Heero Yuy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wingzerosoldier) wrote2013-02-23 08:49 pm
wingzerosoldier) wrote2013-02-23 08:49 pm
[rp] But There Are Dreams That Cannot Be
War.
It was a terrible thing, that much most everyone could agree on. Some just thought it more necessary than others. However necessary it was or wasn’t, those who decided when there was war, those who instigated it, were responsible for each and every life touched by it, marred by it, taken by it. But how responsible, how guilty were those who allowed themselves to be used as tools?
How guilty was a boy with a detonator for killing a little girl with a yellow flower and a puppy? How guilty was a boy, little more than a child, that had sat in the pilot seat of humankind’s most advanced weapon? No matter his actions that influenced the end of the war; the boy had killed hundreds, thousands. Directly and indirectly. A boy, who could never truly understand the scope of what he had done, could never atone for those sins.
There were no heroes in war, only those who had done enough good among the evil to be recognized as still human.
He said he would never kill again, and yet - what use is a gun that has no target, a soldier who has no enemy, an operative who has no mission?
There was nothing for the boy with no name, no home, no mission. No life left to live, yet he couldn’t die. He couldn’t die with the blood of thousands on his hands. For each life he had taken, it seemed a mockery to give up that precious gift he had stolen. If he forfeit his own life, there was no word to express the cowardice of running from his sins.
He found comfort in Duo Maxwell. Another Gundam pilot, another boy who had his life taken from him by the war, another nameless victim who had to make his own name and his own way. It started sometime between the American pointing a gun at his face and the final moments in the silence of space after the destruction of Libra, but exactly when, he didn’t know. When he realized he had emotions other than guilt. Emotions towards another person that went beyond some extension of self-preservation. Emotions that went beyond the mission and its effects and consequences. Love, Duo had called it, but there was too much blood on his hands for him to accept that he deserved that love. And yet the American had persisted. Everyone deserved a chance, even them. As long as they tried to atone for what they had done, why should they be miserable and throw away the life they’d kept by killing other people?
Sleep didn’t come easy for the once Wing Zero pilot. Even as he lay in the dark, curled around his lover, he could only stare past the pillows to the stars beyond the window. The stars in the darkness that he wished would have swallowed him whole. But no, that was a coward thinking, someone who ran away. When he slept, he dreamed. He killed her often in his dreams - the little girl with the yellow flower and puppy. He hears her laugh a lot, too, before he destroys her, her family, her home, everything she’d ever known. He counted mobile suits in his dreams, but he could never think how many he’d destroyed.
He cried, sometimes, silent sobs that wracked his body and bitter tears that fell into the other’s braid as he slept. Duo had to know. It was hopeful to think he hadn’t woken the ex-02 pilot up with his anguish that sometimes just wouldn’t be reined in. As the days went on, things changed. It wasn’t that love wasn’t there - there was love. Love and guilt; all he had left. But his touch became colder, his gaze became distant, his words became fainter.
He woke up on the floor one night, tangled in the sheets and screaming. Head pressed to the floor and nails digging against the carpet, it had taken every ounce of self-control he had to stop himself. Self-control, and Duo’s crying and begging. He didn’t know how long he screamed, but his throat hurt as he washed his face with water in the bathroom. He came back to find that his lover had remade the bed for them. Neither of them slept the rest of that night, but when Duo stirred from his doze in the light of mid-morning, he found Heero by the front door. He wore his Preventers uniform, his pistol tucked in the back of his waistband under his jacket, and an old, familiar duffel bag sitting next to the welcome mat. He was leaving, he explained. He couldn’t sit in a normal house, with a normal life, and it not feel twisted and undeserved. It wasn’t because he didn’t love Duo, he reassured the other, hand cupping his cheek and brushing back the strands that had escaped his braid. If Duo wanted to wait, he would come back. One day, when he felt he had appeased the ghosts of his conscience. He loved Duo, but living like this was driving him insane. He left after a last kiss, with the promise that when he came back, they would get married like they had talked of.
He was 19 then.
He’s 25 today, dressed sharply in the formal uniform of the Preventers. His hair is unruly as it ever was, bangs low in front of prussian blue eyes. He’s taller now, shoulders a bit broader and held straight. There are murmurs behind him on the street as he walks, but their voices are eclipsed by polished shoes clicking along the asphalt. No one can tell his intent by his expression. It’s entirely neutral, but there’s the glimmer of one with a mission. A look his old lover would know well. Tucked carefully under his arm is a bouquet of 11 roses - red and yellow. Love and new beginnings. His pace slows and he stops in front of the third row house on the street. He looks up at the weather-worn door.
