Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Trouble ❯ Skin on Skin ( Chapter 2 )

Title: Trouble: Skin on Skin

Author: mao

Disclaimer: GundamW characters, likenesses, and plot lines are property of T.V. Asahi, Sunrise, the Sotsu Agency, Bandai, and the Cartoon Network. The story is mine and you may have it if you ask nicely.

Author's Notes: I blame Figgy. She's the one who first introduced to me the idea of DMxDC. And now I kinda like it...oh dear...

Warnings: Language, rape, yuri, the most graphic sex scene mao has ever written...

How long had it been? She had been ten when they left - no, nine. And eighteen now - nine years? Could it be nearly decade since they'd met? Surely they'd crossed paths during the wars, but no, they hadn't met. It might not even be the same man, she thought as she turned away from the glass panes of the French doors to gaze back at the gardens in the moonlight.

It had been a fluke that she ended up here. A fluke, and no one else was allowed to know why she'd really come. No one at all, not even Relena. She had been at the other woman's office only a month ago, bringing her some paperwork for the cause they were both currently involved with, and had found herself waiting for some time for Relena to get off the phone. She'd wandered around the office, looking at framed paintings and photos she'd seen a million times when she saw it.

The photo was small, maybe five by seven inches, and blurry with age. The background was bright white, with some blurry and colorful shapes in it. In the foreground stood Relena and Heero, holding champagne glasses and looking somewhat tipsy (that is, Relena looked tipsy. Heero just looked stoic). Next to Heero, his arm wrapped around the other man and a beer bottle dangling from his hand, stood a too-skinny man with brilliant eyes - though she wasn't sure of their color, it could have been anywhere between blue and purple - and a long chestnut braid. His grin was huge and white, his skin tanned to a faint gold, and around his neck he wore a heavy gold cross.

She'd glanced at Relena tentatively, then, seeing the other woman's back was to her, deftly removed the photo from the wall and slipped it into her bag.

At the time, she didn't know why she'd done it. It had been a long time since her stay on L2, and she barely remembered it. Off the top of her head, she could not place why this picture made her feel so distraught. She'd simply taken it so she could think clearly about it at home. After a week mulling it over, she'd pulled her old diaries out of one of her boxes in the mansion's many storage rooms and begun flipping through them, starting with her earliest one, when she was six and barely able to write. Partway through the one for AC-188, she'd seen something about going to L2. She'd stopped quickly and begun reading. It turned out that, as she remembered, after her father went to go fight, her Grandfather had been called there and she'd had to go with him. They'd stayed there for some time, and she'd attended the Parrish school.

Duo.

The name had shone like a beacon from the page, had frozen her eyes to the spot. She'd read everything she'd written about him, and it all came rushing back. She'd remembered how excited she'd been to find someone who felt as lost and unloved as she had, how ashamed she'd been of her daily bruises and cuts - her Grandfather had been beating her for some time by then.

She'd slammed the diary shut before she reached the end of the L2 entries, remembering how the story ended in a rush. It had been such a difficult time, of course she'd forgotten Duo. She remembered suddenly the day he'd walked her home and the welcome that had been waiting for her. It had been the first time her Grandfather had done it, but not the last. He'd seen Duo and though she'd only been a little girl, he'd accused her of stepping out without his permission, and shown her, as he put it, what that could lead to. And then her father had ended up in the hospital and they'd left L2. She'd given him a cross so he'd feel safe, and then she'd safely forgotten him, left him to the year AC-188 with the other horrid memories she'd rather forget...

She glanced back over one white shoulder at the group inside the fancy room, then shook her head in disgust. She had to be hallucinating. It couldn't be the same man, could it? I'd have met him before.

Even as she thought it, she realized the clues had been there all along, unsettling things that added up. Certainly, she'd lain low for some time after the war, until a few months after the Mariemaia incident, when she began inching her way back into politics and the global limelight, though certainly not to the degree she'd been involved before. That was be insane, she and Relena had both agreed on the afternoons when they sat and plotted.

But she'd seen him, one afternoon almost a year ago, as she left Relena's offices in her new, slightly more sedate, car. A young man with a long chestnut braid climbing out of a taxi. It had been winter then as it was now, and he'd worn a bulky coat, but she'd admired his hair and wondered what conditioner he used. It never occurred to her...

