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"Firsts"Written By: Waterlilylf Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. All rights
remain with Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. No profit being
made here. Rating: R Warnings: Yaoi, Post Cannon, sap, angst Pairings: 3x2 Summary: How do you get past losing the love of your life, the person you fell in love with when you were just fifteen? Trowa desperately needs someone special in his life, even if he hasn't quite realised it yet..
"Firsts"
Chapter 3 - : Dating Duo He doesn't see Duo for nearly two weeks after that. He takes a couple of cold showers, as per advice, thinking of the teasing gleam in Duo's eye; that kiss. He jerks off extravagantly afterwards, still thinking of it. They exchange emails, mostly Duo bitching about the cold in Moscow, even in April, and sharing odd little snippets of his day. The buffet breakfast in his hotel; an old lady he talked to on the Metro; a little shop he found selling second-hand war memorabilia; the station commander who pretends he can't speak English and isn't at all abashed when Duo catches him reading an American novel. They're funny and vivid and he can just imagine Duo in all of the situations. He doesn't quite mark the days 'til Duo's return off on his desk calendar, but he does find himself calculating. How many days; then the hours. His connecting flight from Paris is due to land at 17.00, and then it'll take an hour from the airport, and he has a briefing with Une at 18.30. No knowing how long that'll take. He might just want to go home and crash after; Trowa's suggested going for dinner but Duo hasn't really responded. He gets a text when Duo's flight lands, then a couple sent while he's waiting for a taxi, and then the man in person, shrugging off a woollen overcoat as he walks through the door. He sets the electronic lock with one hand, letting the coat fall to the floor in a puddle of dark grey wool, and starts loosening his tie with the other. In the handful of steps it takes him to reach the desk, he's shed tie, jacket, and has his shirt pulled out and partly unbuttoned. Trowa's out of his chair by then, and meets him by the filing cabinet. It's the first time they've kissed with no barrier between them; there's the perfect press of Duo's body, and a hand sliding down his ass, and that gorgeous, generous mouth under his. The sharp corner of the metal cabinet digging into his thigh brings him back to reality with a thud. Duo either has a couple of extra hands, or they have the gift of multi-location. There's a warm palm pressed against his right hip, and fingers curled around the back of his neck. Duo's shirt is torn off somehow, and Trowa's is hanging loose off one shoulder, his belt hanging off the last loop. 'Duo. Stop.' The hand on his hip slides under his waistband, very light, a delicious dance of skin on skin. 'Oh, Trowa. I don't think you want me to stop. I really don't.' The fingers still, just for a second. 'Do you?' This is such a bad fucking idea. He knows it, with every part of him that's logical and rational and capable of weighing up consequences. He can feel the imprint of Duo's fingers on him as if they're branded there. No one's taken the time to touch him there since Quatre, and Duo bloody Maxwell's unerringly found that one spot, just at the jut of his right hip, that somehow turns him to jelly. The thought's enough to make him pull back, Duo's fingertips trailing against the curve of his hip as he moves. 'Duo. We're at work.' It's ridiculously feeble and he knows it, and it gives Duo the perfect set up to strike back. 'We were at work last time. You didn't seem to care. Door's even locked this time.' He glances back and Trowa suddenly wonders how the hell Duo knew his security code. Duo gives him a look. One of those fleeting looks, up through his lashes. The picture of sweetly wounded innocence. Yeah, right. As demurely innocent as the Kama fucking Sutra. 'You don't want me?' 'You know I do.' 'I do, sure.' He lets his gaze drop to Trowa's crotch. It's pretty damn unmistakable, the wanting. 'You're meeting the commander in half an hour.' 'Yeah? And? That's tonnes of time.' His tongue darts out, licks that lush lower lip. A gesture heady with promise. 'C'mon, Tro. You've got a pretty sturdy-looking desk. You don't want to bend me over it? Or I could suck you off.' He lets one hand stroke down his own very pronounced erection. 