom, me sitting on the bed. Dumbly I suppose I should begin undressing. My hands shake a little as I raise them to my collar.
His fingers on mine stop me.
"Come on."
He tugs me to the bathroom and sits me on the edge of the tub. It's warm in here from the heat of the water and I can smell cinnamon - he's used my shower gel as bubble bath. Heero reaches for the buttons of my shirt but I blush and shy away from his fingers.
"Uh, it's ok man. I can handle this bit myself." He tilts his head at me but steps back obligingly. It's illogical, I know. The number of times he's hungrily torn my clothes from my body, covered my naked form with his - and now I'm feeling shy. It's not like he's ever seen my body properly - I mean really looked at it. It makes me nervous, to think he'll see me differently when his mind's not fogged with need.
I’m blushing, I can tell from the warmth of my cheeks, as I bend and remove my shorts. The stains from our encounter earlier still mark my skin, further blurring scars on my abused body. My thighs are sticky and his semen still leaks from between my ass cheeks as I throw my last defence against his eyes to the floor. I feel ashamed, small and pathetic under his gaze, horribly aware of the network of scars from my life on L2, the more recent but healing wounds from battle, and the still bleeding scratches where his short nails and his teeth grazed against me in fits of lust.
I don’t know if it’s politeness or indifference that keeps him from saying anything as he lowers me into the water. He seats me in the tub as if I may break at any moment. It’s stupid. He’s treating me like an invalid and I want to protest – he’s rendered me far worse then this in our time together. But at least he’s trying; at least he’s touching me, appearing to care for me. If I could just get rid of the niggling knowledge that I mean no more to him then a fellow soldier then perhaps I could pretend that he was doing this out of kindness – pretend he’s being my caring boyfriend, lovingly cleaning me after we make love.
His callused hands are cautious as they sponge over my body, soaping away dirt and the mess created by his own actions with a steady pressure. It’s ages since I’ve last had a nice hot bath. I’d not really bothered with my personal hygiene lately – unable to find the effort and instead choosing to wallow in self-pity. The pity is not alleviated with the removal of weeks worth of grime and sweat. But it soothes my sore muscles and relaxes my mind, even as I am acutely aware that it is his hands touching me intimately, his hands that are now rinsing me off, splashing water lightly against my chest.
"Move forward."
His sudden demand opens my half-closing eyes and I peer up at him in confusion.
"I’m going to wash your hair. You have to lean forward so I can use the shower."
I nod dumbly, easing myself forward with my hands braced against the edge of the tub. It takes more effort then I had expected; exhaustion from days of missed sleep finally catching up with me. The shower is a hot rain down upon me, refreshing to my tired head. Obligingly I tilt my head back for him to wash my hair, feeling the tug of the tie at the end of the braid being removed, the sudden weight as the mass of chestnut waves soaks through and begins to cling in sodden strands to my back. The scent of cinnamon grows suddenly stronger as he opens the cap of the shower gel, pouring a generous amount into his hands before working it through my long mane. His fingers continuously snag on knots that have formed over time and soon the plughole is clogged with a foul clump of broken strands.
"When was the last time you washed this?" he asks quietly, trying to extricate himself from another tangle. I shrug.
"Four, five weeks. Just haven’t got round to it I suppose."
"Hn." I can’t tell if it’s a sound of acceptance of my answer or one of disgust that I’ve let myself get into such a state. But his fingers take up a gentle massage of my scalp, stimulating the cells there and working the shampoo further into my hair. It’s such a lovely sensation but it doesn’t last long. All too quickly he’s reaching for the showerhead once more and rinsing away suds and fallen strands.
I feel cleaner and healthier then I have in months as he puts his hands under my arms and lifts me to the edge of the tub once more. A towel is fetched and wrapped around my quickly chilling body and he begins to briskly dry me off. The towel is soft against my shoulders and arms before he kneels to dry my lower half. Special care is taken around my ass and thighs, a delicate patting of the towel finally rendering me unsoiled after what seems like far too long.
His eyes are focussed on the motion of the towel, blazing cobalt beneath that ever-sexy tumble of dark hair. I like this, like being able to watch him without him knowing. I spend hours doing it, when I'm supposed to be tuning up Deathscythe I end up watching him in Wing; when he's sitting at that infernal laptop; when he's standing; when he's walking; when he's…
He looks up to see me watching him and his eyes narrow. Shit, caught staring. But instead of frowning or glaring he just looks back at me, partly questioning, partly just plain looking. From his position kneeling between my legs he leans up, bringing his face inches from mine. I hold my breath, wandering if I’ve fallen asleep and this is all a dream. But no, his breath on my face rustles my damp bangs and his lips are hovering just out of reach of mine. I’m battling the urge to simply lean forward and kiss him and my sanity is losing. My eyes slide shut as I begin to move, closing the distance between us…
"Does it still hurt?"
