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"Wicked Game "Written By: Miss Murdered Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters - am
just borrowing to torment for my amusement Rating: NC 17 Warnings: m/m sex, angst, bad language, implied
drug use, cheating, some violence of the not too explicit variety Pairings: 2x3x2 Summary: Trowa knows that he risks everything playing a dangerous game with Duo. He just wishes he knew how to quit it. A/N: Apologies for an extra update from me this week as today is one of my good friends, Amberly's, birthday and I promised her a little 2x3 fic. However… I wrote her a little 2x3 one-shot that then became a 5 part multipart. So happy birthday Amberly! And thanks to ELLE
for her super speedy beta-ing as this got out of hand… *shakes
head at muse*
"Wicked Game " Just Tell Me You Love Me Chapter Four The punch hits me hard and my head snaps to the side.
I bite down as it connects, taste blood, and look back at you, your
blue eyes fierce, your face set in an angry line. You've never punched me before. Fuck, one of the first
times I met you, I punched you, jabbing my fist hard into your stomach
muscles to pass you that small device while you bided your damn time
in that cell. But this is the first time you've punched me and the
force surprises me a little. It shouldn't. I know what you do and
I know you're lethal underneath those black clothes but still I glare
at you and wipe my hand across my mouth. "Fuck you," you growl and you aim another
fist at me. This time I block it, anticipating, grabbing at your
hand as I kick out at you, trying to get you off balance. Off balance
like you've always fucking had me. I use a slight stumble to push you against the wall,
slamming your back hard against the peeling wallpaper. My thigh slides
between your legs, my hands on your arms, holding them against the
surface, stopping you from responding. My face is as close to you
as I can damn be, your breath warm against my lips, your eyes dark
and angry. "They want to know who you work for. They'll make
a deal." "A fuckin' deal?" you spit back. "You
think they'll say 'hey, it don't matter that he's killed all those
politicians as shit, all we wanna know is who's paying for it.' Don't
be that fuckin' naïve." My grip loosens a little but I keep my thigh between
your legs and I think, fuck, of Heero's instructions, of their threats
and the promise that you would be treated fairly if I bring you in
and I feel manipulated. "Oh come on, baby, don't look so hurt. I'm the
bad guy here, remember?" The words jolt me as remember you, that first time,
and I knew, fuck, I knew you what you were doing even then –
that after the war you'd drifted and you'd ended up back on L2 and
you'd ended up doing this and you told me then that you were the bad
guy in this damn story. And you always would be. I step away, release
you, watch you slump a little against the wall and I'm running hands
through my hair, walking over to the window, seeing the neon of the
club opposite and listening to the music drift on the air – loud,
pulsing, some shit I don't know and don't like. "So they thought you'd trick me?" you ask
and I glance over to you, reaching for a bottle and this time, when
you raise your eyebrows offering to pour it into a plastic cup, I
shake my head. I don't want it. Don't want the burn of it down my throat
or the taste of it on my lips. Not tonight. Instead, I'll take the
taste of my own damn blood and walk away and figure out how to forget
what they thought of me. That I was the one to deceive people. And
I deserved that as I was fucking you and going home to him. I'd always
been too good at playing a role. Guess I deserved that assumption. You walk over, quiet, the footfalls behind me slow and
I feel you behind me, your mouth at my shoulder blades, hot through
the thin fabric of my t-shirt. "He never got you, did he?" I feel a hand
on my chest, your fingers tweaking nipples through cotton. "He
never got people like us, right? That we do what is damn necessary
and if that's playing the bad guy for a while, then hey, better than
being dead." My eyelids fluttered closed, the neon seeming to flicker
behind my lids as you slide fingers confidently down my torso, down
to the waistband of my jeans, fingers teasing under fabric and my
stomach muscles jump at your touch. "And you've nothing now, right? A job that suspects
you and probably wants to fire you and arrest you. An ex who hates
your ass. Heero on your damn tail and that shitty apartment that you
used to share with him. You're like me now. Admit it – you don't
have to be a Preventer anymore." You're persuasive and you know it, the feel of your
breath, your fingers, and I hate you for it as I feel myself responding
to you, any resistance fading, the anger under the surface turning
to lust. So I push you away before I give in, before you break through,
and you laugh at me. "Don't," I say low, face to face now, grabbing
