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"Paid in Full"Written By: Presser
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters. This work of fiction is written and shared freely without any attempt to profit financially from it. Pairings: 1x2 One-shot Summary: Bad-boy Duo's car dies on a Louisiana interstate. Will the officer who stops want payment for his help? Rated R-18 for graphic description of after-the-fact
sex. "Paid in Full" "Shit." Duo Maxwell stood a meter away from the open hood of his battered yellow Mustang and scowled at the engine. Vehicles on I-55 north zipped by, too close for comfort. The first sign of engine trouble had been a wild, thumping sound under the hood that exploded into Duo's awareness just as he throttled hard to pass a Lexus. He immediately slowed and pulled off the road, forced left onto the gravel lip of the median by heavy traffic. "Shit, shit, shit." He punctuated each word with a stamp of his foot, his sandal slipping on loose stone on the last one. As he caught his balance, his auburn hair, twisted into an ass-length braid, whipped through the hot air behind him. He growled at the traffic, which was deaf to his rage. "My first day--hell, my first god-damn /hour/ of freedom, and /this/ happens." He flung fists into the air by his hips, turned his head and spat toward the wide swath of tangled brush and weeds that separated north- and southbound traffic. After a moment of fuming, he huffed out a loud sigh, then stuffed his hands in his back pockets and bent backward as far as he could to stretch his torso. His white tee-shirt, almost transparent from too many washings, the bottom two-thirds cut away, exposed his lean, muscled belly, tan and smooth. His legs showed through the rips and blown-out knees of hisfaded jeans. He glowered into a sky of deepening blue. Heavy gray clouds streaked with the oranges and pinks of a Louisiana sunset foretold rain on the way. /Hope it cools things off./ He straightened, swiped his forearm across his forehead. He stepped to the car, pulling his braid over his shoulder as he moved. He jammed the tip of it into his waistband to keep it out of the way and bent over the fan belt, worn, frazzled, and snapped in two. He reached to touch it and quickly pulled back his fingers from the hot fabric. He made an ugly face as he tried to think of a way to put it back together long enough to get to the next exit, where gas stations and fast food were promised by signs a mile back from his ride's demise. /Not even forty fuckin' miles from New Orleans./ He kicked roadside dirt and grit with the toe of a sandal. Pebbles pinged the underside of his car. "Can't blame you, though, can I?" Duo said to the Mustang. "You're damn near as old as I am." He put the heels of his hands out to each side and braced his weight on the frame of the engine compartment, then hung his head between hunched shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them, staring through the engine at nothing. /Shouldn't have been so anxious to cross the state line./ Heat from the ground rose through the engine, quickly producing a light sheen of sweat on Duo's face. Pollen tickled his nose as the thick odor of hot asphalt mixed with the oily smells of grease and gas from the motor. "Need help?" The voice was quiet, low, and level--and took Duo so by surprise he instinctively clinched his bladder to keep from pissing himself when he heard it. Even though he was on an open stretch of interstate with plenty of cars and trucks passing by, he knew how to listen for the approach of a person. His life had depended on it for most of his twenty-six years. /Fuck me. I didn't even hear a car pull up./ Duo's arms and legs stiffened involuntarily. He jerked his head upward, stopping its progress a scant inch from the sharp metal hook that latched the hood. /Relax./ He took one slow breath, in and out, then straightened. He peered around the edge of the hood, keeping most of his body out of view. Standing before him was a Louisiana state trooper. The man was slim, about Duo's height, and Duo could tell that, under his severely starched and precisely pressed uniform, there was muscle, and lots of it. He saw that the officer was asian, the smooth planes of his face deep gold in the slanting light of sunset. One of Duo's eyebrows rose; he cocked his head slightly to one side. /He's Chinese? No, Japanese? But his accent.... Anyway, I better behave if I want out of this without a night in jail. If he checks my record.../ At five that afternoon Duo had tripped down the front steps of Helping Hands