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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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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Duo groans in to Heero's mouth in return, spreading his legs as wide as he can beneath him to allow the Japanese pilot room to move and press as deeply as possible. His little mewls were quickly becoming wanting, lusty growls and moans, particularly as Heero began pressing a bit harder. More than anything he's seeking to get Heero to let go - to just release himself and have fun, enjoy their alone time together like this regardless of when he's going to come or anything else.
He'd only really had someone to be with for two years, and even then they didn't really have sex often. Usually, it was just when Duo felt like it, when he was too frustrated to put it off any longer by himself. So his stamina isn't really all that great - but it's better than Heero who'd spent six years with nothing.
"Yes - !" He pants heavily, moaning against Heero's ear as he teased his nipple, arching up and in to the touch wantonly. "A-Ah! Fuck! Right there! Fuck me right there, Heero - please.. !" The breathless begging comes next as his angle changes, and soon Duo is gripping his back, scratching lines down the pale skin.
"Give it to me - I wanna come for you.. want you to come for me.."
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He utters a soft warning of the other's nickname before his hips jerk forward just a few more times, and he reaches climax with his back arching and a very quiet grunt, jaw tight and eyes closed.
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For once Duo is the one exerting special concentration not to come yet, even as Heero strokes him, moaning as Heero presses in to him in that way that screams that he's getting ready to come. A sweet sounding groan is the only noise Duo makes as Heero comes, hand gently sliding down his arm to bring an end to his stroking, lacing their fingers together.
Strangely, he seems to.. burst in to a little fit of the giggles, even as he pants and waits under him for Heero to be a little more coherent. "Ah... that sensation is - really odd, after six years..." Seems like the one at home never got to come inside him, Heero. Congratulations on that. Still, Duo seems to have a plan in mind, gently moving to get Heero to roll over. He knew it probably wouldn't take much to get him to come again, and just as soon as Heero allowed himself to be put on his back... he could get right to riding.
"I want you to come again before I do, baby.."
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Duo typically didn't question the Japanese pilot when it came to whether he wanted his face to be seen or not. But, tonight, even just once, he wants to be able to see Heero's face, to remind himself that it was Heero inside of him, Heero he was moving over, and Heero who was causing all of these sensations as he moved. They're both coated in his hair, sticking to little bits of sweat and perspiration as Duo's his begin to swivel and rotate at first, pressing Heero as deeply as he could manage with a moan. He's teetering dangerously on release, and his body tightens even further around the Japanese pilot.
Duo leans down to kiss him, just once, before he moves away from teasing himself by grinding deeply, instead moving to begin a slow bounce in Heero's lap, drawing him nearly entirely out of himself before pressing back down with a soft little mewl, fingers drawing in to fists against Heero's rib cage, eyes closing to enjoy the sensation and, quite possibly, give Heero a little privacy for the moment.
Don't worry about apologies right now, Heero. First of all he doesn't mind at all, and second he's more focused on getting some for the both of them while he can.
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Even Heero's slight little noises illicit a shaking breath out from Duo, as they're more than he's heard in six years, after all. Maybe longer, considering Heero's tight control over himself. At the moment he was quite enjoying his lover's little noises and moans, no matter how unusual they might be. In fact, the rare sounds seem to be getting to him even more, and his hips press forward in to Heero's loose grip and then back against his length.
Duo's back arches in toward Heero as the former Wing Zero pilot's move to meet his own, moaning at the sensation of them moving in harmony again, the soft sound of their skin colliding becoming a bit more solid from time to time.
"Hee-Heero..." Another low whine. "G-God you're gonna make me come so hard.. I can ah-already tell.."
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He can't help but to occasionally brush back or finger Duo's silky hair as they move together, gaze getting distracted for a few moments.
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"Yeah.. just like that.." Duo slowly picked up the intensity of their pace, moaning as Heero moves the same way. It feels good, to have Heero back like this, feels like what he'd been fantasizing about for six years when it came to their reunion. Duo has to fight to remember to breathe, at times, gasping and shuddering as Heero's fingers play through his hair, face flushing as he begins to work back up toward orgasm, groaning as he teeters closer and closer, biting his lip and rocking back with a bit more force.
Finally he manages to meet Heero's eyes for longer than a second, leaning down to kiss him again.
"Close, baby?"
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He murmurs, almost whispers the other's nickname again after a few moments, prussian blue eyes seeming to soften a little. His free hand brushes across Duo's cheek, and rests there briefly. "Come," he coaxes, hips rocking up a bit harder.
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"Hee-ro... nngh.. baby.. " He had been thinking of how to string words together to say that he wanted to wait until Heero was close again, but it's hard to convince his body to do so now that he's so close, body rocking back roughly. He's not the very best at self control, which is becoming clearer and clearer as his breathing shudders and shakes, the sound of their skin meeting doing all sorts of good things for him.
"Baby.." He murmurs in return to that nickname, leaning his face in to that touch, body moving on autopilot, stuttering and starting with his movements, body growing more and more tightly wound as they continued. Heero tells him to come, and he whines, eyes closing and face falling lax. It only takes a few more thrusts to do the trick, and soon Duo's body is pressing back to push Heero as far inside of him as possible, gasping in a deep breath as his body shudders, and he feels as if every muscle in his body is singing as he lets out a sweet little moan, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath.
"Mmmn.. "
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There there, no need for words now.Heero seems intent on making the other come as hard as possible with firm upward motions of his hips and firm, quick strokes along his length as the brunette tenses up and reaches climax. Once Duo begins to come down, he stills his motions, and lays patiently waiting for the other to recover a bit as Duo had done for him earlier.
One hand rests on the other's thigh lightly, the other laying beside him for now until he could clean the evidence of the other's orgasm up. He watches Duo, gaze flickering over his form and occasionally to his eyes.
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By the way Duo is shaking as he comes down, Heero's certainly done a good job of it. His elbows feel too weak to hold him up in the moment, and slowly he sinks down to rest against the Japanese man's chest, panting and shaking as he tries to catch his breath, fingers splaying out and down Heero's arms as he waits for his bones to actually feel like arms again.
A content sigh leaves the braided pilot next, and he moves to kiss his neck and jaw, gently tracing the line of his pulse. "I love you..." It's a soft whisper, but he felt he had to say it, slowly, carefully moving himself to sit up a little again.
"Mmn - however you want, if you wanna go again, Heero... it's fair.."
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He doesn't return the sentiment, at least not verbally, but one hand brushes the American's cheek again briefly. The brunette considers the possibilities briefly, and he decides that, as much as he dislikes his partner seeing his face, for now he'd rather see Duo's.
"Stay like this," he says, idly brushing his fingers through Duo's hair.
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