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"The Good Life"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 – a little rough, hints
of violence/gore, angst, some bad language Pairings: 1x3 Summary: Heero tends to Trowa's wounds after being compromised on a mission. A/N: A pairing I love but never write. Meant to
work as the opposite of canon after Heero's whole self-destruction.
Title may be ever so slightly misleading as this is kinda angsty.
There is a reason. Beta'd by ELLE
" The Good Life"
Chapter Two Heero blinked blood from his eyes, the cut on his forehead meaning that it slid down his face and matted in his eyelashes. The explosion had gone off early, unexpected, rocking them into the metal walls and debris and Heero had hit his head hard against the shining steel, a thin line across his skin showing where he'd impacted. They had stopped after the first round of explosions caused the distraction they had needed - a distraction that drew out many of the smugglers into the main air hangar of the base and let them slip through the perimeter undetected. They had ducked into a medical supply room as they had memorised the old OZ base's blueprints and they had known it had been close by. It provided a place to hide temporarily and also for Trowa to patch up the wound, much to Heero's annoyance. The wound was superficial, no need for any attention until they were back in Nairobi, but Trowa was forceful, insistent, knocking out a doctor and locking him in a medical supply closet once he had acquired the relevant materials to cover Heero's wound. It was not deep enough for stitches, so Heero thought, and though the steady bleeding obscured his vision, he was fine and he'd told Trowa that through gritted teeth. But they needed to wait, wait for some of the dust to settle from the explosion before they made their way further into the base to find Villiers, the leader of this group of smugglers, and complete their mission. So Heero consented to hiding in the medical room, giving them time to regroup, to calm a little from the adrenalin of battle, of gunfire, of the ringing in their ears from the deafening sound of explosives. Trowa made sure he locked the metallic door, pulled a cabinet over it - the movement loud and obnoxious - and then he turned his attention towards Heero, who had sat up on the examination table, the bag of weapons and explosives on the floor. He'd sat as that was what Trowa had told him to do and he'd forced him with his hips and strong hands. "Don't," Heero said as Trowa approached, swabs and bandages and a bottle of water in his hand. Trowa didn't answer, only grabbed at Heero's hair, pulled his head back and made Heero splutter and close his eyes as water washed away blood from his eyes. The pain of the hand in his hair and the sting of the wound made him hiss. It was not true pain but pain enough and he growled at Trowa for his rough treatment though he wanted it - liking the tight hold in his hair and the way Trowa touched him without caring about his comfort. A little pain was always a turn on. A little pain, a little blood in his mouth all made Heero groan pathetically as Trowa touched the wound with a swab. But it was not due to the sharp tang of physical discomfort - it was due to the spike of arousal that stirred in his gut at the proximity of Trowa, the hand hard in his hair, the smell of his partner close to him. Trowa smelt of sweat, of explosives and gunpowder, and Heero licked his lips, tasting the bloody water that had slipped down his face from Trowa's attempt to clean the wound and green eyes narrowed at the response, at the little cues that Heero gave. So much of their relationship was built on mutual looks, on small touches, on scant words that Heero didn't have to give Trowa much to make him aware that he wanted him - that he wanted him closer. Heero's hand went for Trowa's wrist, the one with the swab, and he held it tight, making him drop the contents of his hand to the gurney underneath him. He saw Trowa swallow, the movement of his throat making Heero remember how it felt when Trowa deep-throated him, on his knees, submissively letting him thrust in and out of his mouth, holding his hair in between his fingers as he did. Instinctively Heero reached up to grab him, hard, lodging a hand at the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss his bloody battered lips. The kiss wasn't enough even though it tasted of the coppery tang of blood and their tongues slid against one another, hot, slick, thrusting into each other's mouths as they moved closer together, flush against one another, the rough fabric of their black ops gear against their skins. It was wrong - not because of the violence of the moment, not because they