"All the time," I whisper without thinking, a half-choked sob nearly following it, upset to the edge of tears with the cruelty of my life. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss me. Just inspecting me to check I still function correctly – no different to his gun or mobile suit. I realise what I said and quickly correct myself. "I’m much better now, thanks man."
But he’s frowning now, eyes scrutinising me and analysing my original response. "What hurts?" he asks finally, still painfully close and not realising the effect he has on me.
"Nothing," I lie, morals thrown out the window to protect my pride. "I’m just tired."
A grunt and he’s sweeping me up into those strong arms of his. "Then you should sleep." Ignoring my feeble protest he carries me back through to the bedroom. He stops in his tracks when he sees the still bloodstained mattress and his arms around me tighten painfully for a moment. Then he’s turning sharply, out of the doorway, down the corridor and into his room.
So he does realise there's a bed in here. A bed that he lowers me onto, removing the towel from around my waist and pulling the sheet up over my chest. Staring at me a moment longer he gives a nod - satisfactory, a job well done. He's turning, back to the still glowing laptop screen, seating himself automatically, ramrod straight and his fingers going like magnets to the keys. I sit up to watch him but he growls low in his throat.
"You said you were tired. Go to sleep."
Damn reflective monitor. "We were supposed to planning a mission, or did you forget? Being hurt has never stopped me before," here he almost winces – I didn’t mean to say it like that, "and it sure as hell won’t stop me now. Just give me the basics and then I’ll sleep. I promise." I place my right hand on my heart and raise the left one as if taking an oath. He just narrows his eyes. I sigh. Another wasted attempt to get a smile from the Perfect Soldier.
"I’m pulling you out of the mission."
"What?!"
I’m on my feet already, without stopping to think. My hand grabs the back of his chair, whirling him, my face lowered to his and my eyes flashing in fury.
"Don’t you dare, Yuy! Don’t you dare think that just because you’ve finally realised the damage you cause me I can’t handle a mission! That’s what I’m here for, it’s the only fucking thing I’ve got going for me! My fight, my revenge! After everything you put me through, after every time you’ve crushed me – body, heart and soul - you have no fucking right to pull me out!"
I push myself away from him, livid, my chest heaving as I give him a glare that could rival his. The sight that greets me is a surprising one. His mouth hangs open, his eyes are wide and unblinking, his body language all speaking volumes about the shock he feels. Yeah, well, damn. How could he? Like it’s the first time I’ve been ripped up inside and out because of him. I’ve completed missions still bleeding from his ministrations; there’s no way I’m letting him pull me out over a little tear and some bruising.
"Body, heart and soul?" he repeats, the question added, not accusingly, not sarcastically, but in all honest wonderment.
Shit. Oh holy fucking mother… My mind catches up with my words, too late. Far, far too late. He’s staring; cobalt eyes a liquid flame, blazing into me. I’m backing away; I don’t even realise until I’m bumping into the bed, sitting down suddenly, unable to tear from his gaze. He’s standing now, a small step towards me, oh shit, oh shit, shit, shit, shit…
"Body. Heart? And Soul?" He’s saying it again, still questioning, demanding a response I have no idea how to give. Each word pounding as he says them into my mind. Well, body, he knows. Takes it and uses it whenever he needs to. My body’s belonged to him for so long now that remembering a time when it was simply mine alone seems unreal. Heart? Soul? I don’t want to go there. It hurts to think about and it’s so confusing. But he’s towering over me now, a dark figure, standing over me, looming, menacing.
"What do you mean by that Duo?"
Even as I look away from him, down to the coarse carpet, I feel my eyes fill up with tears. I don’t want to let them fall, won’t let them…
"Love you," it’s barely a whisper, it’s a wonder if he even hears it, "love you, I love you, I’m sorry, can’t help it, never meant to, it just happened, I’m sorry…"
Brutally my chin is yanked upwards, my eyes being forced to meet his, two tears spilling at the sudden movement, leaving a telltale trail of moisture down my cheeks. I’m holding myself rigid, braced, not quite flinching, but ready to receive the impact I know will come.
His hand’s already drawing back, palm open, a slap rather then a punch then… but the effort is obvious as the knuckles turn white, fingers slowly clenching, a fist forming. I close my eyes and begin a prayer to Shinigami for my soul.
"Look at me." A command. A command I obey, to see his jaw clenched and teeth gritted, and his fist lowered to his side and restrained there by a locking of those bunched muscles in his arm.
"I’m sorry," I whisper once more, hanging my head. His next words only serve to confuse me further.
"So am I." His eyes are shut, wet around the lashes. Surely not. My heart pauses, skips a beat. What’s going on here? "I thought you gave your body willingly. I did not realise that these affections came with it."
I don't know what to say to that. I just sit there, stupidly, staring up at him with blatant hope in my eyes. What the fuck is he trying to say?
"I thought…" The Perfect Soldier is flummoxed? Not a good sign. "I thought it was just a… a release." He finally raises his eyes back to mine. "Just a release of tension for us both."
