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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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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A soft sigh takes place of what otherwise would have been a moan from the ex-pilot, echoing one of Duo's noises. Finally, he briefly moves to stretch him a little more, with three fingers. Once he's sure he won't be too much, the ex-soldier shifts to position himself between Duo's thighs. For a moment, he moves to stroke himself just to make sure he's ready. His blue eyes flicker over his lover's form.
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If he wasn't doing well he wouldn't be moaning quite as often as he was, and probably would be pointing out to Heero exactly what he'd rather he do at the moment. He'd had to be bossy, in other romps since Heero's been gone, to get what he wanted and the way he wanted it. But with the Japanese pilot he felt no real discerning need to tell him what to do, groaning and moaning as Heero hit all the right places all over again.
When Heero pulls his fingers free Duo sighs at the loss of fullness, watching Heero as he positions himself between his thighs, taking the moment to gather his hair from underneath of himself and sort of.. throw it over the side of the bed for now. There's no way it will all stay there, depending on his this goes, but for the moment he didn't want it pulled unpleasantly while they were in the heat of the moment. While Heero strokes himself Duo takes the time to look him over as well, hand running down one strong thigh as he looks right back at him, maneuvering himself so that Heero could enter him easily.
"Whenever you're ready, Heero.."
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The tight heat feels unreal. Even though he had thought about it over his years alone, and had never really forgotten...he didn't remember it being this good. He stops, fully seated, bowed over just a little and brows furrowed a bit. He breathes out the other's name very quietly. As he begins to move, he can tell he'll have to be careful, lest he be overloaded almost immediately.
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Absolutely nothing in the six years that they had been apart compared to Heero in the flesh. Even the look of him, now decorated with so many scars and stories, was exciting, the very sight of his lover's body after so long still gave him pangs of deep-seated want. He'd entertained the man whose ring was now lost in an abyss of sheets, but nothing quite lived up to the feeling of Heero Yuy pressing in to your body, so far as Duo is concerned.
He moans, long and low, as Heero presses inside of him, hands gripping at Heero's upper arms. Being filled by Heero... after six long years of waiting for him.. it was well worth having to explain to the man waiting for him why he was leaving and with who. His only plans were to grab what little clothing he had, their photos that he had set aside in a box, and Heero's flowers, and then he would go and never look back.
"Baby... you feel amazing.." He croons, running his hands along Heero's arms, leaning up to kiss him.
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One hand tangles loosely in Duo's long hair, although he's careful not to tug, as he finally begins to move his hips in rhythm, albeit a slow one.
The young man straightens once he's set up a pace, free hand sliding along the other's side. He doesn't seem keen on picking up the pace, although gradually he does press a little deeper, rocking his hips at a slight angle.
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Duo sighs, tipping his head to the side as Heero suckles at that spot, not pushing him to move faster, or do much of anything other than what he was already doing. The fact that this was Heero here, touching him and inside of him, was more than enough for the moment. Even though he still has to end the relationship waiting for him at home, he'll gladly do so with Heero's light little mark on his neck, hands touching and tracing Heero's body, his scars and muscles and bone structure - everything.
Duo moves with him, once Heero sets a pace, whining softly as Heero's body presses against his own - pleasure shooting up his spine and through his limbs with each successive push.
"Ah - yes, Heero.." He's glad to see that his lover hadn't lost his touch, fingers digging in to Heero's skin. Eventually he might move a little more quickly, desperately, but right now he's just enjoying it. "Baby.."
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His hips move faster, briefly, then slower again, and faster once more. It's not that he's trying to tease his lover, but rather pacing himself. Perhaps it will at least make for different and better sensations. Heero adjusts his hips, pushing in a bit deeper at a slightly sharper angle, pressing down into his lover. And while that self-control he had clung to as his sanity for the past six years, he's remembering, just a little, to let go of it; at least enough to breathe a little heavier.
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It would probably take him years to properly map every scar Heero had acquired over the years they'd been apart, but right now Duo is more content to let Heero touch and inspect while he attempts to make this possibly even better for him, fingers trailing up his abdomen to pinch and gently roll his nipples, breathing deteriorating the longer Heero moves.
He's a little quieter than usual, overall, but the sudden increase in pace makes his back arch, a low, loud moan filling the hotel room along with the dull squeak of the bed frame. He's panting as Heero slows back down, leaning up to suck at his neck again, gently biting when he pulls away. "Teasing me-e?" He's almost crooning in to Heero's ear, crying out as that sharp angle sends a euphoric rush through his body, eyes closing and face falling lax in pleasure, compounded by the sound of Heero panting in his ear.
"That's right - ah! Heero.." Another sloppy kiss just below Heero's ear. "Fuck me.. I'm yours.."
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When he speaks, it's meant to be an answer to Duo's question. Instead it's a low moan and an utterance of a nickname for his lover, all that long time ago: a soft, affectionate word in Japanese. He breathes heavy and shuddering, having to pause briefly.
"It's been too long," he warns in a low tone next to Duo's ear, before his hips move again. "You'll make me come already."
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Duo whines as Heero arches against him, clinging to his lover's body. He not quite as close as Heero for once - that was quite the shock, but damn is he working on him by pushing so deep, and that nickname - it's been nearly six years since he'd last heard it, and usually that was his cue to come. At the moment it sends a jolt through him, and Duo bites his lip as he listens to Heero's heavy breathing.
It's sexy, he's decided, to hear the Japanese man making sounds, considering the last time they were together he'd been so tightly controlled. He wants to make him lose control a little more, wants to make him crazy for him all over again.
So Duo just leans in for a kiss, heavy and slow, working his hips against Heero's. He'd always been a little wicked, but this seemed to be bringing it out in him ten fold. "Then come, baby. And then you can come again, as many times as you want.."
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He answers that kiss willingly, and with only a little of that restraint Duo was doing such a good job at getting rid of. His eyes sink closed, and he utters a quiet grunt as he pushes forward just a little harder.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure just how many times he could go, but he'd bet it would be a few. The hand trailing over Duo's side moves to tease a nipple in return, calloused thumb gently rubbing over the sensitive nub. The other hand, still loosely buried in Duo's hair, moves around him and holds him closer. His angle changes just a bit, and his hips push faster.
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