Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Tokyo Lights ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

 

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Tokyo no hikari

 

Tokyo Lights

 

 

Summary: 1x2, AU: Heero and Duo have sex. A LOT of sex.

 

(But really, I only said that to attract readers. Besides sex, the real plot is the development of their relationship as they tour the land Heero grew up in.)

 

Warnings: There will be implied non-con later down the road. And it's not exactly PC.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

A Guy Named Heero Yuy:

 

All right, so who's the brilliant asshole of a pilot that decided to run off at the last second? No, I mean, really! How the hell can you do something like that?! It's 10 o'clock at night, I just came from a six hour flight from Chicago to New York, and I'm about to fall over. The only thing keeping me up on my own two bloody feet right now is the fact that if I even blink my crap will be stolen by some jerk.

 

“Can ya `lieve this shit?” someone nearby, some hairy guy with a bushy, thick mustache, mutters to his plump, pasty wife in a southern accent. “Someone jest need to shoot that damned pilot.”

 

And hell, I agree. Imagine that - me, a liberal hotshot-wannabe from Chicago, agreeing with a redneck that'll probably strangle me in a second if he knew that I like taking it up the ass.

 

Oh, hold up - change in word choice: he wouldn't probably strangle me. He definitely would, from the way he starts to eye me. He turns to his wife, and the next second she cranes her long giraffe-like neck (look! it even has spots) to take a good, hard stare at me. In a split second - so fast that I hardly make the connection that she even moved - she grabs the crucifix of Jesus Christ around her neck and hisses, clutching it with her balled fist, holding it out in front of her as a shield of light. “Spawn of Satan!” she shrieks. “Be gone!”

 

Well - fine, okay, so she doesn't go that far - but I can swear to you that she is hissing!

 

“We apologize for the inconvenience,” a blonde beast of a woman that looks like a drag queen says in her nasal voice for what must've been the hundredth time. As if apologizing would make the situation any better. “Please make yourselves comfortable. We'll make sure everyone gets out on the next flight to Japan ASAP.” She says it as it's spelt, too. Like, “A-sap.” “We apologize for the inconvenience.” One hundred and one-th time.

 

“ `Ey, `ow `bout some free java?!” a disembodied voice from the crowd yaps before she can escape, most likely to take a smoke in some shadowy corner.

 

There are murmurs of agreement.

 

The ugly woman seems terrified for a moment, and with reason: the gate is packed with angry, restless Americans. There's a yell. A shout. Someone, some blonde doper surfer dude, turns and grabs the closest trashcan. He heaves it up over his head and throws it back down to the ground with a crash with such brutality that even a pro-wrestler would be proud; empty coffee cups, soda cans, salad containers, and things like that explode everywhere. A lithe, black girl scrambles over a Harry's Donut and Coffee Shop counter. She roughly demands free food and drinks from the owner that's standing in front of the cashier, scratching his large Santa Clause-esque beer belly. The owner does what I would've done: he laughs right into her face. In retaliation, she reaches into her purse, takes out, and aims her pepper spray with direct, precise, and clear aim. Now, at that point I would've turned tail, but the owner is stubborn. But when people join her and start raiding all the nearby vendors and shops, the store owners - including the stubborn one - and paying customers scramble away to find safety. Security guards rush down the hall.

 

“Calm down, ladies and gentlemen!” is lost in the screams and the chaotic hustle. To be more effective, they grab raiders by the arms roughly, but some of them start to fight back.

 

“We can do whatever the hell we want!” one of them, some scrawny, bald guy wearing a collection of grey army clothes (including the silver dog tag) yells. “It's a free fucking country! We can do whatever - ” his farsighted words are knocked out of his mouth by a guard baton; he slumps to the tiled floor, unconscious.

 

…

 

Okay, so I exaggerated again. Gate 23 is packed with angry, restless, and overly patriotic Americans, yes, but also with conservative Asians who only want to go home. Most are wearing gray and navy blue business suits; then there are couples with adorable kids wearing little panda hats. All of them are silently watching the Americans complain. There's even a group of Africans, but they're a bit further away and not paying any attention to the drama that's unfurling. Also, people don't really start jumping over vendor stands; they only argue with the Beast until she finally gets us all free coffee and donuts from cranky workers who obviously think airports don't equal charities.

 

“They don't have to have an attitude; it's the least they can do,” a near by girl, the same black one I imagined jumping over the counter, says snobbishly to her friends as she strides past my bench and away from the line curving from one of the counters. I have an aching craving for coffee, but the line is way too long and I don't want to leave my things alone.

