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"Bad Company"Written By: Clara Barton & Kangofu_CB Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. The following
is an intellectual exercise with no intention of profit. That said,
these characterizations, words, and situations are mine. Please ask
before reprinting. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Post-Canon, Undercover Missions, Undercover
as a Couple, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced
Drug Use, Human Trafficking, Gang Violence Pairings: 3x2 Summary: "The only hell and the only paradise are the ones we build ourselves." - Unknown This fic is dark. It explores the way the lines between good and bad, black and white are blurred, for those who work from the inside to bring down the bad guys. Clara and I do not, at any point, get graphic in our descriptions, but there is a lot of sensitive subject matter. We have tagged as clearly as possible, and individual chapters will contain individual warnings. As a general rule this fic contains: implied torture, death, description of a human trafficking organization and its methods, the surrounding implications of human trafficking including forced prostitution and what amounts to slavery, drug and alcohol use, and drug trafficking. We understand that these subjects are not for everyone. We have made every effort to be respectful and accurate without being gratuitous or disturbing. The bad guys are bad. The good guys are, sometimes, not much better. We use a liberal sprinkling of Spanish and Russian in this fic, and neither of us are native speakers of either. We’ve relied heavily on the internet, and so we apologize for any mistakes. We have also included translations at the end of each chapter in the form of footnotes.
"Bad Company" Chapter 6: Personal Jesus
Lift up the receiver, I'll make you a believer. I will deliver, You know I'm a forgiver. Reach out and touch faith. -Johnny Cash In the week following the incident in El Walamo, everything was both better and infinitely worse. To say things at the hacienda were tense was like saying water was wet, such an obvious understatement as to be laughable. Alessandra tore through the compound like an icy wind, rage trailing in her wake, snapping at anyone who so much as looked at her oddly, and god forbid someone make an actual mistake with Salome slinking around behind her like some sort of predator waiting to pounce. The entire crew barely dared to breathe . So that was worse, much worse, as far as everyone's comfort level was concerned. But better, because it paved the way for progress for both Duo and Trowa on this op, putting them that much closer to their goal of getting the fuck out. So far, they were the only two people in the entire house - other than Anhil, who'd been out of pocket, recovering in the back of the house where the doctor sequestered patients - that the women weren't terrorizing. Also better, Duo had anticipated, had hoped, was a breakthrough in his tense relationship with Trowa. Duo sighed silently as Trowa brushed past him on his way to the kitchen, a lifted eyebrow his only acknowledgement, Duo's chin jerking in response. Obviously, he had been mistaken. There had been a moment, a shining beacon during the ambush, where all of the bullshit had fallen away and it had just been Duo and Trowa, watching out for one another like they had for the last decade, succeeding against impossible odds, almost no thought or conversation required. A moment where Trowa had looked at him, had seen him, had seen Duo , and not looked like a wounded animal. Had looked like the old Trowa, the man Duo would literally give his life for, and- And then they'd rushed back to the compound, Anhil bleeding out in the back of the jeep and bitching about Duo's driving while Trowa held pressure on his leg, to Alessandra's transcendent fury and Salome's infinite suspicion, and the moment had been shattered like crystal dropped on concrete. Duo didn't know what in the fuck to do anymore. Trowa had asked him for space, had told Duo in no uncertain terms to leave him alone, and Duo - never one to do anything by halves and more than a little fucking spiteful, as long as he was being honest - had given it to him in spades . No one had seemed to like that any better than the bitter barbs they'd been lobbing before, least of all Trowa, but Duo hadn't had it in him to give a fuck. The other man wanted to do shit by himself, then by god , Duo was damn well going to let him. It was more than a little frustrating to be here trying to save Trowa's ass, only to be told in not so many words to fuck off. Then Trowa had joked about dying alone, and then he'd nearly gotten himself gutted by a piece of shit gangbanger from L5 whom Duo had killed without even a half-second of hesitation- Well, to be fair, the last time Duo had hesitated, had tried to shoot to wound , it had been at Heero, and they all knew how that had turned out. Heero fucking Yuy hadn't let two gunshot wounds slow him down, and Duo only aimed for center mass and headshots now. It was one of the many, many reasons he'd declined becoming an 'official' Preventers agent. When Duo learned a lesson