There was a host of instances like that, and she could remember each one specifically and clearly. She leaned on the balcony, her elbows complaining about their proximity to the cold railing. She trailed the fingers of one hand along the rim of the glass the other hand held, then stood up straight and checked her hair briefly in the window's reflection before going back in.

Even after all this time, she was still a Bad Girl. He could feel it emanating off her like steam from a hot dish, through the glass and all. He'd heard Relena speak of her friend Dorothy for years but had never managed a meeting with the Duchess - fancy him, Duo Maxwell, orphan and devout Catholic, friend to Duchess and Queen - or, even, to find her videophone number to contact her himself.

He'd thought of her every day. He'd never managed to run into her, despite their mutual involvement in the war. After the Mariemaia incident, he'd decided to work for himself a while. He'd taken a leave of absence from the Preventers, with an unlimited stretch of time, unless another incident were to escalate as that one had. He'd stayed to work with Hilde at the salvage yard, enjoying good clean work with no political connotations to it and being his own boss. He and Hilde had stayed close friends, and though he'd thought a few times of trying to date the small, raven-haired girl who now chatted so easily with Relena, he was very happy for her and Keli, a girl who'd moved in a few months ago.

But he saw her now. The little girl he remembered had matured, grown, flowered...she had always been too skinny and she still was, but then they all were...he couldn't find words. She stood and rubbed her obviously sore elbows, flipped a lock of that impossibly silky silvery hair over one shoulder and turned. Her legs seemed to go for miles and she wore a dress that clung to every modest curve of her frame. Black, as if in mourning, but embroidered with huge flowers in gold and red and green, straps that crossed pale flesh like thin wires, stiletto heels that made her hips undulate. Her skin was like alabaster, the same pale shade all over, and her eyelashes were black and thick like nighttime. The unusual brows didn't worry him, their four points sharp and the color of amber. Her lips were rouged, dark red like raspberries..he hadn't ever thought that she'd turn out so beautiful.

She'd walked through the door and stopped, her hands frozen and clenching and unclenching into two tiny, white fists. Her glass lay forgotten on the floor, the pale amber contents spilled into the carpet. She looked straight at him, and it was like electricity flowing through his veins. He wanted to do a million things - to sing, dance, fuck her on the floor where they stood, ask her questions about her life, ask her about her grandfather beating her, kiss her on that red mouth, run and cry, scream for joy...was she still the Bad Girl? Or had she become someone else?

"Dorothy..."

"Duo..." Was she really speaking?

Time stopped.

The shock was so strong. It was like a physical force, almost pulling her to him. She'd come hoping she'd see him, but part of her hadn't expecting it to happen. It wasn't real, couldn't be real...she squeezed her hands together and apart to prove to herself it was real, he was real, and they were. Later she'd find the bloody crescents her nails had left in her palms, but for now it was all she could do to look at him.

He no longer resembled the skinny runt who'd befriended her. His hair was long, lustrous, and she wondered absently how the chestnut locks would feel running through her fingers, how long it would be if unbound. His skin, amber and warm-looking was so inviting, and some obscene part of her wanted to undress him and just feel his warm skin on her own chilly skin. He wore a black suit and shirt - some part of her wasn't surprised - and a wide white tie. His shoes were shiny, reflecting his grinning face at her. His teeth were white in his easy grin, his nose long and elegant, his eyes...his eyes. Those eyes, though she'd forgotten the rest of him...those eyes had haunted her over all the colonies, battlefields, and small towns she'd been through. Their color was unusual, somewhere between the blue of the water reflecting the sky and the color of amethyst, and twinkling with some hidden mischief.

They were hugging then, she'd no time to register more. Time had started again, without warning, as Time sometimes does, and he was warm against her body. They were a loose tangle of clothing and arms and legs. Some part of her mind knew no one else had even seen them, could hear conversation continuing as normal, but for her there was only that one moment, that second in which it all came down to him and to her and in which no one else mattered, not a whit.

Relena watched them all evening. She'd seen their cheerful reunion, wondering in absent surprise that two of her best friends - whom she couldn't recall ever meeting before - were so close. She watched them over her glass as she chatted lightly with other politicians, speaking much but saying little.