Six years ago, a haunted, gaunt teenager stood in the same spot, looking at the door that had just closed. He had told the door - and the occupant within, a quiet goodbye. Today he greets the same door without words. He’d made sure the resident was the same, a simple check had proved that. He steps forward, and presses the doorbell under the nameplate that says ‘Maxwell’, then steps back.
It was a terrible thing, that much most everyone could agree on. Some just thought it more necessary than others. However necessary it was or wasn’t, those who decided when there was war, those who instigated it, were responsible for each and every life touched by it, marred by it, taken by it. But how responsible, how guilty were those who allowed themselves to be used as tools?
How guilty was a boy with a detonator for killing a little girl with a yellow flower and a puppy? How guilty was a boy, little more than a child, that had sat in the pilot seat of humankind’s most advanced weapon? No matter his actions that influenced the end of the war; the boy had killed hundreds, thousands. Directly and indirectly. A boy, who could never truly understand the scope of what he had done, could never atone for those sins.
There were no heroes in war, only those who had done enough good among the evil to be recognized as still human.
He said he would never kill again, and yet - what use is a gun that has no target, a soldier who has no enemy, an operative who has no mission?
There was nothing for the boy with no name, no home, no mission. No life left to live, yet he couldn’t die. He couldn’t die with the blood of thousands on his hands. For each life he had taken, it seemed a mockery to give up that precious gift he had stolen. If he forfeit his own life, there was no word to express the cowardice of running from his sins.
He found comfort in Duo Maxwell. Another Gundam pilot, another boy who had his life taken from him by the war, another nameless victim who had to make his own name and his own way. It started sometime between the American pointing a gun at his face and the final moments in the silence of space after the destruction of Libra, but exactly when, he didn’t know. When he realized he had emotions other than guilt. Emotions towards another person that went beyond some extension of self-preservation. Emotions that went beyond the mission and its effects and consequences. Love, Duo had called it, but there was too much blood on his hands for him to accept that he deserved that love. And yet the American had persisted. Everyone deserved a chance, even them. As long as they tried to atone for what they had done, why should they be miserable and throw away the life they’d kept by killing other people?
Sleep didn’t come easy for the once Wing Zero pilot. Even as he lay in the dark, curled around his lover, he could only stare past the pillows to the stars beyond the window. The stars in the darkness that he wished would have swallowed him whole. But no, that was a coward thinking, someone who ran away. When he slept, he dreamed. He killed her often in his dreams - the little girl with the yellow flower and puppy. He hears her laugh a lot, too, before he destroys her, her family, her home, everything she’d ever known. He counted mobile suits in his dreams, but he could never think how many he’d destroyed.
He cried, sometimes, silent sobs that wracked his body and bitter tears that fell into the other’s braid as he slept. Duo had to know. It was hopeful to think he hadn’t woken the ex-02 pilot up with his anguish that sometimes just wouldn’t be reined in. As the days went on, things changed. It wasn’t that love wasn’t there - there was love. Love and guilt; all he had left. But his touch became colder, his gaze became distant, his words became fainter.
He woke up on the floor one night, tangled in the sheets and screaming. Head pressed to the floor and nails digging against the carpet, it had taken every ounce of self-control he had to stop himself. Self-control, and Duo’s crying and begging. He didn’t know how long he screamed, but his throat hurt as he washed his face with water in the bathroom. He came back to find that his lover had remade the bed for them. Neither of them slept the rest of that night, but when Duo stirred from his doze in the light of mid-morning, he found Heero by the front door. He wore his Preventers uniform, his pistol tucked in the back of his waistband under his jacket, and an old, familiar duffel bag sitting next to the welcome mat. He was leaving, he explained. He couldn’t sit in a normal house, with a normal life, and it not feel twisted and undeserved. It wasn’t because he didn’t love Duo, he reassured the other, hand cupping his cheek and brushing back the strands that had escaped his braid. If Duo wanted to wait, he would come back. One day, when he felt he had appeased the ghosts of his conscience. He loved Duo, but living like this was driving him insane. He left after a last kiss, with the promise that when he came back, they would get married like they had talked of.
He was 19 then.