'I bet you'd be into that. You in that spiffy swivel chair, and me on my knees in front of you. I bet you'd really, really like that.' 'I said no.' It comes out with more force than he'd meant, and it's a precise measure of how much he wants it. Duo's eyes darken, suddenly getting that Trowa is serious, isn't just playing hard to get. 'Not like you never screwed Quat over that fancy antique desk of his. I know you're into the whole office sex thing.' Damn. 'Don't talk about him.' 'I'm never gonna measure up, am I?' Duo says, heavily laced with bitterness. 'Never be good enough for you? You don't want Heero's leftovers, is that it?' 'Duo.' Trowa almost reaches out to touch him and pulls back. Contact, right now, would not be a good idea. 'Just wait. OK? Listen. We talked about this.' 'Correction,' Duo says smartly. 'You talked about it. I don't remember getting much say in anything. But then I'm just some L2 slut, right? Good enough for a quick fuck once no one knows about it, but that's it?' Duo's working himself into one of his rages, Trowa realizes. Like a toddler in a toy-store. He's seen him do it often enough with Heero, building up into a full-blown Maxwell explosion. He shakes his head and reaches for the jug of iced water on his side table. Duo literally freezes for a moment, water streaming down his face, and a wedge of lemon lodged above his left ear. Then he lets out a squawk of pure outrage. The first swing goes wide, since he has a tangle of dripping hair in his eyes. Trowa dodges the next by a hair, close enough that Duo's fist glances off his shoulder, a blow that would probably have broken bone if it had connected. Trowa grabs his wrists, grapples him against the wall. Duo's limp for a heartbeat, then brings up one knee, sharp and swift and intent on serious damage. Trowa ducks it easily enough. He'd been expecting something like that. These tactics maybe work on Heero, who still thinks there are rules in fighting, who spent most of the war running around fighting oh-so-honourable duels, but Trowa grew up in Duo's world. He can fight dirty if he has too. He uses his whole body, the advantage of his greater weight, to pin Duo against the wall, catching Duo's wrists in one hand. 'Stop it. Just stop, Duo. You behave like a bratty kid throwing a tantrum, I'll treat you like one. You do not just come in here and demand sex without even saying hello like I'm some cheap hooker. That's not the deal. Duo goes slack against him, but there's an ugly, bitter twist to his mouth. 'So, what is the damn deal then, Barton? You buy me another few dinners and try to work out if I'm worth spending your valuable time on?' 'We get to know each other,' Trowa says levelly. 'Both of us. And then work out if there's enough between us to base a relationship on. Not just sex.' 'OK, I get it. You're a romantic. You want to do the dinner-and-movie stuff. Fine. It was nice, the other night. Us going out. But why not have the sex as well? I'm hot, you're hot, it's not like either of us is a virgin, so you'd hardly be deflowering me. We've already done it and I'm kind of a skank anyway.' 'Don't call yourself that!' It's not true, as far as Trowa knows. One ten-year relationship, and occasional random hook-ups just to piss Heero off. It's hardly a description of someone's who sexually promiscuous. Duo shrugs. 'Why not? It's what you think about me, isn't it? Coming here and throwing myself at you like this? It's true anyway. Heero says it often enough. Never stopped him coming back for more though. Even if he hated himself for it.' The sneer is back, and it just looks wrong on that lush, lovely mouth. Duo shouldn't look like that, and Trowa suddenly hates Heero for whatever he's said that even the memory of it can turn Duo's expression so ugly. 'I'm not Heero.' 'Yeah. I get that. At least he was honest with me about what he wanted.' He pulls his hands free, and this time Trowa lets him. Duo finds his shirt, mops his streaming face, and pulls it on before he looks at Trowa. 