As she danced in Heero's arms, she followed them with her eyes out to the balcony, where they stood, too close for just good friends, yet not close enough to be lovers. She saw the way Duo eyed the Duchess, his mind obviously approving of every part of her, from her modest frame to her sharp elbows and small feet. She saw the way Dorothy watched the former Preventer, the way she would casually touch his arm, or ask him to get her another beer. They were silver and gold in the dim light of the party, and neither had eyes for anyone else in the room.

They sat on the couch, talking. Though the reason for the party had been for the purpose of networking, they were both enraptured with each other, drinking beer after beer, relating their individual tales of trying to find the other, of their time during the war.

The party wound down, the guests headed home. He didn't want to leave her, not now that he'd found her again. Hilde had been shooting him suspicious looks with waggling eyebrows all evening, and as they headed down the elevator now - Hilde and Keli, Duo and Dorothy - Hilde suggested that the old friends do something interesting, that she and Keli could take a cab to the hotel.

"I don't want to burden you," Dorothy said.

"And I should really drive you two there," Duo told them. "The roads aren't safe at night." And Dorothy nodded. They left the elevator, walking down the long marble hall towards the doors of the building. The tired security guard saluted them from behind his desk.

"Did you drive, Dorothy?" Keli asked in a conversational tone. The blonde shook her head.

"Give me the keys then," Hilde said. Duo looked at her, and she held her hand out. He reached into his pocket and handed them to her. She reached into her glittering purse and handed him a money clip. "You can take a cab."

"Get a cup of coffee or something," Keli told the two, and the two women escaped giggling into the night.

They watched the two girls go arm in arm, through the glass windows. Duo sighed and shook his head, then helped Dorothy pull on her heavy coat, the white of her skin like snow against the black wool. His fingers brushed against her and they both shivered.

I'm losing control, she thought.I've never reacted to a man's touch that way.

What am I thinking? He wondered to himself.

He took her hand, skin on skin, and they wandered into the black night.

They ended up in a small coffee shop several blocks away. He told her jokes and they both laughed not at the punch lines, but at how bad the jokes themselves were. They said nothing personal, didn't pick up from where they'd left off at the party, with the time that had passed between her exit from L2 and the beginning of the war. They drank cup after cup of coffee, hers black and his with sugar. They said nothing specific or centric to one or the other. They chatted emptily, nothing said for all their words.

"Duo?" She asked after a couple hours, her head slumped on one pale hand. "Will you take me home now?" Both knew the connotations of the statement, but neither mentioned it, wondering if the other had picked up but afraid to ask.

"Of course," he murmured, taking her elbow and guiding her outside.

They caught a cab, a lone car out for early-morning tips, taking drunks and whores about town. He toyed with kissing her then decided not to, it was too much too soon.

Moonlight streamed in the thin, cold window, the same color as her hair.

She thought she might like it if she slept with him that night, then decided she'd scare him away.

Both their faces were blue, like dead people, in the thinly light night.

She would tell him now, then, so he could make a break for it.

"There's something I need to tell you." She turned towards him suddenly, and his eyes were captivating, that zing from before passed through her. "Duo, I - "

He cut her off before another syllable could come out. He kissed her, briefly, on those rubied lips, and noticed that she tasted vaguely like candy. As quickly as he'd begun it, he ended it, pulling back to himself in his dark corner of the car. She looked at him, her eyes like stars, glittering in the lights they drove past. Her hand lay on his arm, and he turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. Precious inches stretched like miles between them.

"What was that for?" She asked then, a smile in her voice.

He reached a darkly tanned hand up to cup her face and his thumb caressed her cheek, marveling at the softness, at the way the alabaster melted under his touch. "I missed you," he murmured into her ear, his body taking control as he began kissing the underside of her jaw. She shook for a moment, her head leaned back against her neck to give him full access, before taking his lips against her mouth and joining her tongue with his.

Neither of them would remember later which one of them paid the cabdriver - assuming one of them did - or how they got into her suite. The next thing they both would remember clearly later was the way she tripped over something lying in the hall of the room and they both went crashing to the floor, a knot of body parts and clothing, their coats already tossed aside. He helped her up and she pulled off the bothersome heels, leaving them on the floor. He kicked off his shoes, then swept her up around the middle, her legs wrapped lithely about his middle, and into the bedroom, onto the massive four-poster bed. She slid off the high mattress and onto steady feet. He pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it in a crumple to the floor, walked barefoot to meet her at the foot of the massive bed. He yanked his tie upwards, noose-like, then off his body and wrenched it to the floor as if it had attacked him.