the hard way, he didn't fucking forget it. Still. There had been a brief time when he'd thought he and Trowa would now be able to work together on this op, and it had been sandblasted into nonexistence almost immediately by Trowa's unrelenting return to petulant silence and avoidance. Although, at least he was acknowledging Duo's presence now, which was a marginal improvement. Very marginal. What he really wanted was a return to the ease and camaraderie he was used to from the taller man, not to mention the mind-blowing and acrobatic sex- He wasn't going to think about that. Therein lay the road to madness. Duo blew out a frustrated breath, adjusting his headphones to a more comfortable position. Not that he had anything playing on them, but they were a natural deterrent for most people. Most people did not include Salome. He was reviewing data on the network with a fine-toothed comb when she sidled up, sliding lithely onto the desk next to him as he forced down his natural urge to flinch. Everything about her screamed danger to instincts that had been well-honed over a lifetime. A finely-tuned knack for identifying the most dangerous thing in the room, and here it was always, always Salome. Every time she looked at him, he was reminded of the time he'd seen a cat toy with an injured mouse, letting it think it was going to escape, hobbled and bleeding, before the feline had finally bitten off the poor creature's head. Finishing up the line of code he was looking over, he slid the headphones off and swivelled to face her, eyebrow raised. Salome, he had decided, didn't like bullshit . She wasn't interested in being charmed. She didn't like his winning smiles or his attempts at humor. Salome was only amused by violence, pain, and the kind of irony that meant someone innocent probably died. And, apparently, Alessandra, a subject which was carefully never discussed in the compound. Once, not long after Duo had arrived, one of the newer enforcers had brought it up, a few shots of tequila too deep. Stepan, who'd been at the hacienda only a few weeks longer than Duo, had asked what Salome did , what her position was, why he should have to follow her instructions. It had been stupid, really, to start with, and a few of the others had tried to shut him up. Duo had gotten up to leave, moving across the room to another table to drink alone. Watched. Waited. Disassociated himself from what was surely going to be an utter disaster. Stepan had gotten steadily more belligerent, until finally he'd blurted out a rumor he had heard in another gang, that Alessandra and Salome had both been merchandise , caught in the grind of the network, until Alessandra had caught the right eye, and in a series of strangely coincidental accidents, found herself in a position to take over, bringing Salome with her. He'd said she was nothing but a former whore. Duo had slipped quietly out of the room, had seen Trowa doing the same through another exit, both of them retreating as half a dozen of the remaining men and women had reared back from Stepan, suddenly aware of just how badly he'd fucked up and wondering if they were going to get caught in the resultant collateral damage. If their curiosity was going to be the cause of their deaths. Stepan had disappeared quite suddenly, as though he had never existed. Nothing else was said about either Alessandra, or Salome, or the nature of their relationship. Salome smirked down at him now, jerking her head towards the back of the house. " La mujer ," and whenever she used the Spanish title, it always sounded a little sarcastic, for reasons Duo, personally, never wanted to know, "wants to talk to you." He got up, dropping the headphones on the desk. He didn't bother to lock the computer. He never kept anything incriminating on it, and what he was doing right now was exactly what Alessandra wanted. She was convinced they had a leak. Duo was convinced she was right, but he was relatively certain it wasn't an electronic one. His system was airtight, and he'd been through weeks of activity and found absolutely nothing that shouldn't be there. Now that Duo was in place on the op, there was nothing for Trowa to communicate to Preventers, and he'd only been checking the stupid clown-fucking website sporadically as a matter of course. Duo had nothing to communicate to anyone, and therefore didn't. But still, he was digging through every byte of code, because that's what she wanted, and because Duo wanted to get his hands on the fucker that had nearly gotten him and Trowa killed. He was hoping to gleefully hand them over to Alessandra, truth be told, because he could be every bit as vicious and mercenary as Trowa, something the other man had evidently forgotten. This, of course, was in addition to the nasty little virus he'd cooked up for the Snakeheads network that Alessandra had already requested, prior to their little tete-a-tete with the now-dead ambushers. It was just a matter of slipping it into their system, which wasn't his problem to figure out. Duo followed Salome down the hall, though he knew the way by now, of course. Just inside the office door, he came to a dead stop. Anhil was seated just off to Alessandra's