wingzerosoldier | [rp] But There Are Dreams That Cannot Be

[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.

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If Duo is trying to encourage Heero to help him stay faithful until that ring is firmly off and Duo and his fiance are actually broken up, he's doing a terrible job of it. He doesn't answer to his name, but continues stroking the other's long hair as if to soothe him. His hands are as gentle as ever, and gradually he moves up to running his fingers along the other's scalp, brushing hair back then repeating the whole motion over again.

It was a strange comfort for both of them once, Heero gently playing with Duo's hair, or combing it, or re-braiding it. And it's a comfort now, at least for Heero. Like this, he can temporarily forget that Duo's betrothed, that there's a stranger living in their old house, the confusion that Duo says he's been miserable and that he made a mistake... Heero's fingertips idly massage Duo's temple back into his hairline, a gesture to comfort him.

His brain is telling him he can't do that, on top of going back and telling him that he was leaving, and he'd made a mistake. His body, however, it on full scale rebellion the very moment Heero starts stroking his hair and his temples. Only Heero Yuy knew how to turn him on just by playing with his hair, and at this point it was almost unfair advantage.

He intended on telling the other man the full story, to help him understand, leave him the house to do whatever he wanted with, and get out of there to be with the Wing Zero pilot. It might seem extreme, after 6 years of waiting around and being alone, but it was what his body and mind compelled him to do.

When he speaks his voice is small and breathy, but Duo knows that Heero will be able to hear him.

"I never.. let him touch my hair like this.. No one else really has but you."

He knows that tone of voice as if he'd only heard it yesterday, and for a moment, it makes his fingers falter in the other's hair. Or maybe it's his words that impact him as hard as seeing the ring, maybe more so. His hands continue their path and he speaks in an equally quiet voice.

"You don't like him at all."

Duo was picky about who touched his hair, yes, but to not let his partner touch his hair, take it down and stroke it...it might mean nothing to some, but for Heero, it seems to put the whole relationship in perspective for him. His head bows, and he leans forward, resting his forehead against Duo's back, looping his arms around the other's waist and just sitting there in silence.

Duo doesn't really know what to say to that. He liked him as a friend and a companion, someone to spend time with and occupy his time when he needed a distraction. But when it came to love... He couldn't honestly say that he loved him in that way, loved him enough to say it back to him in a way that wasn't a Heero-esque grunt. So in response to Heero's statement he just turns to give him a small, sad smile, before he places his hands over the other man's around his waist. He hadn't felt so comfortable in someone's embrace in a long, long time, and he relaxes back against Heero's weight.

"I've also never told him I loved him.."

It's the smile that breaks his heart. A similar smile to those 6 years ago, when Duo encouraged him to do what he needed to do with his life to get it back on track, to make him feel not so terrible, so guilty or haunted.

"I'm sorry."

Heero lays his head on Duo's shoulder, one hand reaching between then to idly play at the strands - this time, to comfort himself.

He doesn't regret leaving. No, if he hadn't, he'd have ended up in a padded white room, or would have just died from the weight of the world that he bore on his young shoulders. He's done the right thing by himself, and by those he's killed or been responsible for the deaths of. He knows that he would be broken or dead, if he hadn't gone. He knows it and yet, he abandoned the one person who meant so much to him, the one who held him and comforted him and kept him sane long enough to come to the realization that he needed to do this.

"You shouldn't be here," he says finally, but he's not making any moves to let Duo go. "I'm the cause of so much misery for you, why would you want to be here?" He speaks to Duo's back, not lifting his head.

"It's okay." He tries to soothe him as best he can, running his thumb over Heero's hand. He had to tell him these little details, knew he had to make it clear what he'd gone through with Heero gone, what had happened and most of all... To make it very clear that while he was fond of his fiancé there was nothing there that meant that he had to stay or had any intention to stay. At least not while Heero was here and willing to be with him like this, to make him feel so at home and loved.

He knows that Heero had to do it for his own sanity, even if it tested Duo's. Heero had to do what he had to do, and he would rather have a mentally healthy Heero than visit him in a hospital or visiting his grave. A temporary separation was much better than a very permanent one like that. Duo would take it over Heero being away any time.

"Because you're the only one that makes me feel comfortable and at home. I've been sort of wandering the past six years, doing what I had to and nothing else, and right now I just... Feel so at peace with you here. Like... I can finally relax."