She began unbuttoning his shirt, marveling at the silky fabric, at the way the buttons released their hold on his body so easily and smoothly. The cross's gold shone from its place on his skin, and she back in shock.

"You still wear it?" Were those tears in her eyes? No, it had to be a trick of light.

"Of course I do." And she smiled, a wonderful smile of bone in melted stone in the dim light pouring in from the neon sign across the street.

They flung the shirt aside and kissed, lips meeting gently, achingly slowly. His bare chest pressed against her, his arms warm and nude on her back, and she was suddenly aware of how much clothing she still wore. He pulled the zipper on the back of her dress down, then slipped the soft fabric from her body as if she'd been wearing no more than leaves.

She set to work on his belt buckle, undoing it with practiced ease, then dropping his pants and disentangling his legs from the black wool. She caught a glimpse of them in the mirror over his shoulder, in their undergarments, him in colorful flannel, her in black silk and lace, and for a moment she was lost. These tiny scraps of cloth were all that kept them from each other.

She grabbed the plaid he wore and eased it down gently, afraid to hurt him. She knelt easily, practiced from long hours of conference with various politicians - her Grandfather was not above pimping his ward to get what he desired - and took him into her mouth. Her gag reflex had long been repressed and it didn't start complaining now, as she rocked him back and forth briefly before letting him almost all the way back out. She closed her mouth around the tip and glanced up to see his face.

He was no longer the boy he'd been, that was for certain. His eyes were rolled up, lids nearly closed, head rocking back. He leaned forward as she went back about her business, watching her.

Duo Maxwell was hardly virginal - far from it. He'd been with a fair share of women, mostly street prostitutes or girls he'd never seen again. He'd always worn a condom, always gotten tested for diseases afterwards, always talked to make sure they hadn't any diseases, any sort of sickness for him to worry about. He'd been in menage á trois, he'd been with men. He'd done almost anything that could be done, in or out of the bedroom, with or without the help of the Kama Sutra. Suffice to say, he was not an innocent., and he was fairly horny.

He never imagined anyone would make him feel this way.

His brain was on fire as he exploded into her mouth, and she stopped, spitting to one side, white mingled with her spittle on the soft rose carpeting. She finished him up, then stood. He looked at how much she wore, annoyed at the expanses of black fabric that seemed to keep them apart. She was looking at him nervously, her eyes huge and worried, a thin furrow formed between them.

He leaned down, for he was a good four inches taller than her, and she leaned up, and he kissed her firmly on the mouth, slipping and darting his tongue in her mouth, then pulled back.

"Thank you," he murmured, smiling at her. She looked at him a moment, then smiled back.

"You're welcome." She leaned forward to begin at his neck, but he grabbed her about the waist and flung her up on the bed like a rag doll. She settled against the soft pillows, white skin on burgundy fabric, hair like silver threads. She leaned up on her elbows as he climbed up on the bed and crawled over to her. She was so beautiful in the dim light that poured in from the windows; the neon of signs across the street lit her face in pink and green and orange, like stained glass.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, settling himself half on top of her, his lips almost against hers. The words were out before he could stop them, but neither of them regretted them being said. He leaned his head back without kissing her, running his hand down from where it had settled under her chin, fingers almost against her lips. He caressed the bare shoulders, marveling at the goose bumps that formed on them, then down to her breasts, where they spilled like foaming milk over the top of her bra. He reached out with both hands and slowly undid the snaps on the front, all the way down to her hips, letting the bra fall behind her, useless. He took one breast in his mouth, kissing it as he'd kissed her mouth, playfully teasing the nipple with his tongue, occasionally running his teeth over the sensitive skin. She arched her back up towards him, and he realized for the first time the power he held.

He finished with one breast, moved on to the other, and she leaned back against the pillows in ecstasy. He finished with that one as well, and tugged lightly at her panties with one hand, the tan skin hot against her flesh.

"Do you want to?" He asked, his body curving away from her, making it clear a cold shower would do it if that was all she'd give him.