He’s 25 today, dressed sharply in the formal uniform of the Preventers. His hair is unruly as it ever was, bangs low in front of prussian blue eyes. He’s taller now, shoulders a bit broader and held straight. There are murmurs behind him on the street as he walks, but their voices are eclipsed by polished shoes clicking along the asphalt. No one can tell his intent by his expression. It’s entirely neutral, but there’s the glimmer of one with a mission. A look his old lover would know well. Tucked carefully under his arm is a bouquet of 11 roses - red and yellow. Love and new beginnings. His pace slows and he stops in front of the third row house on the street. He looks up at the weather-worn door.
Six years ago, a haunted, gaunt teenager stood in the same spot, looking at the door that had just closed. He had told the door - and the occupant within, a quiet goodbye. Today he greets the same door without words. He’d made sure the resident was the same, a simple check had proved that. He steps forward, and presses the doorbell under the nameplate that says ‘Maxwell’, then steps back.
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He's confused by that look in Heero's eye, one that he's sure he's reading correctly and yet... doesn't really understand. Of all people, Duo Maxwell would not be the one to judge Heero for his scars or his stories from what he'd gone through. If anything, he'd want to know the stories, what scars came from where, so he knew the stories that went along with the scars, to know all he'd gone through while he wasn't with him and appreciate the journey they'd seemingly both gone through, and marked themselves with.
"Oh baby.." Duo leans in to kiss Heero's lips, reassuring him, before moving down his neck, his collarbone. He takes in each scar, tracing its outline with his lips, the highs and lows and contours, adoring every inch of him that he could get his hands and mouth on.
"You'll have to tell me the stories, later.." Right about now... his mouth was lingering down, hands resting at his pants line, kissing at every mark and scars and.. maybe a little more.
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The Japanese Preventer watches his old partner trailing down his torso. Gently, a hand finds Duo's hair again, stroking and petting and occasionally rubbing or massaging against his scalp. It's a soothing gesture for Heero. Occasionally his eyes close, or the muscles in his abdomen tighten at the sensations from the other's kisses. Some of the scars seem still sensitive, but in anything but a painful way.
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They may not be interesting for Heero, but Duo would like to know what had marked his lover's body up like this, if only to satisfy his own curiosity. He was, after all, a little bit of the nosey type from time to time, but if Heero ended up not wanting to tell him, that was fine too.
He'd accept it. Eventually.
He hums softly as Heero's hand finds his hair again, having missed the feeling of someone's hand in his hair, the light tug on his scalp that sent a noticeable shiver and wave of goosebumps down Duo's back. Eventually he moves down far enough to be met with his button and fly, and those mischievous eyes turn up to Heero through his bangs, running his hands down those strong thighs.
"Can I?" It was.. more polite to ask, at least, considering how long they'd been apart and the entire situation.
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There's another scar on his hip just hidden by his jeans, that drags down onto his thigh, and there's a second one on the other thigh.
His lips part as if to speak for a moment, but he doesn't say anything after all, only brushes Duo's hair a bit out of his face.
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He's.. beginning to understand why Heero has been so hesitant. he'd never really known heero to be so self conscious about his body, but as he pulls down his pants, taking his underwear with it and just... taking him all in. Those scars... he can't help but to touch them, tracing the thin white scars. He can't help but wonder why there's two of them, on either thigh, and something just... compels him.
So he crawls back up Heero's body to lean in and kiss him, reassuring and warm, not pushing too much.
"You're still the perfect one for me. Just so you know." Another kiss, hands passing though Heero's hair.
At least until a hand trails back down, tracing that line again, and giving another kiss. "I... can't help but ask.. what happened there?" He's a little concerned about him, really, not wanting the possibility of hurting him if this was.. anything too major.
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The scars, not quite identical but pretty close, are not exactly something he wants to share a half hour into a reunion, especially not halfway to having sex. He gives the smallest shake of his head, covering Duo's hand. "Later," he promises. After all, now, they have all the time in the world.
He leans in to distract Duo and himself with more kisses, back arching just a little to press their torsos together. He inhales deeply and moves for more kisses along Duo's cheek and jawline. His hands begin roaming again.
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That little detail is probably what made him the most nervous about Heero's mission to atone for all he'd done. After all, there was only so much one could do hand to hand, and deadly moves when you were fighting that way were few and far between in the moment. It explains a lot about all of those scars, but for the moment he'll accept Heero's distraction.
"'Kay..." He murmurs before Heero's kissing him again, his own hands roaming over the inches of naked skin now available to him. He begins with his back and shoulders, tracing, mapping, and memorizing each inch, nook, and bend of muscle and bone, moaning softly as Heero presses their bodies together. Eventually his hands reach Heero's ass, gently cupping and grabbing at him, massaging the muscle under his hands, pressing closer to the muscle of Heero's body, heavy and needy.