Halfway House in New Orleans after signing final papers and climbed into the rattling old Mustang that Gary, the project director and his surrogate father-brother for two years, had given him as a surprise on his release. Gary had seen Duo get clean, get a job, and promise to go straight--all things he had done only to avoid a prison sentence, all things he planned to abandon as soon as he crossed the state line into Mississippi, headed toward Memphis, Tennessee. "Broken fan belt," Duo mumbled in monotone under half-lidded eyes. He ran fingers through his bangs to loosen them from his sticky forehead and looked away. "I see." Silence. Duo grew uncomfortable. He looked down at his belly, where the end of his copper-colored braid was shoved into his pants. He flexed his abs, bronzed and pronounced from construction work, watched the rope of hair graze his navel. /Fuck. I probably look like a gay hooker to him./ "Would you like me to call a tow truck?" Duo looked up and laughed through a crooked smile. "That'd be swell, officer, if I had the money to pay for one." Startlingly blue eyes with the asian epicanthic fold studied Duo from under a regulation trooper's hat of molded felt, the light gray color of spent charcoal and dimpled on the sides. A wide brim extended halfway to the edge of the man's shoulders below the Louisiana state trooper's seal made of embossed tin. Duo was surprised to see that several strands of thick brown hair had escaped to hang over the man's forehead. /Damn, he's hot. And he doesn't look that much older than me./ Duo crinkled his nose at this thought and shook his head the tiniest bit. /Stop it. This is no time to come on to--/ "Where you headed?" Duo smiled slyly despite his promise to behave as the scene from an hour ago rolled like a YouTube clip through his mind. In the New Orleans suburb where he had lived for two years, Gary Cox, his Helping Hands mentor, had waved from the top of the aging porch steps of the old house converted into apartments; Duo had done the same from the curb. At that moment, an old Warner Bros. cartoon sequence flashed through his mind: Gary's head turned into a giant red lollipop, then back to his normal appearance. Duo didn't fault the man for trying to save him; that was his job, after all. But he had been a street rat since he ditched his older brother at the age of eight. He learned to fend for himself, whether that meant turning on his natural charm when caught shoplifting, turning a trick with local Johns, or turning on a perceived threat with his switchblade, always only a nanosecond from his hand. /You don't change what works unless you're looking for trouble,/ he had told Gary his first day at Helping Hands. Gary had smiled and nodded, and the lack of condescension in his voice and manner had thrown Duo off. "Away," Duo said to the trooper with a widening mischievous grin. "From N'awluhns?" the officer said, his native accent thick. His tone deepened, grew richer as he raised his voice over the traffic. /If hot caramel could talk,/ Duo thought, then chided himself. /Stop it, fool! You're gonna--/ "Yes, sir," Duo said meekly, terminating his grin before it morphed into a leer. He lifted his hands from the engine frame to the nose of the hood and stretched, pushing his ribcage forward. The officer took a step left and toward him just as he realized that his new position raised his tee-shirt to show his nipples, dark and plump. He lowered his hands, which suddenly seemed massive, blocky, awkward. Duo dropped his hands and shoved them into his front pockets, knocking his braid from his waistband as he stood straight and faced the trooper. He looked at the ground. More silence. Duo kept his head down, but flicked his eyes up. They grew wide in surprise when he saw that the trooper was looking him over from head to foot. The man's gaze lingered noticeably at the crotch of Duo's pants. Suddenly the man turned his head with a sharp motion. He seemed to be scanning the open field of wildflowers on the other side of northbound I-55. /Damn. He was checking me out. But what's he looking at now? Maybe--/ The officer's eyes narrowed. He nodded his head, a tiny motion, as though assenting to an interior voice. All at once he drew breath and snapped his head back to face Duo. "You realize you were speeding, don't you?" he said, eyes glittering over lips curled in one corner of his mouth. Duo's head jerked up. "What?" "I been following you for a while, ever since you pulled onto I-55. You sure seem in a hurry." Duo blinked. "I- was passing a car." He paused. "When the fan belt