left, the first Duo had seen him since El Walamo, his leg propped on a footstool, engaged in a visual battle of wills with Trowa, who was perched on the edge of one of Alessandra's leather chairs. Neither of them acknowledged his entrance. Salome strolled around the desk to lean her hip against the edge next to Alessandra, as casual as could be, still smirking. She seemed to thrive on the tension and discord she created. Whatever this was, Duo was not interested in it. "Gentlemen," Alessandra said, and Trowa broke off his staring contest with Anhil, though it was by no means a concession of defeat, to turn his attention to her. "The next shipment is arriving in three days." Duo raised his eyebrows. That was quick, considering the trouble they'd been having, the most recent shipment notwithstanding. "Because Anhil is… otherwise indisposed… the two of you are going to be ensuring that this one is successful." Oh. Fuck. Fuck . This was going to go very poorly, if the look on Trowa's face was any sort of indication. It made sense to send Trowa. He was effectively Anhil's right-hand man. He'd worked for that for months, for nearly a year, to be exactly that. It made less sense to send Duo. Duo, who was still proving himself, still being watched, still not trusted. Until last week, when he'd helped Trowa kill a bunch of Snakeheads and save Anhil's life. Fuck . "I don't need his help to oversee a shipment," Trowa ground out, and Duo didn't flinch, didn't let the flicker of hurt cross his face. "No?" Alessandra looked amused. "Your Spanish has gotten so good, tigryenok ? I had no idea. Mira qué cabrón ! " Trowa glowered. No, his Spanish hadn't gotten that fucking good, and they all knew it. Duo's, on the other hand, was. Duo, who'd grown up in a ragtag gang on L2 where a bastardized mix of Spanish and English was the local language, spoke Spanish like a native, and he got the little nuances that escaped most people. Trowa spoke Russian like he was born to it, but here, dirtside, most of the crew spoke Spanish. Russian was an asset on L3, and therefore, the arriving palomniks , but here it wasn't very helpful unless Alessandra was making up cute nicknames. Duo snorted, and Trowa turned to glare at him instead. " Payaso , eso que ni qué. " He could practically hear Trowa grinding his teeth. Turning back to Alessandra, he grinned, turning the charm all the way up. Unlike Salome, she did like to be schmoozed. Enjoyed it, liked to know that others wanted to please her, to make her happy. "I want a bonus." Duo knew he was walking a very fine line, but she also liked to be challenged. Just a little bit. The dark-haired woman smirked at him. "A bonus, hmm? Whatever for?" He jerked his chin at Trowa. "Puttin' up with him. Translator services. Gettin' possibly shot at. I signed up for electronic security, and last week, I shot, like, six guys. I think I should get hazard pay." He shrugged, plastered on a look that was one part hopeful, two parts resigned. As though he wanted the money but didn't expect them to say yes. Working to keep their attention on him and not on Trowa's face. Not on Trowa's expression , which was nothing short of horrified. Alessandra stared at him for a long moment, considering, before she nodded. "Fine. If the shipment is handled without incident, you can expect your… bonus." Duo rocked back on his heels in surprise, before his grin widened. "But," Alessandra continued, and Duo swallowed the smile on his face at the word, "the two of you will learn to work together, yes?" It sounded like a question, but it wasn't. Not really. Duo nodded, could see Trowa doing the same, could see that he'd schooled his features into something more impassive. "Speaking of rewards-" Alessandra was already moving along, so certain of their cooperation, of their acquiescence to her demands, and why shouldn't she be? "-and last week's… misadventure." Salome snickered, and out of the corner of his eye, Duo saw Anhil stiffen. That 'misadventure' had left a hole in his leg the size of a quarter, and medical treatment in the hacienda was like the old American wild west, with booze and biting on leather and cauterizing wounds. He'd live, but his leg was never going to look the same. Alessandra went on, ignoring the interruption. "Anhil tells me that he'd be quite dead if not for the two of you, so it seems only fair to offer you some form of… compensation." She reached for a folder, and Duo had the sudden, horrifying realization of what she was planning to offer them. That was her special list, the one which included her favorite palomniks , her best merchandise - people, slaves, employees, however she thought of it - that she'd grown especially fond of, that she offered special rewards to, gave special treatment to, in the sense that you could give someone you effectively owned preferential treatment. They went to the parties of politicians and entertainers, the homes of powerful men and women, rather than the street corners and the whorehouses. Or they stayed in the house and kept the enforcers occupied, kept their minds and the information in them from wandering. "Does this mean I finally get the day off I've been asking for?" he