 

Just as I'm getting comfortable on one of the many hard, wooden benches, and being the guardian of my luggage that's resting beside me, I feel someone's gaze on me. I look up and see one of the many Asians sitting nearby on the tiled floor, back against the white wall, but as soon as I glance over he looks away and pretends that he wasn't staring. The corner of my mouth twitches up into a smirk.

 

Oh, I could tell you so much about this one Asian guy by just looking at him.

 

His name is Heero Yuy, for starters. I can tell because of the smudged tag on his black, leather suitcase and ugly red carryon. He's just as young as I am, that's for sure. He's Japanese, too, and I can tell because of the corners of his eyes. I mean, Chinese guys' eyes are a bit narrower and have pockets underneath them, and Vietnamese eyes are - darker, almost - but Japanese eyes are almond-shaped. He's just as shy and conservative as the other Asian business men and women sitting and standing in their pressed suits. I can tell this from his buttoned-up jean jacket and plain, non-tight jeans. He's wearing a pair of raggedy, dirty brown sneakers, so he's either not the richest kid in town or he just doesn't care. I would say it's both.

 

He had an American father. I can tell that because of his blue eyes and brown hair - he isn't the type to go around, putting in color contacts or dyeing his hair - and it's always the father that's American, because Japanese women love the freedoms they get with American men and American men love the subservient attitudes of the Japanese women.

 

He isn't a virgin - oh no, quite the contrary. He's very aggressive in bed and always fights for control. You can just tell from his icy, hostile stare. He's practically daring someone to mess with him.

 

He's obsessed with duties and responsibilities, in a kind of rugged way. In other words, he's actually a lazy ass but, because he's so determined, he'll force himself up to do what needs to be done just because done is what it needs to be.

 

He's a jerk, a real pain in the ass sometimes… but then, at the most random moments, he'll do something nice enough that would make even a proper Englishman blush.

 

He catches my eye a second time - this time, it's me that's caught staring - but I don't look away in embarrassment. I hold his gaze, and for a moment I just stare at him staring at me.

 

“Do you…” he starts to say, then clears his throat and holds up his cup of coffee. “Do you want this?”

 

I grin. “I thought you'd never ask!”

 

I jump off of the bench and amble towards him to bend over and grab the coffee cup from him. “Why don't you share the bench with me?” I ask in a mockingly suggestive tone.

 

“Behave,” he glares in a real threat. I had to find out the hard way just how he feels about public displays of affection.

 

Yeah. As if I ever cared.

 

“We're not even in Japan yet!” I laugh and plop down beside him, snaking my arm over his shoulder. He heaves a sigh and shifts, but he doesn't throw my arm off.

 

“This is perfect, huh? Sharing a piece of cold tile in an airport in the Big Apple, sipping nasty coffee - ”

 

“I hate coffee.”

 

“Then why'd you get it?”

 

“Because I was hungry,” he'd already eaten his donut, “and I knew that you were too lazy to get yourself coffee, so I thought I'd be nice enough to get some for you.”

 

“Plus, it's free.”

 

He does the grunt thing. I assume that he's agreeing with me.

 

“And above all that, we get to stay here the night.”

 

“Stop complaining. It could be worse.”

 

“How can this be worse?”

 

“We could be in the Nazi camps for being homosexuals.”

 

That's my Heero: as serious as always. I blink and shrug. “That's true, I guess. But… you know that the holocaust was a really long time ago, right?”

 

“Not as long as you think.”

 

I can only sigh in exasperation and let it go.

 

A moment passes between us before I look over at him. He's looking at me - again. With The Look. Not that I have anything against The Look. It's only a weird second or two when I catch Heero zoned out, staring at me - not really blankly, because there's this strange sheen to his eyes. I could call it a lover's look, but that's too dreamy for me; that's why I dubbed it the, `I Want to Fuck You' look. Sexy, but slightly unnerving. I know he would never do it, but it's almost as if he's planning on grabbing me and throwing me to the white, sticky tiles, and having his way with me, not caring that it hurts or that we're in the middle of a public airport. You have to admit, it's a scary thought.

 

But he looks away the next second, like he always does when I catch him staring at me. “You should change out of that shirt and into a warmer one,” he says indifferently.

 

“Why?”

 

“It's cold. It'll be colder in Osaka, too.”

 

“You think it's too tight.” The shirt really wasn't very tight at all - pretty loose, actually - but if it wasn't overly baggy, then Heero thought it was too tight.

 

“No, it's just really cold in Osaka.”

 

“You're afraid people are going to start admiring your pet because my shirt is too tight.”

 

“I don't think you're my pet.”

 

“You do too, you possessive jerk.”

 

“At least put on a jacket.”

 

“And you didn't even deny it!”