snapped." The trooper stepped toward Duo. Duo stepped back, pulling his hands from his pockets, making fists at his hips. The trooper smiled, and though his demeanor remained professional, his eyes flashed with excitement. "I'm not going to do anything to you." He paused. "I mean, I'm not going to ticket you." His smile widened. "There /are,/ shall we say, more ways than one to address a violation of the law." Duo gulped, realized the officer heard it, and blushed. "Ther- there are?" "Uh huh," the trooper said in his slow southern drawl. He removed his hat, and Duo stared as more hair fell into the man's deep blue eyes. Underneath them, his button nose crinkled slightly over his broad grin. "Wh- what did you have in mind?" "Well," the trooper said, taking his time, "a fine young man like yourself, who seems quite, shall we say, capable"--he pointed his the brim of his hat at Duo's muscled midriff--"might be able to help an officer of the law with a problem; a problem for which the officer has no solution at hand, and so would surely be grateful for any assistance an able-bodied citizen might be willing to lend." Duo blinked again. "I, uh, I'm not sure I understand." The trooper's smile vanished. He quickly put his hat on and spoked with clipped tones, his accent suddenly gone. "Turn around." "What?" "You speak English, don't you? Turn around." Duo did. He heard the officer step toward him and twisted his head to look over his shoulder. The man's response was sharp and immediate. "Face forward." Duo did. "Put your head down and spread your legs." "What are you going to do?" Duo said carefully. A pause preceded the trooper's words. "I'm going to frisk you," he said with an overly casual tone. "Lots of young men like yourself carry concealed weapons these days. Gotta check you out." Gravel crunched under the man's boots as he knelt. Duo felt a drop of sweat roll from an eyebrow to the bridge of his nose. He looked down to see knees covered in olive khaki poking between his legs. He smiled at the knowledge that he had been smart enough to stow his switchblade in the glove compartment as soon as the Mustang rolled to a stop in the median. He extended his hands into the air at his sides. The officer took his time with the pat-down, beginning at Duo's ankles and working up his legs one at a time. There was nothing unprofessional about the trooper's actions; his touch was firm but light. But his fingers grazed the bare skin of Duo's knees and thighs showing through the rips in his jeans, and he had a 24-carat hard-on by the time the man's hands reached his hips. The trooper felt pockets front and back without touching the fly. Duo kept his head down and saw long, surprisingly delicate fingers hover for a moment in the air just above the waistband at his hips, cupped together and ready to grasp. They were close enough that he felt their heat on his skin. They withdrew. The officer huffed softly as he stood. "Guess there's no need to search your upper body, seeing as how you're barely wearing anything there. No place to conceal a weapon, is there?" Duo felt a lascivious grin at the back of his neck. /That would be in my pants,/ Duo thought but kept to himself. "You can turn around." Duo did, and saw a smile fading from the man's lips. "Well, I guess you check out." They stood eye to eye for a moment, Duo with shoulders rounded, hands loose at his sides, the officer ramrod straight. Duo looked away and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. /What the fuck does he want?/ Without warning the answer hit Duo hard, and he had to work to conceal his astonishment. He swallowed again, silently this time. He looked down, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, buying time to gather his thoughts, to decide what to do with his sudden realization. When he looked up, it was with an easy smile. He put his hands in his pockets again, the back ones this time, but his movements were now graceful, confident. He was in territory well known; he knew what he needed to do. He gazed straight into the man's eyes and said with a neutral tone, "So, officer, what's your problem?" The trooper's eyes narrowed over a frown. "What did you just say to me?" "Oh, don't misunderstand," Duo said lightly. "No offense intended. You said there was something I might help you with?" Duo let his voice rise more than usual on the last phrase to exaggerate the question. The trooper stood stock still and stared directly into Duo's blue-violet eyes. Duo held steady under the officer's gaze, but after ten full seconds of silence, alarm bells sounded in