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The Unity Arc 01: The Rush	By : tamiveldura Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 3512 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author: Tami Veldura

Title: The Rush

Status: Series of One-Shots

Part: 1/10 Completed

Pairing: 1x2 (Heero/Duo Gundam Wing)

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Heero seeks a bigger rush, Duo can provide it.

Archive: By all means! But please send me a cursory message. ^^

Feedback: Please! tamiveldura@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em... I'm not stealing, just... borrowing.. *shifty eyes* without permission... *cough*

A/N: Warnings for bloodplay/knifeplay and some masochistic tendancies on Heero's part. My first finished piece for Gundam Wing.

Beta: Nope.

--//--

The not-silent of three am was pound after pound of pressure on Duo’s ears. He rolled, not for the first time, and perched himself on his side. Heero lay motionless across the room, the steady up/down of his chest as unchangeable as the sea. Sometimes, like now, Duo hated the man for his machine-like ability to cope with things. They were filed, compartmentalized, trivialized and did not matter unless the Perfect Soldier brought them to the fore and said to himself ‘this shall matter to me.’ Duo wondered if anything merited such attention other than the impossible missions they were sent.

He stifled a sigh out of habit. With his insomnia tonight Duo wasn’t sure his roommate was asleep at all, but the man was doing a damned good impression of it and while Duo was wildly jealous, he wasn’t going to interrupt what might be a sound sleep because he was restless.

Duo flicked the thin sheet off him and slipped to the floor in perfect silence. Stealth, like breathing, came naturally to him. Heero in the room made it more important. A wrong move would put Duo at the wrong end of a gun and while the American was sure he was destined to be killed by one of these four (Heero being the most likely candidate to shoot him in a fit of pique), he wasn’t in any particular hurry to hasten the process. Death was a rather concerning prospect; even for Shinigami.

The American pivoted on the worn wood of the floor, his equally worn socks sliding without even a whisper against the vinyl. His hair flicked in the air, a ripple of pressure that Duo balanced against in minute shifts from his shoulders to his toes. The flick fell to a gentle arc—he couldn’t afford even that bit of sound with Heero so close.

With all the sound of a ghost he paced to the desk that sat between their beds, Heero’s computer sat silent and dark on the warped wood. The only life in the machine was a steady blink of a non-colored light, like the steady breath of the Perfect Soldier. The two were disgustingly in sync.

Duo fell into the easy pattern with cat-like steps, long and steady, each one precisely where he wanted.

He pivoted on the inhale.

Heero’s hand shot out, fast as quicksilver and made for Duo’s wrist. Shinigami was faster and sidestepped— directly into Heero’s other hand. They drew at the same time. Heero aimed his gun, safety off. Duo held a throwing knife.

They paused.

He should put the knife away. It was more of a threat at the moment from Heero’s point of view, but Duo couldn’t bring himself to drop the item with that gun still pointed. The Prussian blue eyes were not cloudy with sleep but the sound of a knife hitting the wood might not result in pleasant things.

Duo very slowly licked his lips. Heero followed the movement with his eyes and a minute turn of his head. With equal slowness the Perfect Soldier uncocked the Browning. Duo’s eyes went wide in surprise. He set it down beside the laptop and the American was surely gaping by now.

He made to set the thin blade down on the desk, or at least return it to the spring in his wrist, but Heero twitched at the first sign of movement. Duo froze. Even disarmed, Heero was more of a threat than Duo could ever be.

Pressure on his trapped wrist was surprising. Heero was drawing him forward, closer. The gleam in those Prussian eyes gave the American something to think about. While part of his brain screamed ‘danger!’ another was honestly considering this. What could Heero possibly be thinking?

The gun was down… about as put away as it was going to get, which meant killing wasn’t on the list of things immediately happening. (Duo was rather grateful about this fact.) However he couldn’t puzzle out any other reason he’d be drawn toward the Perfect Soldier, rather than shoved away, briskly told to get to bed, why couldn’t he let people sleep?

But closer? Closer meant Duo had an advantage with his knife. Closer meant more of a danger for Heero and yet that gleam… that slight turn of his eyes at the corners and the ghost of a smirk that was there if he squinted in just the right light… that gleam said this was a thrill. A rush.

Duo thought it might be an addiction.

He had seen Heero take impossible risks and come out of them, muttering about easy targets, lazy guards and generally unsatisfied with the challenge he faced. He was (could it be possible?) bored with the missions. They were each the same in their own pathetic way. Another base to infiltrate, another bomb to set, another computer to hack. The roadblocks were thin at best, nonexistent at worst and the Perfect Soldier was feeling a little over-trained.