roughly touched each other and ground together with barely restrained aggression - devouring each other, satisfying their needs. It was wrong because they were in an old OZ base and they had a mission to do, a man to interrogate and kill. And interrogate was perhaps a euphemism for the real intent of the mission. They would get the intelligence the Preventers needed via whatever force was necessary as they always did. That's why they weren't officially employed by the organisation, that's why they got encrypted messages via secure channels and money paid into secure accounts in the Caymans. The mission was important, their role, the pain they would implement on the unsuspecting Villiers to acquire what Preventer needed. They did what no one else would do. No one else was willing. Violence and pain were part of their existences since childhood. These missions suited them. But despite Heero's devotion to missions during the wars, now he forgot about it with the way Trowa dragged at his lip, the way he slid his hands down to his ass and firmly squeezed and pulled him close, making him pant and reach for the stiff material of Trowa's pants, reach for the zipper and efficiently bring out his dick, stroking it, already hard and he felt his usually quiet partner grunt as their lips parted. "Fuck," Trowa murmured and he leaned his head against Heero's shoulder as his hand continued a quick rhythm, a little rough, that he knew Trowa liked. "We can't." "Too late," Heero growled back, his other hand fisting the short hairs at the back of his partner's neck, pulling Trowa's head back so that their lips could meet again, the taste of salt and blood shared between their mouths. Trowa responded by grabbing at the hand on his cock, stopping the movement as he groped for some of the supplies he'd brought from the medical closet, his green eyes darkening as he reached for the Vaseline that Heero guessed he'd intended to use on the cut to stop the blood from running into his eyes. He returned to hovering over Heero, their faces close, their breath and hair mingling together - lighter brown and darker brown combining. Heero reached down to his own pants, retaining eye contact as he pushed them down with the boxer briefs and he watched as Trowa's gaze moved appreciatively to his cock, a firm hand wrapping around it. "Quick," Heero ordered and Trowa smirked as he coated fingers in the sticky substance. "Orders, Yuy?" Heero grunted at the sarcasm, at the deadpan comment delivered but he didn't have time to do anything else as a finger slid inside him with little preamble - a brief tease around the ring of muscles the only warning he got as one thrust inside and his head went back at the sensation that seemed to thrum up his spine and into all his senses. The prep would be rough but it was what they needed, both of them, and Heero could take it. He could take everything Trowa gave him - each firm stroke of his aching Dick, each thrust in of his fingers, each time he bit and nipped and ran fingernails down his back. They needed it to be like this - always like this - and Heero tried to remember if they'd ever gently slid under the covers together like he'd done with previous lovers but with Trowa - with Trowa, Heero could be uncontained, and Trowa would take everything he gave. The finger prepping him became more, scissoring and touching inside him, and Heero closed his eyes, concentrating on the dual sensation of his cock being stroked and those fingers stretching. He moaned loudly when Trowa hit the spot and he heard a sound that escaped Trowa's lips that sounded vaguely feral as he knew then that he'd given Heero pleasure, that he'd hit prostate and there was a satisfaction to that. He pushed Trowa off him, hard, the violence of the movement confused his partner until Heero hopped down and leaned over the gurney, throwing a glance over his shoulder that indicated it was Trowa's move. There was no more communication needed as Trowa came behind him, his mouth at Heero's neck, a small bite there, his lips sucking and worrying at the skin, marking him as Heero's head fell forward, feeling the first press of Trowa's hard Dick into him. He breathed deeply, trying to calm some of his adrenalin and the tension in his body to ease Trowa's entry. Heero slid his hand down to his cock, stroking himself, biting his lip as Trowa pushed in, his warm breath hot on the back of his neck. The metal of the gurney was cold as Heero moved his fingers to grip it but he felt the warmth of Trowa inside him, of an arm over his chest, keeping him close as he adjusted to the sensation of being filled, the slight burn and pain of quick preparation and penetration. "Ready?" Trowa whispered into Heero's ear, his voice low and