blurted, the words out almost before he'd consciously thought them. The absolute last thing he wanted was a special, human reward turning up in his narrow bed some unexpected evening. Unless it was Trowa. He firmly, carefully squashed that thought. The Cartel was familia , and for the most part, they came and went as they pleased. But new people, people like Duo, didn't leave the compound. Often for months, and especially not unaccompanied. That was part of the reason there had been such a long gap in Trowa's messages when Duo got back, though it was months later when he'd gotten them at all. Trowa had earned days off, days he often ended up stuck going to fucking baseball games with fucking Merquise, but he had them. A couple of days a month to leave and do whatever he wanted, so long as he took a phone that could be tracked. Duo'd been tooling around the hacienda for nearly two months, and he'd fully expected to do so for another few, but the ambush had changed everything. Increased his esteem in Alessandra's eyes, but also pushed up the timeline for dealing with the Snakeheads, and there was still work to be done, work that required at least semi-trusted hands and eyes, and with Anhil out of the picture and the other enforcers relatively new and the possibility of a leak, Duo was the best choice, after Trowa. If he were trusted enough for that, he could be trusted with a day off. Salome was the one considering him now, eyes scraping over him from head to toe as she considered his request. Again, he was reminded of the mouse. Finally, she laughed, shrugging. "Let him have his day off, Lessy, he's bored. Besides," her eyes cut briefly to Trowa and back, "I don't think you'll have anyone that suits him." The edge of her smile was just cruel enough to let Duo know he, at least, was more obvious than he liked. Another complication. Alessandra tucked the folder away without even offering it to Trowa. She waved them both out, muttering about picky men, Salome laughing again. As the door shut behind them, Duo looked up at Trowa in question. "I've been clear that I prefer to pick my own bed partners," the taller man grumbled, stomping off, leaving Duo confused and surprised in his wake. Whatever Trowa's problem was, Trowa would have to deal with it. Duo still had work to do. Back at his computer, headphones in place, he tried his best to put it all in the back of his mind as he continued examining electronic records and bullshit porn accounts. * Duo looked up when the commotion from somewhere on the grounds finally penetrated both his headphones and his concentration. He took them off, hooking them over the monitor, and looked around. The main living area of the hacienda was uncharacteristically empty, and he could hear something filtering in from outside, shouting and swearing. He and Trowa were expecting the shipment to arrive sometime in the next 24 to 48 hours, assuming it wasn't delayed for a second time, and the other man had gotten increasingly short-tempered and tense as the time passed. It had been nearly a week since Alessandra had informed them that they'd be responsible for this one, and other than a brief conversation detailing the particulars of how offloading and transport was handled, they hadn't spoken about it again. He sighed. Duo wasn't sure he even wanted to know what was going on. Curiosity in the cartel could get you killed. As Stepan could tell you. If he were alive, which he undoubtedly wasn't. Then again, so did ignorance. Getting up from the desk, he made his way towards the noise, out the side door of the sprawling house to the yard where several of the cartel members liked to sit on cool evenings, smoking and drinking cheap beer. The closer he got to the yard, the more sure he was that it was a terrible idea. Sure enough, when he pushed his way through the swinging door, it was complete chaos. Trowa and fucking Matvei - it was always Matvei - were having some kind of altercation that had clearly devolved well past shouting and shoving. Duo walked outside just in time to see Trowa grab the other man's forearm and twist just so, and even across the yard Duo could hear bone snap, the other man's short, sharp scream giving away the injury, and then Trowa was just pummeling him and- Duo looked around, expecting Anhil to intervene - Anhil, the only one who had any hope of talking any kind of sense into Trowa, who looked practically feral from even Duo's point of view. And then Duo remembered Anhil had left, this afternoon in fact, to go arrange something to do with the incoming shipment, and even the other men and women - hardened gangsters and enforcers and criminals - gathered around the fight were starting to look green and uncomfortable, and someone had to do something. Alessandra was not going to be pleased if she came back and Trowa had beaten the shit out of Matvei. She was already going to be pissed off that his arm was broken. Duo nudged the woman on his right, Veta, as he picked his way through the group. She was another of the palomniks , one who had been floating around the house ever since he'd arrived. Pretty, and popular amongst the enforcers, but not enough of either to draw Salome's