Eventually he pulls away, having to stretch in order to catch his breath. "Mmn.. lemme get these pants off.. they're never good for me when you're around.."
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It's been so long, he keeps thinking, and there's some disbelief there, the thought that he'll wake up and Duo won't actually be next to him or on top of him. While certainly nowhere near as tight as Duo's jeans must be feeling, his own uniform slacks are getting a little restrictive too. But he'll be patient for now.
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"I think.." Duo comments as he moves to stand, hands moving to quickly undo his jeans and push them down his hips, taking his underwear with it. "Part of my mission here, tonight, is to get you to at least smile, for real, once." That same goal could be applied to you, too, Duo. Though he seems more than content to crawl back on the bed and get to work doing the same for Heero, kissing down his stomach, tongue trailing after, blowing on it to give a cold sensation.
His tongue dips in to Heero's bellybutton, and he seems intent on working on Heero's pants next, hands steady and unfumbling as he unsnaps his button and fly, speaking against his stomach.
"That, and I wanna suck you off again."
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Heero lays back a bit to allow easier access to his belt and slacks, lifting his hips to help Duo get them down. Aside from the two scars on either hip which are now completely bare, there's another bullet wound in one thigh, and a couple of other miscellaneous scars. At this point, though, he seems to have at least relaxed a bit.
He ends up not saying anything, but given his expression, he's definitely at least listening.
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Now he only had one more piece of clothing to lose - or maybe just an accessory - but that pesky ring would come off in time. With the way it seemed to slide around on his finger without even trying, it wouldn't take all that much for that ring to slide right off with a little prompting. He's sure to give Heero a nice long look, smiling at that touch to his thigh, before he crawls back over him. Duo's a muscular type, small and very lean, and that hasn't really changed since Heero left.
Duo takes in those injuries, kissing along the outlines of every injury, reverently running his hands along Heero's thighs, to his calves and feet, adoring every inch of him that he possibly can. Though... seeing all of him so covered in scars seems to have snapped him out of a much more carnal mind set, and soon he's crawling up Heero's body, lacing their fingers together as he leans in to kiss his lips again.
"I love you, Heero. So much."
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No, his one true regret, or at least the subject of it, was laying here in his arms. His brows furrow, the slightest bit. His kisses are slow and faint, but his hands move to rest at the other's waist. And his voice, too, is faint like his kisses, but he speaks with a tone laced with pain, unrestrained like it normally is. It sounds out of place, when his expression is still mostly, and carefully, controlled.
"I love you too."
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"Hey.." Duo's tone is a little less adoring, now, watching Heero with a slight concern crossing his brows at that tone. He knows what Heero's doing - it's what he always does - beating himself up over minor failures or things that will solve themselves. Yes, for a little while he might not be the most trusting with Heero returning from errands or Preventer's missions, but those things would heal themselves. Eventually. If anything, Duo was exceptionally forgiving when he wanted to be, and right now he was more than willing to set aside Heero's past failures for their new opportunity, now that he was feeling better.
"Don't beat yourself up over it anymore, okay? It's over with - I'm happy you're better, and we're together again. Don't stress, just love me.." He moves to lace their fingers together, the over sized ring wobbling on his knuckle before falling to the mattress with a soft thud. Duo looks at it and then.. actually smiles. Not some half-assed thing, though it's small, but it's a real one. "Baby.."
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For now, he untangles them to prompt Duo to roll on his back. This way he can bury his face in the other's neck, trail kisses all over, without having to look at that face he left behind. It's painful, and right now he's not sure how well his mask will hold up. So it's better if Duo can't see the mask, his inner turmoil. Instead he'll keep his head down, and attend to every inch of the other's skin with his hands and the occasional kiss.
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Of course he knows very well how much Heero enjoys his hair - but the Deathscythe pilot finds himself realizing this was going to be a bitch to brush out when they're done with whatever ends up happening - the hair a little too long even for him. Hopefully Heero could accompany him to his hair cutting appointment, at least to hold his hand. Even taking off his ends was a nerve-wracking occurrence, and though he was ready to move with Heero, he knew that meant leaving behind the person he'd grown to trust in cutting his hair and doing it in a way that made him comfortable. They both have things that set them off kilter, and at the moment he hadn't thought about his smile doing that for Heero.
But he complies with the Japanese man asking him to roll over, sighing gently as Heero kisses at his neck. His hand weaves its way in to Heero's hair, gripping him lightly and giving a little appreciative tug. He knows what Heero's trying to hide, but at the moment... he'd content to let him do it.