his mind. /If I called this wrong, I could be in--/ Suddenly the handsome, uniformed man relaxed his body and smiled. His thick Louisiana drawl hit Duo's sternum, set it gently buzzing. "You're a smart fellow, aren't you?" "I don't know about that." "Why don't you walk back to my patrol car and I'll show you what I need you to do." Duo followed him to the rear of the vehicle, senses heightened, heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears. At the back of the vehicle they stood facing each other for a moment, then the officer nodded once toward the car. "Have a seat." Duo rested his ass on the edge of the trunk. The sun-baked metal immediately heated his balls, which tingled in response. His cock, already hard from the pat-down and obvious through his thin jeans, throbbed in sync with his quickening pulse. Sudden inspiration hit Duo. He raised his hands over his head, turned his palms upward, and laced his fingers together, making a show of stretching his torso. He turned his head side to side and yawned loudly, but managed to watch the trooper as he did. Bingo, Duo thought, seeing the man's eyes riveted to his torso. He wants it. The trooper grew quiet and still, seemed to hesitate. In a soft voice, he said, "Do you think I'm attractive?" Duo's mouth fell open. His eyebrows shot up to maximum height. "What?" "It's a straightforward question." Duo stared at the man, mesmerized by intense blue irises that seemed deep, so deep. He moved from them to consider the trooper's face: plain, not heavy, not thin, the nose small and upturned slightly; solid shoulders; a chest that seemed fully developed, though Duo found it hard to tell because of the man's thick uniform. He took his time looking down the rest of the officer's body. His waist, though belted with various holsters for a weapon, cell phone, and night stick, seemed trim. Duo cast his eyes further down to see neatly pressed olive khakis, sharply creased, that grazed the top of regulation black patent shoes that gleamed in the last of the daylight. He looked up slowly, met the officer's eyes, and spoke quietly with a deadpan face. "Officer, I'd have to say you're just about the god-damned sexiest-looking state trooper I've ever been stopped by." Seconds ticked by. Duo stifled another gulp and held his gaze steady, his smile frozen, determined not to be the one to break eye contact. But the officer didn't break eye contact. He smiled back, a tiny grin slowly growing under eyelids that dropped gradually. His lips parted to show his teeth. It drove Duo mad. "That," the trooper said, his tongue darting to one corner of his mouth, "is the most correct answer I've heard in a month." Duo grinned. He did his best to not sigh with relief, but relaxed his body, which had gone rigid with the tension of the encounter. He put his hands on his thighs and fingered the loose threads of the rips in his jeans. "So," Duo said, "what can I help you with, officer?" Without changing his smile, the trooper said, "I thought you've never ask." /God-damn it,/ Duo thought, /does he have to take everything in slow motion?/ "Can I stand up?" he said at last. "Sure," the officer said, drawling the word lazily. Duo did. "Thanks. My ass was on its way to medium rare." "Well," the trooper said through a light chuckle, "let's see what we can do about that." # "My god," Duo said, panting heavily. "I hope you'll believe me when I say that was the most incredible fuck of my life. And I'm not just--" "Shh," the trooper said, putting an index finger to Duo's lips. "I believe you." He was on his knees, bent over Duo, who was on his back in the rear seat of the patrol car. The trooper, too, was breathing deeply. Duo's ripped jeans and American-flag thong were at his left foot on the floorboard of the vehicle next to his sandals. His other foot was braced against the door frame, toes curled against the brushed fabric roof. The fingers of one hand were laced through the wire grill that separated the front and back seats, knuckles pressed against the thick glass there. The other was on top of the back seat headrest, nails lined up with fresh scratch marks. Beads of sweat covered Duo's abs, rivulets ran across his pecs, down his ribs, off to the sides. Splatters of semen from his wilting cock led from his groin to his chin, globs of it in the little reddish-gold hairs of his treasure trail that faded before reaching his navel, where more semen pooled. Some had splashed on his threadbare tee-shirt, which was more than damp and stuck to his upper chest in places. The hard nubs of his nipples showed through. The