ire. "The fuck happened?" "Matvei was talking stupid shit, like always, talking about how-" She turned, caught sight of just who she was speaking to, and abruptly went silent. Ah. Matvei been talking about Duo, or about Gundam pilots, or about Duo and Trowa running the shipments, or who the fuck knew, and it really didn't matter. Duo sighed. He shouldered his way through the remaining people between him and Trowa, coming to a stop when he cleared the loose circle that had formed around them and sized up the situation. Trowa was just fucking with the guy - Matvei cradling his injured arm, blood streaming from his nose - and though Trowa hadn't even broken a sweat, Duo could see the barely leashed fury in his stance, in the square of his shoulders, and the realization on Matvei's face that he'd bitten off more than he could chew. He couldn't say he didn't find it at least a little bit satisfying, to see the big, Russian enforcer reduced to near tears by so little effort. Duo didn't like the man, and the feeling was mutual. He'd started it, of course, with the little knife trick, but Matvei had done everything in his power to increase the animosity, spurred on by some imagined competition between the two of them. As if he were any competition for Duo in any sense of the word. But he'd probably been angling for some kind of third in line recognition when Duo had arrived, and the most recent news that Duo would be accompanying Trowa to the offloading site, that Duo would be giving instructions, had probably been too much for the man. And he'd said too much, taken it too far, and Trowa had been a short fuse waiting for a spark. Duo and Trowa didn't spar . That shit was for Heero and Wufei, who'd had formal training in hand to hand combat and martial arts, who knew how to back down from a fight that was supposed to be friendly, was supposed to be training . Duo grew up on the streets, where fast and dirty and quick kept you alive, where kind and easy and mercy got you dead - or worse. Trowa had been raised by mercs, where there was no such thing as a fair fight, only a fight you won or lost, and losing meant dead. Theirs were skills that had been developed during childhoods fraught with danger, honed to razor-sharp edges by Gundam pilot training, and maintained and utilized during all-too-necessary undercover missions that weren't really undercover at all. They weren't for entertainment or pleasure or stress relief or any of the millions of reasons other people fought. Duo and Trowa weren't fighters. They were survivors. Their fights were deadly serious. The next time Trowa lifted his fist to punch Matvei, broadcasting his intentions for miles to anyone who knew what to look for, Duo slipped into the opening, wrenching his wrist and tugging him around, trying to defuse the situation before it got any worse. Before Salome showed up and demanded a pound of flesh. He failed miserably, because instead of looking at Duo, of reading the tension of the situation and reeling himself back in, Duo's touch only seemed to infuriate Trowa, to spur him on to new heights of rage. Instead of backing down, he retaliated. With a sucker punch to the gut, leaving Duo winded and bruised and instantly fucking pissed off . "That was a cheap shot, you fuck." Trowa shrugged, grinning darkly, and Duo could see that Matvei had gotten in a least one lucky shot - or Trowa had given him a free one - because his teeth were dark with blood from a cut inside his mouth. From the corner of his eye, Duo saw Matvei being pulled away from the fight by the girl - another of the palomniks - who hung around him like a lost puppy. Matvei paid entirely too much attention to her, Salome had muttered once, darkly, but Alessandra had waved it off and the girl had stayed. Duo dismissed both of them from his mind, facing his sometimes-partner and current opponent. Trowa was bigger than Duo - broader, packed more raw power. Duo was fast and sneaky and not above a switchblade to the kidney if the situation called for it, and nothing, nothing about this was going to end well, and they both knew it. It didn't stop a matching grin from spreading across Duo's face, Shinigami peeking out, because he'd been itching, for weeks, to vent his spleen at Trowa's prickly exterior and shitty attitude and bullshit fucking excuses, and if the other man was looking for a fight, well, Duo wasn't averse to giving it to him. The fight started out brutal and ugly, and it only spiralled further downhill. There was a token effort, at first, by some of the enforcers to break it up, and then nothing but the respectful silence of people who knew they were watching an equally matched, vicious brawl. If either Duo or Trowa was exercising some kind of restraint, it wasn't noticeable. Duo sure as hell wasn't pulling his punches, and if either one of them had been any slower, any less in tune with one another, one or both of them would be seriously injured. Somehow, they managed nothing more serious than glancing punches and elbow checks, though Duo got Trowa into an armbar that could have broken his elbow if the other man weren't so flexible, and Trowa wrenched Duo's shoulder into an angle uncomfortable