strained. It was a tone that Heero recognised and it sent a spark of arousal down his already aching Dick and he grunted in affirmation so that Trowa knew he could move. The first powerful thrust of hips made Heero lose some balance but Trowa gripped him, secured him close so that he maintained his position, their bodies pressed together so tightly and making each move of Trowa's cock deep and hard into Heero's body. They knew they didn't have time, the urgency and environment making them move fast against each other, the taste of blood and the metallic smell of lingering explosives in his nostrils. Trowa's body was firm, strong, and Heero felt every powerful rock of his hips drive him forward as he attempted to push back to demand more from the man behind him - the man who fucked him, who breathed against his skin and who reached his hand to his cock, rubbing his calloused thumb against the slit, making Heero's breathing ragged, his senses alive from the pleasure of each forceful move of Trowa's body. The sound of a siren made Heero jerk instinctively, a delayed response from the explosions in the hangar bay and he reached back towards Trowa, encouraging him to move quicker, and Trowa complied. The orders he issued to Trowa whether in a mission or during their rough sex were mostly non-verbal as they didn't need words, they were both men of action. Trowa sped up his movement, the deep plunges making Heero squeeze his eyes closed and pant out as he hit that spot inside him again and again, the fist wrapped around his own Dick speeding up in time and he was close, so fucking close, as the wails of the sirens reverberated around the metal halls and corridors. "Fuck," Trowa whispered and Heero recognised the cue and bucked back, the move making them as close as they possibly could be as Trowa came, the soft groan a sound that Heero was familiar with and liked. He knew how Trowa looked despite not seeing his face and while their relationship was not one of love - it was of mutual need and desire - he still knew how those green eyes would close, how there would be a crinkle at the corner, how his mouth would part and his forehead would crease in concentration. And if they were face to face, Heero would push and pull at that bang of hair while they fucked to see those eyes but now all he had was the image behind his own closed eyelids as Trowa thrust a few times, riding out his orgasm, stroking him firmly, the rough tugs at his Dick making Heero follow, cum slashing onto the metal table, the sound of sirens ringing in his ears. They stood connected for a few moments, basking briefly in the post-coital high even in the extreme situation but they needed to continue their mission so Trowa pulled out, finding tissues to wipe away the cum and sweat, offering one to Heero as he did the same, throwing them into the trash. Heero pulled up his pants, quickly re-dressing as Trowa walked towards the door, still blocked by the cabinet, and moved the heavy furniture out of the way so that they could exit. Though before he unlocked the door, he walked back over to where Heero stood against the gurney and reached out a hand to Heero's shaggy bangs, a little damp from water and sweat and blood. He gently moved the hair and looked at the wound. "Let me." He met Trowa's eyes, the deep soulful green, and inclined his head slightly, responding to the gentle touch of his hand. Trowa picked up the supplies, dabbing away the blood to see the scar and he applied liquid sutures, closing the wound and securing an adhesive bandage over it, smoothing it over with his thumb. The feel of Trowa's hands reminded Heero of being a boy in a trailer, healing after his unsuccessful self-destruction, and they had done this too many times. Too many times had they both been wounded, both bleeding or bruised or broken, only to be tended to by the other and Heero knew they would continue this cycle of sex and missions and violence for as long as they both were alive. "Thanks," he said, his voice low and husky and Trowa only gave the tiniest of smiles - the slightest curve of lips before he reached for the backpack filled with explosives and equipment - knives, pliers and whatever else would be required for them to get Villiers to talk. "Anytime." And without another word, a few glances and nods, they re-secured their weapons, unlocked the door and left the medical room. Working in tandem, they moved through the base to find Villiers, ready to do what they needed to, together as they had been for years. Their relationship was not normal, they didn't go on dates or even live in one place and their job was one full of blood and explosions and fire, but it did not matter as they had each other and the rush of each violent mission. |