for your arm, tight, and you looking up at me, blue eyes wide. "I
don't want to play this game with you anymore." "Then don't. Come work with me," you offer
and the words shock me. "Shit, you'd be good at what I do. You
could tag along and you'd earn a fuck ton more than Prev pays you,
I can guarantee that." "You kill people." "Yeah and ain't we both done a lot of that, anyway?" You slide a hand to my cheek, up to my hair, around
the back of my head. I've killed men since I was a child – killed
without remorse as it was necessary – and I shake my head, knowing
that you're too close, too persuasive, your kiss and touch too fucking
much. "No. It's not necessary," I say. "Offer stays open." With those words your lips meet mine lazily, the roughness
of our usual kiss gone, the aggression of our earlier fight making
the slide of tongue odd, sensual, something different and I don't
think about your offer. Or what the Preventers want me to do. Or all
the men you've killed as I grab hold of you and you wrap your legs
around my waist, you instinctively damn knowing what I want as I push
you towards a wall, grinding our bodies together and kissing each
other at the same slow pace. Your hands dig into my shoulders. I feel your fingernails
even through fabric and I slip my mouth from your lips, rest my head
against yours, grind my body up against yours, feel the heat of our
skin combine. There's a bed within a few steps but we opt for the
damn wall and maybe it's a wise idea. This was an even shittier motel
than usual, the sound of the club coming through the thin walls and
I don't want to think about the blood and cum and piss that stain
the bed sheets and if they are washed. And I know this is the sort
of place I'd find bodies if I were wearing my Preventer uniform, if
I had the badge that I no longer believed in, and instead of being
the good guy here, I'm sliding into you, biting down on my lip. We're
both naked from the waist down and I seem to have re-opened the cut
from when you hit me or maybe the taste of blood was always damn there
as I slowly roll my hips into you, as I take each thrust long and
slow and hard. You grip onto me, your legs tight around my waist as
I grunt with each movement, and I don't know if I can keep fucking
you like this as it's slow and you're tight and I'm losing my damn
mind at the feel of you. Your legs slip from my waist and we're crashing to the
floor and it takes only a few moments for us to find our position,
our rhythm, me sitting against the wall with you on my lap and the
carpet is rough underneath us but I concentrate only on watching you
– the rise and fall of your body, the way you exhale on each
breath, the way your braid has fallen across your chest. I grab for
it, pull you close, kiss you hot and quick as I let you ride me, your
powerful body doing the work as I can't kiss you anymore and my head
lolls back against the wall and I look up to a water stained ceiling. I feel fingertips on the side of my face and the touch
sends a tingle down my spine, the gesture intimate and I return my
gaze to you, to see that you're close, to see that you are biting
down on your bottom lip and you breathe out "fuck" on each
downward motion of your hips. "Jerk off for me," I murmur across your mouth
and my eyes drift to where you do, stroking your dick fast, your back
arching backwards as you come, the feel of you, the ripples of you
making me follow you, leaning forward into your chest as I do. Time stops as we come down, as my breathing becomes
normal and I lick at your neck, kiss at your jaw, run my fingers over
each bump of your spine. The hammering of my heart seems in rhythm
to the sound of the music from the damn club and I enjoy this one
moment as I know, tonight, this is the end as I have fucked up too
much for you. Just wish I wasn't in love with you as you give me a
small smile and a brief peck on my lips, as I watch you put on boxers
and jeans, as you take a swig of cheap liquor. I dress, grab for my
jacket, and when you offer me the booze, I take a sip, burning away
our last kiss. You sit on the bed, lay back on your arms and I see
the way your t-shirt rides up to expose the skin of your abs, showing
a hint of hair, seeing how there's a stain on the black cotton and
I swallow the alcohol and pass you back the bottle. "I can't play like this with you anymore,"
I say and our hands touch as you take back the bottle and I watch
you take a drag and I turn away – from you, from us, from whatever
the fuck this has been. "The offer stays open." I don't acknowledge your words as I leave, pulling my jacket tight around my body, walking out into the cool colony air. The attempt at autumn earth temperatures makes it colder than normal and I walk under neon lights, see them reflect in the water in the gutters left over from a scheduled rainfall, and I try to forget about you. About Wufei. About the Preventers. As tonight, I leave Trowa Barton behind. And he will never return.
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