enough that he'd need to ice it later before he twisted free. They fought to complete exhaustion, until both of them were laying on the ground, panting, anger dissipating with the slow slide of their own blood from bruised knuckles and split lips. Duo almost laughed, would have laughed if he'd had the breath for it, and heard Trowa snort next to him in response to the aborted sound of amusement he made. The humor lasted only as long as it took for Salome to appear in the crowd around them, Duo recognizing the black denim and high-heeled boots in his periphery. Shit. This needed to be salvaged, and it needed to be done immediately . He panted up at the blindingly bright blue sky and wondered, furiously, what would appease the blonde, would make her amused rather than annoyed, especially as they'd both already been given explicit instructions to get their shit together. Work out your differences, gentlemen. Or we will work them out for you. You will learn to work together, yes? He didn't doubt Alessandra had meant the words. Two strikes. Would a third mean they were out? Rolling his head to the side, he noted the tension in Trowa's jaw, the tightness around his eyes, and knew he'd noticed the same thing Duo had. Finally realized what sort of shit he'd gotten them into. Well, Duo could only do what he did best. Redirect, divert, distract. "Your idea of foreplay sucks, Barton," he lobbed into the strained silence, as though he hadn't noticed Salome's arrival, wasn't aware of her scrutinizing their every move. If possible, Trowa's tension increased at his words, but Duo was committed now. He rolled over onto the other man, propping himself up on the elbow that wasn't bruised from their impromptu cage match. Leaning down, he gave Trowa a half-second to decide - either he was all-in for this or they were both going to suffer the consequences. And Duo would, if that's what it came down to. If Trowa said no, then he'd suffer, and that would be that. Trowa deserved the option to say no, because he so seldom got it. But then Trowa gave him the barest jerk of his chin, the most infinitesimal nod, and Duo was kissing him furiously, putting on a good show just long enough to break the mood, until one of the idiots around them gave an obscene catcall, causing a raucous round of laughter, made all the more intense by the release of anxiety the group had collectively been harboring. Bounding to his feet, Duo offered Trowa a hand up, a hand the other man gazed at warily before accepting, allowing Duo to pull him to his feet. Duo trailed a hand across his abdomen before stepping back. Both of them hanging around was as good as admitting to their guilt. "Come find me later, hmm?" Not quite a whisper - he wanted the words to be heard, after all - but still pitched low. Intimate. Just as much for Trowa as for their audience. He stared up into the green eyes he knew as well as his own in a mirror, regretted the pain and confusion he saw there. Regretted a lot of things, for a fleeting moment. And then he sauntered off, heading for an ice pack and a shower, Trowa staring silently after him. * Duo was waiting for Trowa when he burst through the door to his room, lounging comfortably on the bed - sprawled, really - with an icepack on his face and his hair tied up carelessly. He knew two ways to stop a fight with Trowa Barton. One was to be injured. Check. The other was to be naked. Almost check, given that all he'd put on after his shower was running shorts. Duo threw an extra ice pack at him as he came through the door, Trowa catching it reflexively, stopping the flow of words that was just waiting to tumble out of his mouth - angry ones, judging by the frown on his face and the look in his eyes. Trowa glanced down at ice pack in his hand and back up to Duo in a double-take that was almost comical. Duo gestured at him, at the worsening swelling on the side of his face, the cut along his brow, made by Duo's knuckles. "You won't be able to see outta that eye tomorrow if you don't ice it." As though Trowa didn't know that. Irritably, the other man pressed the pack to the side of his face, looking at Duo through his good eye. His mouth thinned out as he pressed his lips together in irritation, or something. Duo never could get a good read on him, except in the middle of a firefight. "Why are you here?" Trowa ground out, finally, as he shut the door behind him and leaned on it. Duo shrugged carelessly. "I met the boss's other coder, some antisocial fuck who can't even order a fuckin' taco - you think that woulda been a better choice?" He snorted derisively. They both knew he meant Heero, and they also both knew exactly how true his words were. Trowa's eyes darkened. He couldn't even argue that he hadn't been worried about what would happen to Heero, here, under Alessandra's dark gaze and Salome's vicious good cheer. "Why do you hate me so much?" Duo asked idly, shifting the ice pack to the ache in his shoulder. It would probably hurt for days. Trowa ground his jaw so hard Duo could almost hear his molars cracking. "I don't hate you. I just…" he trailed off, the I just don't want you heregoing unspoken. He tried not to let the hurt show on his face, he