They'll have a lot to work through, even after all of this is over with and technically resolved. But for right now, they can ignore it and just enjoy each other. At least he's hoping so.
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He's gentle and slow, especially at first, as if afraid he might break his lover, as if his absence had made the other physically fragile. Maybe he just didn't want to mess something else up. He catches Duo's ear lobe between his teeth lightly, and suckles it, before moving back to kiss along the other's shoulder. His hand becomes, slowly, a little more bold, his grip just a little firmer.
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Duo tends to find reassurance in physical ways more so than words - prefers to focus on Heero's mouth and hands instead of what they'll have to work out in the near future. That could come with time, but right now he wanted very real reassurance that this wasn't a dream - that Heero was here and real, heavy and pressed against him. He gasps as Heero takes him in to his hand, groaning softly at the sensation. Even if it's slow and gentle, it's Heero, and that makes it all the better even if they're just beginning.
Duo's hands trace the lines and contours of Heero's back and arms, returning the affection even as he shifts and moans under his affection. The ex-Wing Zero pilot still knows exactly what to do - exactly where to touch, and even in the early stages he's quickly becoming aroused, his own hand trailing down Heero's abdomen to take Heero in to his hand as well, aiming to stroke in time with how Heero is stroking him.
"Heero.."
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Heero shifts their positions a little after a short time, moving to run his hand along Duo's thigh, and then tease at his entrance. "I don't have anything to use," he realizes quietly, but out loud nonetheless. He glances up to his partner.
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That familiar length in his fingers makes him groan softly, well aware of what he was doing to Heero as well as himself by doing this. He liked to spoil the Wing Zero pilot, and always had, and apparently now was no exception. He turns to press a kiss where ever he can as Heero presses in to his hand, acknowledging him and how good this felt.
His body jolts just slightly as Heero teases him, unused to the way Heero's fingers felt so rough against sensitive skin. It takes him a minute to think, though he looks at Heero as he speaks.
"I think I have a small pack of lube in my wallet, just in case... if not I know for sure I have a condom that you can at least use inside out or at first... either way.." Just know he was going to want that thing taken off as soon as he's properly slicked.
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He's not hurt, other than the throb of his body and of his length in his want and need for Heero. He knows that seeing him again, hearing that he hadn't been able to force himself to be happy while he was gone, had to be hard. At the moment, though, he didn't want to focus on the bad or the detrimental, he wanted to focus on the fact that they were together, and still knew each other so well after six years.
He sits up as Heero hands him his wallet, opening it and fishing in a side pocket. He produces both, shoves the condom back inside, and gives Heero the lube, tossing his wallet to the side. He'd find it later, but right now.... he's more focused on laying back and spreading his legs, opening himself to his partner.
"I want you, Heero."
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One finger circles Duo's opening in warning, before slowly, carefully, he pushes inside. The rhythm is slow and almost searching, moving for the right angle that felt the best for the other. He kisses Duo's thigh or the ridge of his hip every once in a while.
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Duo sighs as Heero pushes inside of him, relaxed and relatively easy to push open. He's not been a complete saint while Heero was gone, but he hadn't exactly been as voracious and needy as he had been with Heero most of the time, but right now he could feel that rearing its head again already. There's a soft whine as Heero moves and presses against him, hips tipping and pressing against him in order to aid him.
But it seems Heero still know him well, and soon he's gasping and jolting, mewling and pressing back in to Heero again. "Right there, Heero... nnghh.."
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He remembered well the feel of his once-and-again lover, the faint scent on his skin, the tone of his muscles. All of it had changed, just a little, but he already seemed familiar with it again. His free hand slides up along Duo's waist, his side. Once in a while, he'll glance up for confirmation, the reassurance that he's not doing anything wrong. The ex-pilot finds himself feeling a bit greedy, wanting more and more of those soft, sweet noises he'd only heard in dreams and daydreams for so long now.
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Duo's breathing dissolves in to little pants and groans, mewling occasionally, knowing what the little sounds do for Heero. They'd been lovers for so long he'd be a fool not to know, really, hands twisting in the sheets and pulling, head thrown back against the mattress. It feels so good to have Heero again, who seemed to know him inside out, how to touch him and how to make him feel. It's all so good and surreal, and he's biting his lip, eyes hazy with lust as Heero looks up at him, closing as he moans again.
His sides shiver with Heero's touches, slim ribs and waist heaving as he moves to go with Heero's fingers as they slide in and out.
"Yes, baby..."
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