'I fucking get it, all right? You had this perfect fairytale with Quat, and no other guy is ever going to come close, and 'specially not me. Fine. You know what? You're just the same as Heero. Well, screw you. I don't need to put up with your shit.' Trowa grabs him as he stalks past, slams him into the wall. Duo lets him, just looks at him with that bitter curl to his mouth and a hard, blank look in his eyes, and Trowa suddenly wonders how often they've played this act out, Duo and Heero. What happens next, with them, after they've got to this stage. He has a pretty good idea. He touches Duo's shoulder, just a light brush of his fingertips, but Duo flinches anyway. 'I'm sorry,' he says, very soft. 'Duo, I'm sorry. But, God, don't you ever listen to anything anyone ever says to you? Yes, I want to fuck you. You know that damn well, but I don't want it like this, not like the last time.' 'Oh, yeah,' Duo sneers. 'I know what you said. Forgettable, right? Thanks a fucking lot, Barton. Don't remember you complaining at the time. You got off. I remember that. Didn't have any problem sticking it up my ass then. Once was enough to play in the gutter, is that it? You're too good for me now? ' 'What I said,' Trowa grates out, 'was that the sex was forgettable. Yeah, I came. I could've done that much myself. I prefer a little more than that.' Duo shakes his head, sending drops of water flying over the pile of documents on Trowa's desk. 'Memo to Barton. The whole point is getting off. What the hell else do you want?' he hisses. 'Four-poster beds? Candles? Fucking flower petals?' Trowa blinks. There's no way Duo can know any of that. Except...He and Quatre had been best friends since their first meeting and he can imagine Quatre breathlessly confiding secrets. It's horrifying, the thought of Duo and Quat exchanging sex stories. 'That's not what I meant.' He leans in, close enough to that his mouth is almost touching Duo's ear. 'The sex was pretty forgettable. You weren't. I've been thinking about you ever since. I've been thinking about what I want to do to you. I'm going to fuck you, Duo Maxwell, 'til you think you've never been done before,' he breathes, low and raw and filthy. 'I'm going to make you scream my name, and beg for it, and then maybe, maybe, when I'm through with doing all the things I've got planned, I might even let you come. But I want to have an actual bed, and a whole night, and probably the next couple of days, and seriously, you are going to have to take a week off because you won't be able to sit down 'til then but then if I get to keep you at home there's no way I'll be able to keep from screwing you, so it's just going to be this whole vicious circle going on for ever.' He croons the last bit, watching Duo's colour rise, his eyes darken, not with anger this time. He's biting his lips, one fist clenched in his damp shirt. 'So. That's what I've got planned for you, Duo. Not just a quick fuck in my office.' He just has to lean in a fraction to press his mouth to that little place where the curl of Duo's ear flows into his jaw-line. 'Not when you're due in Une's office in ten minutes.' 'Oh, shit.' Duo mutters, his voice not entirely steady. 'Seriously, Barton? You say all that stuff and then you send me off to the Commander?' 'Life sucks,' Trowa teases, sucking Duo's lobe into his ear. Damn. This whole situation is going to kill him. It's like trying to walk a wild puma on a leash. 'Off you go, Maxwell, like a good little agent. I'll buy you dinner when you're done.' 'Dinner, huh?' Duo bends his head, starting to button up his shirt. 'That the best offer I'm going to get?' 'On a weeknight.' 'Crap. Fuck it,' Duo says, apparently referring not to dinner but the fact that most of the buttons have disappeared. 'You tore my damn shirt. How the hell am I supposed to go to the Commander's office like this?' He has a point, Trowa realises. His hair is still plastered to his skull, seal-sleek, and several shades darker than normal. The shirt, as well as being absent most of its buttons, is damp where he used it to dry his face. There's a raspberry-red, heart-shaped hickey just under the flare of his left collarbone, vivid against the pale skin. Trowa can't even remember giving him that, but he wants to put one on the other side, just for symmetry's sake. Wants to bite and lick every inch of him until he's covered with Trowa's marks. He still has water droplets coursing down his chest. One, particularly tenacious, is clinging to his left nipple and it's impossible not to lean forward and lap at it. Duo tenses and gives a little moan, so of course he has to do it again, and this time Duo's whole body goes rigid. 