Duo had yet to move any muscle that Heero didn’t indicate first. When the man reached forward (glaciers moved faster than this pair) to brush his knuckles against Duo’s cheek and hook his fingers around the American’s neck… brought him downward with all the speed of melting ice in the arctic… Duo’s brain made an impossible leap. An improbable, impossible leap.

It was the only thing that made sense.

It was more than a rush, more than a thrill for an adrenaline junkie. This was a danger, one that Heero couldn’t predict, couldn’t read with the same easy negligence that he read the mass-produced soldiers Oz sent against them. Duo was the next level, a test of skill—he wasn’t sure how he felt about that but when Heero’s lips brushed against his own Duo decided he could sort out feelings and tests later. This was much too interesting to stop.

The arm holding his knife twitched. Heero instantly turned his head to focus but the hand on Duo’s neck didn’t move, barely tensed. Duo could see the analysis flicking through the Perfect Soldier’s mind and the very instant the conclusion ‘Threat level: acceptable’ flicked across the final display.

Duo bent his elbow, brought the knife closer to them both, and probably signed his death warrant. Heero released the American’s wrist but only to move his hand upward. Duo followed the motion, not brave enough yet to skim his hand up Heero’s side, but bold enough to touch his forearm, slide the contact upward, and pin that arm to the pillow.

There was another tense pause.

Heero’s eyes nearly glowed with intensity. The muscles under Duo’s hand tensed with deliberate slowness. The American applied only enough pressure to keep the arm pinned, nothing more. When Heero relaxed, so did Duo and the creeping smirk across the Perfect Soldier’s mouth was worth a thousand deaths as far as Duo was concerned.

He perched his right knee on the mattress and suspended himself there for a moment, letting Heero absorb his movement before he made it. With aching control he floated his left leg over Heero’s placed it on the mattress, supported himself on those three points with the knife in his left hand, motionless.

Shinigami smiled. Heero tensed but his Prussian eyes continued to gleam.

Duo wanted to laugh. He wanted a picture of this moment, Heero unarmed and mostly pinned, certainly straddled and him holding a knife. It was an event that would never, ever, happen again. How far could he take this? Where was Heero’s point of no return?

The rush wasn’t just one-sided anymore. Duo could feel his blood racing and every detail was in hyper relief. The not-silence of three-thirty didn’t bother him. It was heady. There was also an erection straining his pants that Duo was so unsurprised about he had yet to consider it.

Heero’s free hand came to rest on Duo’s left thigh and gripped there lightly. The American passed his knife inches over Heero’s nose (and could measure the tension from the grip on his leg) and downward, just under the chin where he paused for effect… then moved further to Heero’s collar where the thin line of his shirt began and the tanned skin beneath escaped Duo’s sight.

He licked his lips and let the knife rest just there for a moment, divided from skin only by the green fabric of Heero’s tanktop, but as close as any knife had ever gotten to the man without his control.

He added pressure in degrees. The strands of fabric split, twisted back on themselves, curled inward and parted elegantly before the blade. Heero inhaled.

The fabric ended, pealing upward against the grain and Duo relaxed. The blade rested against warm skin, not quite hard enough to split, not quite light enough to pass as unimportant. Duo walked the fine edge like Trowa walked his tightrope… but he was fairly certain Trowa didn’t get this much of a rush from the heights.

Duo pulled the knife downward, cutting through green fabric and leaving the faintest white line of pressure in his wake. Between defined pectorals to the edge of the sternum, downward over abs where the fabric ended, parting eagerly like Duo’s lips as he licked them again.

Heero exhaled.

His stomach fell away from the knife, Duo chased it, kept the pressure on, pierced.

The hand on Duo’s thigh twitched.

A drop of blood welled at the tip of his blade with the painful slowness of shifting continents. Duo was rather surprised he remained alive long enough to witness the event.

Heero inhaled, put pressure on the knife, and shocked Duo into pulling the blade away and looking up. The Perfect Soldier wasn’t focused on the American. His eyes were hazy, half-lidded and nearly all pupil. The man was so high on endorphins he probably couldn’t feel pain.

Interesting.

The shirt parted with simple flicks of the wrist and laid bare a fascinating blank canvas. He started at the collar with a shallow cut, small. It took time, but eventually blood colored it red and beaded at the center.

He traced another line, this one over the bump of the collar bone. Another around a dusky nipple where the nerves were dense. The blood rushed quicker there, Duo noticed.

Heero’s lips parted just so and the sigh of air that escaped was colored with sound. It was a moan that went directly to Duo’s arousal.