Heero's arms squeeze around Duo's waist a little and stay firmly put. He can feel Duo's engagement band, and it's cold against his skin. He moves, subtly, to adjust his position so he couldn't feel it. Perhaps it was a subconscious movement.

"I'm the same," he murmured. "Like this, it's comfortable." He'd been lost without Duo anchoring him, and though he'd done what he needed to, that didn't make it easy. He inhales deeply of Duo's hair, his shampoo, and sighs silently.

Finally he leans back a little against the headboard, but only to begin playing with Duo's hair again idly, trailing back up to his scalp and alternating between running his hands through the other's hair and massaging his scalp.

Had Duo noticed he wouldn't have blamed him, but for the moment all he wanted to do was enjoy being with him, regardless of their current situation. For the moment he's more than content right here up against him, shifting a little so that his head rests a little more comfortably on his shoulder. It was hell being taller than the one you're cuddling with. But he wouldn't complain for Heero.

"I know. I love you..." He murmurs quietly, pressing back against him. It was so strange how Heero's mere presence can calm him so much, and he settles, sighing, in to Heero's affections to his hair and head.

... That's kind of evil, Heero. You know what that does to him.

Does he know? Maybe he doesn't remember. It's been a long time. But whether he knows or not, it's not in his conscious mind at the moment. At least that's obvious. He lets Duo settle back into his arms, trailing his fingers through the tresses, and allowing the other to settle his head on his shoulder. Heero presses his cheek to the other's forehead in a brief sign of affection. He's silent, as if he thinks saying anything might break some spell, or wake him from some dream, and Duo would be gone.

He leans in for a soft kiss after a long silence, then another and another, each a little hungrier, a little less reserved, than the last.

Just trust him, Heero, he knows well enough. Even if they weren't talking, weren't sharing stories or things that they might need to, right now he's happy just to feel Heero so close to him, to have his back pressed to Heero's front and know that he was right there again.

He'd missed these little moments the most. They didn't need words or gifts or anything, really, just each other.

Though affection didn't hurt, of course, and soon Duo is pressing back in to those kisses in a needy fashion, wanting more of Heero, more of that soft affection even if he knew he really shouldn't. By the time he pulls away from the most recent kiss he's moving within the loop of Heero's arms to face him, kissing him again, as if Heero's lips on his were his life line, the only way he could breathe properly.

"Heero.."

"Duo--" He's interrupted by those kisses, and he doesn't seem to mind. One hand finds Duo's hair and loosely fists there at the base of his neck, and drawing the ex-pilot closer still. His other hand runs along Duo's shoulder and arm - it seems he's just as desperate to keep contact.

He seems to get lost in their kisses, occasionally readjusting his gentle grip in Duo's hair or readjusting position to make them both more comfortable.

Duo softly whimpers, again, against Heero's lips, wanting and needy and he seems to want to crawl in to Heero's lap or as close as he could possibly get. If he could he'd probably try to sink in and become one with the Wing Zero pilot, let's be honest - but instead he finds himself clinging to the other man. Still, Heero's play from earlier is fueling him, and he just wants... more - as much as he could possibly get and more if it was possible.

As much as he was trying to deny it to himself and Heero alike, he wanted him inside of him, and he wanted him right now. Not tomorrow after he'd broken this off - not in a few days - now.

But... he sinks in to another deep kiss, tongue questing to ask Heero's permission and tangle with his, trying to deny himself that at least until he was officially unattached from the man whose ring he was wearing, currently tangled in Heero's unruly hair.

You're not making this easy on him, Duo. The ex-pilot's whimpers are only stirring emotions from the dust of six years ago, yearnings that he thought he'd left behind to pick up when he returned. Maybe he'd picked those feelings up before he meant to, maybe he hadn't let go so much as hidden.

Either way, it's affecting him now. His lips part without hesitation, grip tightening briefly on Duo's hair as if to ground himself, to pace where this seems to be inevitably headed. He stops them both after some time of these kisses, head down, one hand on either of Duo's upper arms. He takes a slow, shuddering breath. It's been so long for him, six years, since anyone has touched him and even the kisses, which once would have been nice, but casual, are overwhelming now.

It's conflicting. He wants the man in his arms so bad, to hold him and touch him and kiss him all over, but Duo wasn't his. The American told him it was Heero he wanted, and yet Heero felt he didn't deserve it. Especially now knowing the hell he had put his lover through. The conflict when he looks up is a look that most wouldn't recognize, but Duo will. He seems a little out of breath. Duo's name seems to want to form on his lips, but the word won't quite come.