officer's olive khakis and white briefs (as regulation as the rest of his uniform) were at his ankles, crumpled around his boots, which stuck out of the door facing the brush in the median. The man's brown hair was repeated at the base of his penis, only a small thatch below a torso that was everything Duo had imagined. Broad pecs with perfectly round nipples, small and hard, dominated a definite six-pack, all covered by smooth golden skin. /A Japanese man with an authentic New Orleans accent. Definitely a first for me./ Duo stared at the trooper's chest as it expanded and contracted, his eyes drawn to the reddened skin at one nipple where Duo's teeth had coaxed deep-throated grunts of passion from the man above him moments ago. The potent musk of vigorous sex was in the air between them, hot and heady in the gathering humidity of the coming storm. The scent of his sweat and the trooper's mixed in his nostrils. On impulse he put out a hand and outlined the man's abdominals with the lightest touch of his fingertips. "Found something you like?" the trooper said, his tone conversational. "It's so god-damn smooth," Duo whispered. "Almost like silk." He looked up. Their eyes met. In that single moment Duo saw not the sense of triumph, not the thrill of power he suspected had motivated this man to take him; there was no hint of domination. Instead, he saw that the trooper seemed to be searching his eyes for something. /I wonder,,/ Duo thought, /what he's looking for./ The approaching storm's first clap of thunder, distant and faint, broke their eye contact. The man looked down and pulled his cock from Duo's anus slowly. Duo gasped at the sudden movement; he lifted his chest, pulled back his hips. "Sit up," the officer said gently. Soft sounds of scuffling and grunting accompanied their shifts in position. Once they were sitting side by side, the trooper grabbed his softening penis, pushed it down and pulled it forward, then deftly peeled off his condom. He tied a knot at the open end and dropped it on the floorboard. He bent and fumbled for a leather case on his belt, found it, and snapped it open. "Here," he said, handing Duo a travel-size pack of tissues. The air between them was thick as Duo cleaned up. The trooper sat unmoving, khakis still down, watching Duo lift his ass off the seat and slip his thong into place before shimmying into his jeans. "Well," said the trooper, "I guess I'd better get you a tow truck." Duo studied the man's face as he leaned forward and grabbed his pants. He lifted his hips, slid the pants into position, then tucked in his shirttail. He stared straight ahead as though Duo wasn't there. He buckled his belt, zipped up. As he twisted his hips to put his legs out the door, Duo put a hand on the man's wrist. The officer froze. His eyebrows rose as he turned his head to face Duo. "Yes?" "I--don't know how to say this, but..." "Go on." Duo blushed brightly. "I, uh..." He looked out the window behind him, his hand unconsciously tightening around the ball of sticky tissue he held. Thunder in the sky again; louder this time. The trooper's face darkened. He turned back to sit more comfortably. "We're not on a date here, you know. Spit it out." Duo glanced at the man then pointed his face at the floorboard as words rushed out of his mouth, his tone meek and quiet. "I don't usually do this kind of thing. I mean, I probably look like a gay hooker to you, I don't know. And I've had my run-ins with authority, plenty of 'em. But I'm--" He looked up and was stopped cold by the man's face: jaw clamped tight, narrowed eyes, one eyebrow arched. After studying Duo's eyes for a moment, the trooper puffed a soft breath between his lips and spoke, his voice husky, barely audible. "I don't usually do this kind of thing, either, you know." He looked out the window over Duo's shoulder. Headlights snapped on here and there in the stream of traffic. "Or you don't. Of course, you don't. How would you?" His next words were more to himself than Duo. "You're concerned about me thinking you're a slut, while I'm sitting here worried that you think I do this to get high on power and control over another man." He turned his head a bit, just enough to flick his eyes back to Duo's face, then looked through the wire and glass that separated the front and back seats. He put his hands on his knees and stiffened his arms; turned his head up to the roof of the car, squeezed his eyes shut. "Thing is," he said slowly, "and I know for a god-damned fact I shouldn't be saying this, but the thing is, you see..." Duo's face went slack, lips parted