really did, but Duo knew his poker face wasn't as good where Trowa was concerned, and dammit, it did hurt. A deep breath. "I just don't want you here." Trowa admitted, finally, and Duo had a sudden flash of understanding. Sally had pulled him into that meeting on purpose . The look Une had given him, of confusion and concern, suddenly made sense. The way Trowa had agreed to such a long op, knowing he'd be gone for months before Duo even came back, even though they tried to time their missions so that there was at least some downtime they spent together. "You motherfucker ," Duo spat, scrambling off the bed to stand toe to toe with Trowa, ice pack forgotten, to glare up at the other man. "You self-righteous bastard." Trowa reached out, hesitantly, and Duo smacked his hand away and gave him a shove that moved him exactly zero inches. "What the fuck ?" he hissed, staring at the other man. Trowa shrugged, all pretense gone. Just stared at Duo like a starving man looks at a buffet and- "You're so fucking stupid ," Duo muttered, and then he reached out, yanking the other man down to him and covering his mouth with his own. The kiss outside had been for the crowd. A spectacle, a distraction, something done to save their lives. This kiss, this one was for Duo. He ignored the sting of his lip, and the ache of his jaw, and focused instead on the pleasure of their mouths meeting, of having what he hadn't had in months, what he'd missed like a physical ache, and Trowa was so fucking dumb he'd been denying both of them this out of some kind of misplaced sense of, what? Protecting him? "You're so fucking stupid," he said again, his voice barely audible to his own ears, much less Trowa's, as he worked his way across barely-there stubble, "acting like I'm not at least as fucked up as you are, or more. Like I haven't done horrible shit that I never want to remember and can't fucking forget." He tugged the other man away from the door, shoved him towards the bed. Because, oh yeah, he was still fucking pissed off. He paused to strip Trowa's shirt off before he pushed him down onto the not-comfortable-enough mattress, climbing over him. "You don't-" Duo cut himself off with a harsh breath. Started again. "You think I don't know? That I don't understand exactly what you think, feel, when you look at me?" He paused, thinking back to the man on the L5 resource satellite. The one whose body they'd never find. There was no body to find. Whose sister had once fed him dinner- He stopped again. Took a deep breath. And another. This was the wrong place and the wrong time and- Hell, it was the wrong fucking life to be having this conversation, to be hashing out their fucking feelings in the middle of a life-threatening op. But this was also not something he could just let fester like this either. He leaned forward, pressing lips and fingertips to bare skin, feeling the thrum of tension under his hands, the erratic beat of Trowa's heart. The worn-smooth beads of his own rosary, a rosary that had been held by hands before his, touched by the only other person who had ever loved him. The rosary Trowa had evidently been wearing for months. "I was trying-" Duo cut him off with a press of teeth against his throat that would probably bruise, and Trowa hissed. "I know what you were trying to do, idiot." He'd been trying, apparently , to save Duo from an op he'd been better suited to than Trowa, trying to protect him from this bullshit, and now here Duo was, waist deep and sinking, and it was no fucking wonder Trowa had been so goddamn unapproachable since Duo had arrived. Not that that was any kind of excuse, or mollified Duo in any way. But. It bore some consideration. Deserved some conversation. But they couldn't have that, not here and not now. The walls had ears, probably, and they couldn't even talk to one another, not really. Trowa knew that better than he did, at this point. Had been swimming in the sewage of this fucked up hellhole for far longer than Duo had. "I'm not some goddamn-" Another pause as Duo fought with himself, with what was safe to say and what was implied with his words. "I don't need that from you. I don't want it." "I want..." This time, it was Trowa who paused, and Duo looked up, meeting his eyes. The other man swallowed audibly. Shook his head. Leaving whatever it was unspoken. Duo stopped trying to talk. Stopped trying to use words to communicate. Just reached for Trowa's clothes, baring skin he hadn't seen in months, fingers grabbing, grasping, and there was the edge of a barely-healed wound, and here, ink he didn't recognize. Later. Later, there would be time for inspection and reacquaintance, for cataloging what had changed and what was the same. Now was just Trowa. Trowa's skin. Trowa's hair. Trowa's smell. Trowa's taste. Just Trowa. Because Duo was still mad. So, so mad. Too mad for gentle, and too mad for easy, and he should probably be taking his time, savoring the experience, but he was just too skin-hungry and too affection-starved, and too everything . He pushed Trowa down, flush against the bed, pulling impatiently at the pants he'd worn in, the underwear beneath them, manhandling Trowa until Duo was crouched above