Since when was he supposed to make things easier on him? Wasn't he supposed to make them harder? That had been his way of things for most of his life, after all, at least when it came to Heero Yuy.

He pants as Heero pulls away, almost sweating with how hot his body suddenly feels, wanting to just strip off his clothing and ask him to take him now. There's an almost undeniable throb to his body, a want that can't be pushed back for much longer. He wants him, he wants him so badly it almost hurts, though that could just be the fact that he was half-hard in very tight jeans.

"Heero.. please..." He knows that look, and tries to 'talk' him in to it, leaning in to kiss Heero's neck from ear to shoulder and back, suckling and paying special attention to places he knew were sensitive. And just for kicks and giggles, gives him a little grind too.

The Japanese ex-soldier is pretty sure the room was cool before Duo arrived, somewhere just below 70 degrees. And yet, with the other on top of him, in his lap, between kisses and soft noises and their names being passed back and forth, it feels so much hotter.

His head snaps to the side automatically and his body involuntarily jerks a few times with each kiss to a sensitive spot, until he can call on that tight self-control and prevent it. He doesn't stop himself from closing his eyes lightly those, lips parted for shallow breaths. It's unfair, because it's been so long, but this is the sweetest punishment that Duo can give him.

Calloused hands find Duo's hips, and his fingertips squeeze just a little when the American grinds down on him. He finds himself adjusting his position beneath the other, making that same grinding motion just a little bit easier.

Duo can't control the deep moan that leaves him as Heero pushes his hips up and in to him, the need for his lover only growing more at the sensation of their bodies rubbing together. The Deathscythe pilot attaches his lips to Heero's neck with more desperation, sucking a dark mark just below his ear as his hips grind down again, very well aware of how hard he's quickly becoming at even the idea of Heero in bed with him again, at the memory of their bodies pressed together in desperation.

"Heero..." He murmurs, suckling on his ear lobe and grinding down again. "Please. I want you..."

He utters a very soft, quiet moan at Duo's words, and he pulls the other pilot firmly down on his own arousal, one hand pressing to the small of Duo's back, the other burying in his hair again and drawing the other in.

"Duo," he says again, quietly, but he seems unsure about saying anything else. The mark on his neck stings a little, but the things it's doing to him, the heat it's putting in his cheeks and groin, it's hard to even think of what the word 'no' is. He then nods a little, pulling Duo in for a kiss.

"uh!" It's been a while since he's been quite so enthusiastic about sex - and that's saying something. Usually Duo Maxwell was all about sex, all over having his lover inside of him as often as possible, as long as possible, anything like that. But in six years he'd been less enthusiastic, less loud and boisturous, and maybe it's because nothing is quite the same when there is no mental connection to go along with the physical. He found himself just wanting the release and nothing before or after which... wasn't fair to anyone but himself.

"Baby..." His favorite nickname for Heero, really, and he moans in to his mouth as they kiss, grinding up against him in a rhythm. To hell with his fiancé and all thoughts of him - he was going to sleep with Heero, damn it, and he was set on it.

Duo had some strange power, some way to make him relax, to lose check on his self-control to a very small extent, to not analyze quite so much. When they had first met, Heero hated it. He ignored it, pushed it away, reprimanded himself. Eventually he had come to accept that it wasn't always a bad thing to just relax a little. But when he had left, it was self-control, over-analyzing, and full commitment to his new self-ordered mission was what had kept the sanity he had left intact. The return to zero tolerance was the Japanese teen's lifeline, a comfort, as strange as it seemed.

But just a few minutes around Duo, and he was already about to sleep with the spoken-for man, and while it surfaced to nag at him, he cared far more about what Duo wanted than the blonde stranger. He exhales a somewhat heavy breath between kisses, as they tangle together, forehead pressing lightly to the other's, and brows knitting briefly as Duo murmurs to him again. That pet name that had irked him until he had become so used to it, sometimes it sounded strange when Duo didn't use it.

His hands explore over the fabric of Duo's clothes, mapping the lines of his body, memorizing how it had changed. His touch is light and fleeting wherever it roams, not staying in any one place for long.