'God, you're sensitive there,' he breathes, kissing the little pink bud and adding just the faintest pressure of teeth and Duo cries out. Surely, surely, Heero or someone has done this for him, but you'd never guess it, the way he's reacting. If he and Duo survive long enough to make it to the sex, if they'd don't kill each other first, or die of sexual frustration, he's never going to let Duo out of bed. Never. He kisses his way across Duo's chest, and up, fitting his lips to the curve of his throat and then looks up. Duo's eyes are half-closed and entirely glazed over and as Trowa's mouth presses against him, he throws his head back. Duo Maxwell, actually submissive and pliant for what's probably the first time in his life. Who'd have thought it? He's gorgeous like that, just like that. Trowa brushes his lips across Duo's check, very sweet, and then just looks at him, wanting to remember this moment. Duo's lashes flutter open and he flips Trowa the finger. 'What the hell are you staring at?' Trowa grins. 'You know, you could probably lose the citrus.' He reaches out and retrieves the lemon slice from Duo's other ear, presenting it to him like a conjuror doing a cheap trick. Duo just glares. 'You ever pull anything like that again, I'll burst you.' 'Then you'd better start behaving yourself.' 'You're so up yourself, Barton, it's not fucking true.' Trowa leans in and kisses the frown on those swollen lips. 'Come on. Let's get you tidied up a bit.' He finds a towel in his gym bag; a couple of elastics for Duo's hair, and the spare shirt he keeps in the back of the filing cabinet, and sits on the desk to watch Duo do running repairs. The green of the shirt doesn't suit him, and clashes with his tie, but he's presentable at least. 'You'll do,' Trowa decides, looking him over. 'Call me when you're done, OK? We can talk over dinner.' It took three hours before he got Duo's text that he was done. A bit overlong for what Trowa had assumed was a fairly routine briefing and it occurred to him to wonder if Duo had dragged it out, a little flare of revenge. Duo just looked preoccupied and a bit annoyed about something, though, when he walked into the parking garage, so maybe not. They didn't talk in the car. Duo just nodded to Trowa's suggestion of Chinese, and then flicked on the radio. In the restaurant, they got one of the corner booths, and talked a little bit about food, and Duo seemed to snap out of whatever had been bothering him. 'So, how was Moscow?' Trowa asked. 'The case you were working on?' Duo shrugged. 'Classified shit. Fucking politics.' 'Talk about it?' Trowa wasn't overly surprised; something had happened in Une's office to cause this mood.' 'I said. It's classified.' 'I won't tell anyone.' 'I know,' Duo allowed and suddenly gave him a small, faint smile. 'Thanks, Tro. Maybe some other time. I just don't really want to talk about it right now. I hate my fucking job sometimes.' 'I liked your emails,' he offered. 'Funny.' Of all things, it made Duo flush, just a little. 'They were just dumb things I wrote when I was bored.' He filched a piece of sesame toast from Trowa's plate and bit in with a loud crunch. 'You didn't have to read them. Moscow was, I dunno. Cold, mostly.' He gave an exaggerated shiver. 'Didn't have much time to go sightseeing. I got up early a couple of mornings to walk 'round a bit. That was nice. Saw the Kremlin. You been there?' 'Once. Years ago. Just for a weekend.' It had been in January, snow thick on the ground. He'd been with Quatre, naturally. They'd had a snowball fight in front of the Kremlin. They'd been eighteen and rapturously in love, and the whole world had spread out before them as their personal playground. He'd been utterly enraptured by everything. The blazing splendour of the buildings; the gleam of light on snow: Quatre's dazzling smile. After, at their hotel, he'd laid Quat, still red-cheeked from the cold, on the rug by the fireside. It had still been new enough, then, that Quatre had given a little cry of almost-pain when Trowa pressed into him; new enough for Trowa to imagine the earth shifting beneath them. He'd been a damn naive idiot at eighteen. Enough to believe that the universe would allow someone like him to keep the shining golden prince. That wasn't how it worked. 'It was cold, yeah,' he muttered. Duo, busy munching his way through the toast to notice, apparently hadn't noticed anything. 'Yeah,' Duo echoed and snagged a second triangle of toast. 