 

“I don't waste my time denying idiotic comments made by you, Duo.”

 

“Well, excu-u-use me, Mr. I-Will-Fuck-You - ”

 

He punches me in the shoulder in not exactly a gentle, playful manner, forcing a guttural `oof!' of pain out of me.

 

“Christ, Yuy, what was that for?!”

 

He demands, one last time, “Change.”

 

Rubbing my shoulder, I throw a nasty glare at him. “No. I don't want to go into my suitcase. Besides, we're not in Osaka yet.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “We may not be in Osaka yet, but it's also cold in this airport right here and now.”

 

Oh, please. He definitely thinks the shirt is too tight.

 

When I only stick my nose into the air and make no move to go into my suitcase - it's still lying on the bench, by the way, being carefully watched, I can assure you - Heero pushes himself off of the tiles and begins to unbutton his jacket. My eyebrows rise to my hairline in surprise as he pulls it off, exposing his green long sleeved shirt underneath, and sits down beside me again. He pulls me closer and scoots into me; he wraps the jacket around both of our shoulders, which is easy because neither of our shoulders are very broad. I know that in his mind, he's excusing himself for the improper display of affection with the justification of the needed body heat and the fact that the jacket couldn't stretch very far - and maybe the guy's right - but even then he still has to admit that he likes displaying his improper affection for me, no matter how dignified he could make it seem. (Because if it was such a big deal, he could've gone into my suitcase himself.)

 

Oh, there's another thing I can tell from just looking at him: from the way he plays with the ends of my braid idly and almost childishly, anyone can tell that, underneath the seriousness and roughness and assholishness, he's actually a nice guy… once you get to know him.

 

And believe me, with him it takes a lot of knowing.

 

 

It's OK to be DUM w/ a B:

 

Heero always gets on my back for being stupid, for making what he calls, “idiotic comments,” and hell - I must admit, it does hurt that he, a native to the Japanese language, knows better English than me.

 

But I think it's perfectly okay to be dumb. I mean, who became King of the Hill and demanded that all guys start speaking as if they're some kind of scholar or something? And sure, it looks mighty impressive to people sometimes, but it gets boring after a while, because everyone knows it's one big, fat act. No one is actually that smart (unless they sit around and memorize dictionaries and encyclopedias and shit all day.)

 

So I, Duo Maxwell, the number one dumbass, hereby declare that it's okay to be an idiot. What'cha gonna do about it, foo'?

 

 

“Live Life Based on Your Emotion”

 

“Where's the girl?”

 

When he said, `girl,' he said it like that dog-robot thing's name from Invader Zim - “Gir.” I guessed it was because they don't have the letter “l” in their alphabet - according to Relena, anyway.

 

“Her name is Hilde,” I reminded him. “And she's in her room. She's tired, so she's going to stay in and sleep today. So I guess it's just you and me!” I laughed and slung my arm over his shoulder, which he shrugged off instantly with a frown.

 

Then he paused.

 

We were in the middle of a hotel corridor, near his and Relena's room. I was confused by the way he simply stopped and watched me for a moment, as if lost in thought. Actually, to tell you the truth, I was also pretty used to it - because over the last few days, he and I had been sharing a lot of looks. He always looked away, though - but not this time. This time, he looked at me a little longer. Almost too long.

 

Next thing I knew, he turned around on his heel and walked back to his room. At first, I thought he simply forgot something and decided to go back for it. He took out the keycard and slid it into the slot; the door gave a little beep and the green light lit; he pushed it open and he stopped in the doorframe, watching me.

 

“Hurry up,” he said to me.

 

Now consumed by confusion and curiosity, I followed him, walked to the room, and looked in. I was unsurprised that, even though we'd been there for at least a week, the room looked like it was completely untouched. He seemed like the neat-freak type, after all, and Princess Relena was the sort to color code her closet.

 

I didn't have the chance to inspect it further, though, because the next second he grabbed me and shoved me further into the room so roughly that I nearly tripped over my own two feet. He closed the door behind him and made sure that it automatically locked itself.

 

“What the hell?” I burst out when I recovered, but he didn't answer me. He pushed me onto my back on the closer of the two beds, the fabric soft beneath me and cushioning my fall. He quickly followed, climbing on top of me, his clothes scraping against mine and my skin. He was heavier than he looked and pressed down on me so solidly that I had trouble moving. He straddled my waist and pushed his hands onto my arms so that they sank into the bed. The sensation of fear burst in me - I mean, wouldn't you be pretty scared if some whacko Japanese guy suddenly tackled you onto a bed? - but it was as if Jimmy had a mind of his own, because he became as hard as a rock and dug into my thigh. I knew Yuy could feel it too.