Eventually the ex-pilot sits back against the headboard, Prussian blue eyes a bit clouded. His hands find Duo's neck, and his curled fingertips drag lightly up either side. Thumbs brush momentarily across Duo's cheeks, before his hands burrow in those loose chestnut tresses. He watches Duo, almost studies him, eyes flickering here or there until he takes a long moment to just search the pretty indigo hues he'd never forgotten for a moment.

He knew that he had that sort of power over Heero, but he tried not to abuse it so often that the other could legitimately hold it as a claim. He wanted to keep him happy, after all, not lead him around and tell him what to do, or use his wiles to get his way. That was a little too reminiscent of certain politicians that he wouldn't bring up at the moment, as well as other in their lives as teenage soldiers. He vowed not to lead anyone around like that as puppets unless wholly necessary, as the business was messy and he wasn't all that good at keeping track of his own half-truths a lot of the time, much less half-truths with many different people designed to make them do as you asked.

Duo was still the body type that looked almost at the cusp of too skinny - though maybe that was made a bit more obvious by the fact he'd grown wider and yet hadn't gotten over all larger. It was more obvious when he's had enough of Heero's fleeting touches over his clothing, wanting to feel skin against skin even as he stares right back at him. Their eyes lock, and Duo first unzips his jacket, shrugging it off. Already there's something to look at, a little '02' in the fold of his elbow, on the upper arm, poignantly missing the '01' he'd promised Heero would predicate it if he came back.

Looks like he had another appointment to make.

With that off he leans to kiss Heero's arms, as if asking him to release his hair for just a moment, hauling his shirt over his head next. The t-shirt comes off easily, though the other addition in stark black ink to Duo's pale skin is harder to see. A sway of his cross that he'd worn since they first met showed the exact same necklace, but in tattoo form, nestled in the middle of his chest on his breast bone where the cross usually lay, a more permanent mark of his past and where he was from. With that done, he leans back in to kiss the Japanese man, hand weaving in to his hair as he does so, as if telling him to feel free to inspect him.

He lets go when prompted, hands falling briefly to his sides and he just watches his lover remove his shirt, watches his muscles beneath his skin. He doesn't miss the '02' on his arm, doesn't miss the cross when his necklace moves. His chin tips and he greets the kiss as his hands slide back into place briefly at Duo's waist, then beginning to roam.

Gently, Heero breaks their kisses to bend a little and start laying kisses along Duo's shoulder, his collarbone. He suckles a little mark on one side, then trails down. A gentle hand moves aside his necklace, and kisses the tattoo. He inhales the distinct scent of his lover that is still just how he remembers it.

Obviously, as they kiss and touch, the ex-pilot is a bit more reluctant to take off his own shirt. He seems content to just kiss Duo for now, along his shoulders and chest and up his neck, across his jawline. He lets his hands roam, fingertips sliding over the skin.

He knows that no little detail will miss Heero's eyes, and he's more than willing to bend back and let Heero inspect, to let him see his body as it was now and get to know it. In the light, there's a small scar on his abdomen, with noticeable stitch marks - probably an appendicitis that had to be taken care of at some point in their separation. It's small enough that it's obviously not an attack wound, precise and small, and would probably fade in another few years entirely.

There's a little sigh as Heero begins to kiss along his skin, automatically tilting his head out of the way to allow his lover more room, more skin to inspect and kiss. For a few minutes he is content to let him kiss and touch, though.. he's growing a little restless, wanting to give Heero the same attention. His hands slide down that tank top, wanting to pull it up.

"Mmn.. take your shirt off.." Someone may have gotten just a little bossy, in 6 years.. But that comes with having to teach someone what you like, most likely.

There's an almost neutral, but still slightly...off expression that suggests he's the tiniest bit uncomfortable - one of those expressions only Duo would recognize, but he sits up a little to tug off his undershirt anyway.

His torso is littered with scars. Three are blatantly bullet wounds of different caliber: one in his shoulder just below his collarbone, one near his navel, and one to the right where the bullet must have shattered at least one of his lower ribs. There are a few scars from gashes, only a couple of which actually have surgical stitchmarks. Then there are almost countless little scars of indeterminable origin that could be anything from shrapnel to knife wounds to having gotten caught on something.

The Japanese man seems almost to be awaiting judgement, hands at his sides again, gaze not quite focused on Duo's eyes.

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.

It takes him a moment to realize what Duo is talking about. Stories? The kisses help him figure it out. The stories aren't interesting, at least Heero doesn't think so.

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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