That's it. I didn't think my heart could feel any lower, that it could hurt anymore. But it does. Just sex, just a convenient fuck, I knew that was all it was but still… To hear it from his mouth, that beautiful, perfect, pouty mouth… Oh god, I think I'm going to be sick…
There's no stopping the tears this time as they rise up against my will. A continuous river, dripping from my jaw to fall on my still naked legs. I nod, too numb to say anything to him, and stand up to leave. I move without seeing, vision blurred, stumbling as I reach my room. Even through the ringing in my ears I can hear the grunt he makes as I walk away, hear his footsteps move down the corridor in my wake. But I've shut my door, leaning against it and curling up at its base, arms wrapped protectively around my trembling frame.
It hurts. Oh god, it hurts. I've just made a complete dickhead of myself in front of him but it hurts too much to care. Fuck. Now he's outside, rapping on the door but the sounds reach me as if through cotton wool in my head. The door's opening, my body pushed aside as it swings inwards under the full force of Heero's strength. He's pulling me up, off the floor, a hard look in his eyes, swinging me over his shoulder as if I weighed no more than a child.
"Heero! Put me down!" And I sound like a child as I scream, terrified now; terrified by the strength of him, of the power he has as he carries me back to his room. "Heero, please!" It's no good. He throws me down to the bed like a sack of potatoes, I bounce slightly, throwing me off balance and I'm not ready for him as he comes crashing down onto me.
Wait. No. He's not on me. He's resting his weight, balanced, leaning over me propped up on his hands. He's looking at me strangely. Oh fuck, I'm scared. I've never seen him like this. I thought he wasn't going to hurt me? My tears are a smeared mess across my cheeks and I'm trembling all over as he just stays there. And looks at me.
"Are you willing?" It's a quiet question, breathed right into my face. Oh, so he's not going to hit me. Just fuck me to death. Am I willing? What kind of question is that? Like I even have a choice. I want to shout 'no', spit in his face, and run as far as I can from those eerie eyes. But all I can do is nod, unable to tear my gaze from him. I'm always willing when it comes to him.
"Really willing?" Oh god, why can't he just do it? I'm scared! I'm bracing myself for the onslaught of physical pain but this is mental torture.
Again I nod, my tongue darting out to lick at my lower lip nervously. My throat is suddenly dry as I manage to croak out, "Yes." I close my eyes.
"Why?"
My eyes blink open again at the sudden question. What the…
"Why are you willing?"
Does he really have to make me say it again? It hurts enough! "Because," I shy away from his gaze, trying to speak as if my words mean nothing, "Because I love you."
"Hmm." He's nodding his head. Was that the answer he wanted to hear?
I have no more time to think as his lips come crashing into contact with mine. I open my mouth willingly, waiting for the possessive plundering of his tongue. But it doesn't come. In fact, the pressure on my lips lessens, his mouth hovering lightly over mine, gently moving, uncertain, unsure, a tentative nibble on my bottom lip. It's certainly not what I expected but I melt into the kiss nonetheless, enjoying the delicious tenderness of the moment, leaning up into it, craving more of his mouth.
I blink at him as he pulls away, awaiting an explanation for that bewilderingly sweet kiss.
"H…Heero?"
"You're tired. Sleep. We shall talk in the morning."
"Really?" I cling to his arm as he shifts away from me, no doubt anxious to return to his computer screen.
A nod. "Really. Now sleep." To my surprise he brushes a kiss against my brow before he goes. I roll onto my side to watch him as he begins clacking away on the keys again. Gentle. He was so gentle with me. A small smile tugs at my lips as I close my eyes and try to sleep.
I wake to find the room dark, the light from the computer monitor now gone. I begin to panic, where's Heero? Why is his laptop off?
Before I can get up to look for him or a possible intruder though I hear bedsprings creak behind me. Heero doesn't move under the covers, instead lies on top of them, wrapping an arm snugly around my waist from behind. His breath is warm and gentle against my ear, mildly ticklish as it moves my now dry wisps of hair. I think he thinks I'm asleep. So I lay still, regulating my breathing, making him confirm this suspicion.
His lips press softly against my neck and he sighs into my hair. "I can't promise anything, Duo," he whispers and I almost reply to him before I realise that he still thinks I'm asleep. He continues, his voice carrying clearly in the otherwise silent room. "I can't promise that it will work. But… I'll try. Teach me, Duo. Teach me how to love you."
My smile is finally back. A real smile lighting my face. I never thought I'd smile like this again. But here I am, grinning from ear to ear at the whispered words from the Perfect Soldier. No more one night stands. He means it. Still feigning slumber I roll over, facing him, snuggling into the warmth of his arms. I feel him tense, not sure of the situation and I pray that he'll get it right.
He does.
His arms pull me closer and his head rests lightly atop mine. "Good night Duo," he whispers before I feel him settle for sleep of his own. It doesn't take long for me to fall also, lulled into dreams by the softly beating heart beneath my ear.
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