The American dipped his head and laved at the nipple, less for the taste of blood and more for the effect. And what a wonderful effect it was. Heero shuddered from top to toe and twisted in slow motion. It was a controlled arc of muscles tensing against Duo’s hold.

He decided they were wearing far too many clothes. The blade made short work of the spandex pants, Duo tossed them to the side and admired the view for a very brief moment. He leaned back to strip his own pants off but at the first sign of freedom Heero tensed. The glazed look in his eyes snapped to hyper-focus until Duo tightened his grip. Once it was clear the American still had him pinned, Heero’s eyes slid back into haziness.

Curious. Duo squinted at the man below him. How Heero could control himself to this degree he didn’t know… but it was a challenge he was more than willing to take. He traced a faint white line down Heero’s torso. The Perfect Soldier nearly writhed. Duo rested the blade against the outside of the man’s hip, dragged the flat of it around that smooth curve to the front. It was a nearly flat plain of skin there at the junction of leg and torso. Duo cut his name into that expanse; three simple letters that were much more shallow than the others this far. There was no blood- only the sting that drove Heero to higher heights.

Shinigami grinned. The Perfect Soldier had been marked. He probably didn’t know it yet and when he found out Duo would be in for some serious hell, but it would all be worth it. Completely worth it.

His erection throbbed. Duo slapped the blade on the bed, his palm flat against the mattress to support his weight. He bent nearly double and breathed over Heero’s arousal before taking just the tip into his mouth. He bobbed his head downward, halfway, then scraped his teeth a bit more than gently as he drew up again. Down, up with a scrape, down a bit further and he had to shift his legs to pin Heero more firmly in place.

Restraints, he thought absently, next time there needed to be restraints. Duo opened his mouth and breathed. The shock of air sent Heero into another writhing twist, still so perfectly controlled, that nearly had him out of Duo’s straining grip.

Duo growled and bit at Heero’s torso. He latched onto the man’s shoulder and ground their hips together. With one hand busy holding Heero’s arm and his mobility limited by the pilot’s grip on his thigh Duo was rapidly running out of options for stimulation. He was close to the edge, so close. It would be so easy to push himself over… but Heero wasn’t there yet.

The Wing pilot moaned a second time and Duo reconsidered. Maybe he was there, but the masochistic control he exerted over his own body was preventing the best part of this encounter. The hand on Duo’s thigh tightened impossibly. There was probably going to be a bruise there soon if this kept up.

Duo abandoned the knife on the bed and pulled at Heero’s hand. It didn’t so much as budge.

“Let go.” He demanded, biting Heero’s collarbone then laving his tongue over the cut he’d made there previously.

After some hesitation the grip loosened, then relaxed. Duo yanked the hand upward and pinned them both against the pillow. Such a vulnerable position was like flipping a switch. Heero’s hips surged upward. Duo reattached his mouth to the man’s shoulder, the point where it joined neck, and rode the movement with surprising ease. They surged again, Heero supporting Duo’s full weight for a moment. The American clung with thighs and hands, focused mostly on keeping the man pinned since he had little leverage for much else.

Heero’s breath was almost in pants. Not quite and the nearly steady in-out was driving Duo insane. Was there nothing that would send this man over the edge for the final piece of this puzzle? He twisted his hips for his own pleasure and seized against Heero with the force of the climax. It was wrung from his thin body drop for drop, every intense wave more nerve wracking than the last. His hands twitched against Heero’s wrists and finally, finally something strained in the Wing pilot.

Heero wrenched his arms from Duo’s grip and held the smaller man’s hips hard as the American came, twitching and nearly incoherent. The Perfect Soldier jerked and gasped. His eyes fell shut then flashed open again as the first wave of sensation tore through his control. It was heavenly. The second crash of feeling tensed his body head to toe and he found himself wondering if it could get any better than this. And then it did. His mind shook and his fingers spasmed, he thought he said something; he could’ve been wrong. It was all a mess of sound and pressure in his head with a voice screaming at him about unacceptable risk while another agreed and demanded strict control but he really didn’t care a this point because Duo-- !!

Duo had given him this freedom without knowing what Heero had wanted in the first place… not that Heero himself knew what he was doing when he put down that gun and let Duo keep his knife--

Knife!

Awareness snapped into place and Heero’s hand shot out to the mattress where knife… should have been. He sat up in the bed and aimed his Browning at Duo. Shinigami was already across the room with knife in hand.

“Now, He-chan, are we gonna go through this shit again?”
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The Unity Arc 01: The Rush