slightly, eyes grew large. He watched as the man tensed all over, saw his fingertips turn white as he gripped his bare knees. Duo watched in surprise as his hand shot forward, propelled by instinct, not thought, the heel of it connecting firmly with the man's shoulder. The trooper jerked his head down to stare at Duo with astonishment on his face. "You know," Duo said lightly, mischief in his eyes, "I have no idea what came over me. I mean, I guess a guy like me wants to get out of ticket, you know? And when the officer who stops him is as, well--oh, fuck, I'm just going to say it--as hot as the one sitting here, well, what the hell do you expect an all-American boy like me with hormones to do?" One side of his mouth rose in a crooked grin. He winked. "So," he said before the trooper could speak, "I better get out of here and let you get back to your job." He pawed the door next to him for the handle and found none. He turned to face the officer, who's mouth had dropped open, astonishment still on his face. "Um, I guess I need to go that way," Duo said, motioning toward the open door next to the trooper. The man closed his mouth. He took his hat from the fabric-covered board behind the seats and got out of the car. Duo scrambled after him. As he stood to face the rear of the vehicle, the trooper stepped toward him. They looked each other in the eye, noses close to touching. Duo wore an easy smile. The officer's face was stern, but his eyes were searching. "Stay here." The officer turned on one heel and walked swiftly around the rear of the car. He reached through the window and grabbed the microphone of his two-way radio. As he pulled it to him, he stood. He raised it to his lips and thumbed the large button on the side, raising his voice above the noise of traffic as he spoke. "Hello, Dispatch, this is Officer Heero Yuy." Static crackled from the front seat. Duo couldn't make out the words of the response. More thunder rumbled overhead. Clouds crowded together to close off the view of the sky. "Right, I-55, about a mile south of Exit 61." More crackling. Duo kept his back to the front of the car, but looked over his shoulder. The trooper had his back to him. The mic was in his left hand, his right elbow and upper arm next to his hat on the roof of the car. "Uh huh. Kentwood-Liverpool. I got a ten-seventy-nine here. Tommy's is pretty close. Give him a call and tell him a motorist needs a tow. No, car's intact; just needs a new fan belt." Duo looked down and saw he was barefoot. He reached into the back of the patrol car and retrieved his sandals. As he did, he saw the used condom. He took it and flung it into the brush behind him, then stood. He dropped his sandals on the ground and wiggled his feet into them. "No, on the left, in the median. Yellow mustang. Tommy won't miss it." Officer Yuy turned and looked back. Duo's head was down as he scuffled into his sandals. The trooper lowered his voice as he turned away. "And tell Tommy this one's on me. Yeah, I'll drop by tomorrow afternoon and pay him." Duo busied himself with a kick at the ground, then bent to brush away grit caught between his sandal and heel. He straightened halfway and picked absently at the rips in his jeans, then stood to his full height. He turned his head quickly at the sound of the trooper's voice behind him, suddenly louder to get his attention. "Tommy'll be here directly. He'll tow your car to his place, about a mile or two north, and fix that fan belt." Duo's mouth opened under eyebrows bunched over his nose in protestation. Officer Yuy cut him off before he spoke. "Don't worry about the cost. Tommy owes me one." Duo's eyebrows rose. The trooper's face was neutral, but his blue eyes glittered in the headlights of passing vehicles. Dusk thickened behind the cloud cover in the dissipating heat of the day. Duo realized his mouth was open and closed it. After a pause, he smiled. "Looks like I do, too." Officer Yuy smiled back. He pushed away from the car, took his hat, and grabbed the handle of the car door. "Consider it paid in full." The trooper climbed into his patrol car and Duo backed away as he started the engine. He hunched his shoulders forward as his hands found his pockets on their own and watched as the man looked for an opening, then accelerated into the passing lane, smoothly matching speed with the flow of traffic. He looked up. A single drop of rain, fat, wet, and cool, plashed against the side of his nose. He headed for the Mustang to wait for a someone named Tommy to arrive. Owari
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