him and panting, both of them naked and hard, and Duo should be being gentler but he just. Could. Not. Not that Trowa seemed to mind, arching into the rough touches and making a sound in the back of his throat that Duo had been dreaming about for months. They hadn't agreed to monogamy. It was an absurd thought, for two people who spent most of their lives undercover and trying not to think of the person they'd left behind. But Duo knew, from past experience, how hard it was to have a person you didn't trust in your bed. Maybe they were there for stress relief or to get intel from for an op, or maybe because they'd been foisted off on you and you didn't know what the hell else to do with them. But trust was something else, and it had been over a year since either of them had anyone they could trust, could relax into, in their bed, and it was this thought that forced Duo to slow down to something a little less than the speed of light. That, and the realization that he wasn't sure they had anything to facilitate the kind of sex they were hurtling towards. Trowa seemed to read his mind, and jerked his head towards the discarded pile of clothes. "Front right pocket." Duo leaned over the edge of the bed, snagging the pants and digging in the aforementioned pocket, pulling out several condoms and a standard size tube of lubricant. He almost laughed. Would have, if his emotions had allowed for humor rather than frustration and anger and lust and need . Apparently, Trowa had been feeling ambitious. He dropped the condoms onto the bed next to them and leaned back in, his mouth mapping Trowa's chest as he fumbled too much lube out onto his fingers. Trowa smelled of the same soap he always used, a weird contrast in their current circumstances, mingling with scent of hot metal and gunpowder, the combination turning Duo on even more. He'd never claimed he didn't have weird kinks. He reached down, bypassing the weeping erection with a mental note to see just how far he could fit it down his throat later, to press against the entrance below. Trowa groaned, arching into him, and Duo pressed first one, then two fingers in, and he knew he was going too fast, unable to stop himself, especially with Trowa making no indication that he wanted him to slow down. That he wasn't just as desperate for this as Duo was. Three fingers, and it was perfunctory at best, but the feel of Trowa's body clamping down around him, the small noises he was making, all of it was destroying Duo from the inside-out. And part of him wanted both of them to feel it tomorrow, to remember just what they'd done, to have the physical reminder, because he was certain this was only round one. Short and sweet to take the edge off - time for something more languorous later. When his fingers were sliding easily in and out, and Trowa was tugging at him, Duo leaned back to reach for one of the condoms, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it on. He was positioned, poised on the edge and looking down at Trowa. There was a moment of breathless anticipation, and Duo tried not to remember how long it had been. Too long. "Ok?" Trowa rolled his eyes, and it was so much the man he was used to that Duo grinned. And slid home in one smooth, burning glide. Trowa gasped and then groaned, clenching Duo's hips. When he shifted from gripping to tugging, Duo moved. And oh god, it was nothing but heat and tightness and his face buried in Trowa's shoulder, the real Trowa, not some figment of his imagination or his mind desperately pretending, and Duo was breathing in his scent and it was devastating in all the most crucial ways, Trowa shuddering underneath him and Duo snapping his hips. Trowa reached up to grab the disheveled hair coming loose from the knot he'd tied it in, sliding his hands close to the roots, and pulled. Duo gasped, and then they were fucking in earnest, Trowa's knees over his elbows and the headboard rattling, and neither one of them making more noise than was strictly necessary. The only sound in the room was the echo of the creaking mattress and slapping skin, punctuated by the low, raw noises of its occupants. Not quite silence, and not quite noise, and somewhere in the back of his mind Duo made a mental note to turn some music on next time. He came first, buried so far in Trowa's body he didn't know where Trowa ended and he began. His fingers dug into Trowa's thighs hard enough to bruise, and part of him was gleeful at the idea of marking Trowa as his as he stuttered and panted, eyes clenched shut against his will. When he could breathe again, Duo reached between them, but he barely touched the other man before he was coming too, back arched and muscles straining as Duo watched. The sight was almost enough to give him the impetus for round two. Almost. They collapsed onto the narrow bed, some maneuvering required until they could both be semi-comfortable, Trowa wiping cum off his chest with a discarded t-shirt, and then Duo was tucked up against him, closest to the door, bracketing Trowa in between his body and the wall. Duo could work with this, as long as Trowa kept his head out of his ass this time. Notes:Translations: La mujer: boss lady (Spanish) |