 

“Yuy!” I yelled and tried to push him away to hide my embarrassment, though I bet my ears, neck, and cheeks were so red he could probably tell anyway. The problem is, whenever I blush heat rises to my head and I can never think as clearly as I would like to. Spots were already lacing my vision, but I managed to get out, “What in the name of God do you think you're doing?!”

 

He leaned over and breathed hot air against the hollow of my neck (one of my more sensitive spots) and I whimpered - yes, whimpered. I could feel him smirk smugly against my shoulder, the sick bastard; he probably liked knowing that he had control over me. His hands were sliding up my arms, leaving what almost felt like a trail of heat, until they came to my hands and gripped my wrists.

 

“This is why you let the girl stay in her room, isn't it?” he murmured. “So that you and I could be alone.” His Japanese accent became thicker and heavier, but I could still understand him. And part of me knew that he was right. All those hidden glances throughout the week had become bolder and bolder, and whenever Hilde was out of earshot, I would tease Heero. He knew that I (and Jimmy) wanted him. I never bothered to hide it, not really.

 

Jimmy was becoming eager, but part of me - the part that was still kind of scared about being tackled onto a bed and not being able to move - hesitated. Heero noticed this and he pulled away slightly.

 

“Do you or do you not want to have sex with me?” he asked directly, his blue eyes staring intensely into mine. It was too intense, though - I was the one that looked away this time.

 

I didn't even answer him at first. He knew the answer, Jimmy knew it, and I knew the answer too… But what about Hilde? What about Relena? Oh, but why was I thinking about them then? They weren't in the bed with Heero and me.

 

“Well?” He still wanted an answer.

 

“But - I mean - ”

 

The priests weren't in the bed with me either, but I couldn't help but think about their handkerchiefs wiping sweat from their forehead, and spit spraying frantically from their mouths as they yelled and screamed and demanded. And, before I knew it - and to Jimmy's greatest disappointment - I shook my head. “This is wrong. I mean - ”

 

“It's against your religion?” he frowned.

 

I didn't say anything.

 

“There isn't anything wrong with living life based on your emotions. Least, that's what I was taught.”

 

Of course, at the time I'm sure Yuy was only cooing me into agreeing so that he could get a good fuck - not really trying to give me a piece of advice that I may consider one of my greatest philosophies of life - but, funny, that's the way it turned out.

 

I didn't have much time to think about it, though, because he promptly began to use a more physical method to persuade me. But now I think about it all the time.

 

It was as if he somehow knew that I was worrying about what the others thought. As if he knew that I rarely let myself have sex with other men because I always worried that my Granny Dale would find out. As if he knew that I actually worried myself sick that the priests were right after all and I was living a life of sin, even though I would laugh them off in public.

 

Yeah, as corny as it may sound, living life based on my emotions was a philosophy that I quickly started to follow.

 

Just as long as you're not speeding right at ME:

 

After a while, life gets boring. Life gets very, very boring.

 

Some people's boredom looms over them, haunting them and possessing them, eventually driving them crazy to the point of committing suicide.

 

After graduating from high school and even during his years as a student before then, Duo could suddenly understand. He could understand why people jump out of planes and hurl towards the Earth with only a wad of fabric ensuring that they would survive. He understood why people fly down streets in race cars as if they're trying to break the sound barrier; why they get drunk to the point of nearly hurling up their liver. He understood why others begin to turn their web cams on and smile invitingly at strangers that live in Australia. They give themselves stupid Internet names like Cum4U or Lil'BoyBlue. They let themselves get fucked up the ass by rich blokes that have a wife and two kids at home; and truthfully, they don't give a shit about the money. It's only the rush, the excitement they're craving. Some even prefer it if their client chases them around for a bit before capturing them, pinning them down, and fucking them raw.

 

Yeah, Duo understood all right.

 

But in Duo's case? Yeah, okay, he's fooled around before, enough to give credit to his former IM username, CatholicBoi (he was twelve!; give him a break!) and the nights that Hilde would have to bring him to her house, him throwing up and stinking of alcohol (she took him to her house because her parents were out for the weekend and Duo's would kill him if they saw him like that.) But thankfully, he didn't do any of that stupidness anymore.

 

Nah.

 

Instead, he ran away when he was supposed to be going to college and jumped on a plane to Japan with his alleged boyfriend, Heero Yuy. Scandalous, ain't it?

 

 

Author's note: Congratulations, you've survived the first chapter. I'm sure that, by now, you're a tad bit confused. But don't worry; it's designed to be a bit choppy at first. By the end of the story, everything will make sense - trust me. I'm dying to know what you think, so please leave a review.