'These are good.' Trowa wrapped an arm protectively around his plate, not entirely sure of Duo's mood, of what was going on with them. Maybe he'd gone too far, too fast, but then Duo was the one who'd pretty much tried to jump him, and he didn't seem angry, exactly. A bit off balance, maybe. Not like someone who'd been half-naked in Trowa's arms a few hours ago. Or, it was Duo, he amended. He was just avoiding it. Typical. 'Order your own.' 'Tastes better off someone else's plate,' Duo said brightly. 'Plus, I'm starving.' When their mains came, he promptly snagged a forkful of Trowa's chicken, adding it to his own steaming pile of noodles. In retaliation, Trowa staged a sneaky chopstick attack, and won a chunk of salmon. 'You really don't mind, do you?' he asked, sounding intrigued. 'Me nicking your food.' Trowa shrugged. 'Not 'specially. We can order more. Here.' He picked up another slice of chicken, and held it out. Duo hesitated for just the tiniest fraction of a second, and then took the mouthful, giving the chopsticks some pretty good head in the process, and flicking his tongue against Trowa's finger. 'Tasty.' Trowa grinned at him. 'Very.' Duo scooped up a heap of noodles and swallowed. 'So, what? You into the whole food sex thing?' 'Not so much. Why? You offering to cover yourself in whipped cream and melted chocolate?' 'Just asking. Always seems like a waste of food.' 'Depends on what you do with it.' Trowa winked and got a kick under the table. Hard, right on his ankle bone. 'You're weird sometimes.' 'So I'm told.' 'Yeah, I'll bet you are,' Duo muttered. 'Must be true then,' Trowa said amiably. 'Just for the record, if you did want to try out experimenting with the whole food sex thing, I wouldn't be averse.' 'Bet there's not much you're averse to,' Duo said darkly. 'Not if it feels good, no.' Duo just snorted at that, and went back to demolishing his mountain of food. 'Duo? Are you OK?' 'Just jet lag catching up. Couple of all-nighters in Moscow, getting up to speed on the case. Didn't sleep on the 'plane. I'm kind of wrecked.' Trowa nudged his foot under the table. 'And are we OK?' 'What, since you basically said you want to tie me up in your sex dungeon and work out every fantasy you've ever had on me 'til I can't walk straight?' 'I don't actually think that was what I said.' 'It was pretty much the subtext.' He slurped up another forkful of noodles. 'I kind of wasn't expecting all that. I don't know, Trowa.' 'I wasn't planning to do any of it tonight, if that helps at all.' 'Just as well. I'd probably fall asleep on you.' 'I can almost guarantee you wouldn't do that. I'm fairly sure I could manage to keep you awake.' Damn, for someone who usually showed every passing thought like a banner, it was impossible to know what he was thinking. It didn't help that their waiter turned up just then, collecting their plates and offering dessert menus. 'You want something?' Duo shook his head. 'I'm stuffed. Tea, maybe. Unless you're offering something a bit more...personal?' 'Define personal.' He was grinning suddenly. OK, they weren't exactly back on track, and Duo was obviously prepared to turn somersaults to avoid talking about them, but it suddenly felt all right, like the distance of the past couple of hours had lessened. 'Um, kind of like this?' Duo closed the physical distance between them by sliding around the seat. 'This is personal.' The hand started out innocuously enough, sliding up Trowa's arm, then started to move downwards, slow and inexorable as snow shifting on a mountain. 'Oh, very personal,' Duo murmured approvingly. 'Nice. Want me to take care of that for you, Tro? I could, y'know. Could just get under the table, and open your pants and suck you off. No one'd know. Just you and me.' Trowa caught his breath. He didn't actually think he'd ever come so close to coming in his life, just from another man's voice, and the light press of Duo's hand on him. 'Duo. God.' 'You don't have to call me that,' Duo breathed. There was one last squeeze of those fingers and then he pulled away, shifting back to his own place, a wholly evil grin on his face. 'Not much fun when someone gets you all wound up and then leaves you hanging, is it, Barton?' Trowa considered his options, rejected dragging Duo under the table as a sure way to get banned from one of his favourite restaurants, and burst out laughing. ~ * ~ |