The seconds stretched by like hours, as a million thoughts crashed and creschendoed in her head, all claiming priority over the others.

And then she felt it.

It was something new, something she'd never felt before, despite all the people she'd slept with, all the times she'd used her body to get ahead.

A faint flutter, like a butterfly in winter, in the pit of her stomach. Not an ill flutter, but the kind of flutter she'd always heard about.

A thousand things all wanted to be comprehended at once, and she struggled with them, until one thought rose up above all of them.

He won't unless I want to.

And then, after a moment: I dowant to.

"Yes," she told him, gasping with the knowledge. "More than anything."

He slid her panties from her, and she manuevered herself to help him remove the offending items.

"I won't hurt you?" He checked, a hint of worry in his dark eyes. She smiled, laughed a bit, and reached up to brush a bit of hair off his face, tucking it gently behind one of his ears.

"No, you won't," she said, a fond expression on her face.

He took her slowly and gently, bringing them both to a clumsy climax on the still-made bed. When they were done, they lay there, as if stoned. After a few minutes, she stood, her naked form backlit from the neon signs behind her, not caring if the people walking about on the early morning street could see her. "Thirsty?" She asked, a characteristic smirk claiming her face. He leaned up on one elbow and grinned at her.

"Yes, I suppose I am," he told her, and she returned a moment later with a beer. They drank it between them, sometimes passing the bottle, sometimes passing it between their lips in a kiss, and sometimes pouring a bit on the other. Finally she flung the bottle on the floor, and this time she took him. It was hard, fast, the kind of fuck that would leave her aching in the morning from the strain, but never left her aching for more afterwards. They came together this time, the orgasm wracking their brains as she climbed off of him, into the sheets he'd turned down when she went to get the drink, and snuggled against his side. They dozed together, comfortable and relaxed.

He awoke early, smiling down at her sleeping face, so relaxed. He looked at the amount of hair they had combined, pouring over the pillows and blankets, amber and moonlight. He gently slid out of the bed, afraid to wake her, and wandered in the bathroom to pee. He did his business, then pulled the complimentary robe from the hook on the back of the door and put it on. He wandered back through the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, down the hall and into the living room, where he called room service to ask for some breakfast. He bound his hair back up, and sat back to watch the sun rise and wait for the food.

Morning dawned, the sun tawny, and the light invading her eyes rudely. She pushed herself farther into the blankets, wishing it would flee.

When it finally became clear that the sun was not going to just go away, she finally sat up and glanced around sleepily. He was gone, and for a moment she was flooded with emotions - anger, resentment, confusion, anguish...they welled up in her, though she refused to allow them to brim over into tears, refused to allow them to show on her face. The insecurities mounted - had she done something wrong? Was she a bore in the sack? Had he taken one look at her this morning and been horrified by her hair or her face or her morning breath? God, what if he was drunk the night before? He had had an awful lot to drink...She was about to climb out of bed and shower when the door flew open, and a cheerful face greeted her.

"Morning, kitten!" Duo called, looking at her surprised face. He carried a wicker tray covered in food, with flowers in a small vase on a corner of it. "I thought last night might have left you hungry," he said, teasing. She smirked back at him.

"And how much did you get for yourself?" She asked as he set the tray down beside her. He wore the complimentary bathrobe the hotel provided, and she pulled the sheets up over her nude, vulnerable body, tucking them tightly over her breasts.

"That's not fair," he told her as he popped a strawberry in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, savoring the taste of sugared strawberry, then returned the favor to him. They fed each other for some time, and then something overtook him, and he stood suddenly, heading into the bathroom. "I should take a shower," he told her softly.

She watched him go, watched him turn the water on, strip the robe from his god's body, and climb in the shower. From her perch on the bed, she could almost see him showering, but not quite. Finally, curiosity and lust overcame her and she climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, opened the shower door, and climbed in as well.

It wasn't as romantic as the movies always portrayed it. She untied his hair, detangling the knotted strands, and lathered it up, rubbing her hands into his scalp as he writhed like a contented cat. She rinsed out the shampoo, and he turned her to do the same. Once they were both clean - all traces from the night before washed from their bodies, she made as if to climb out of the stall. He watched her a moment, then grabbed her wrist and pulled her back in.

Her eyes were wide, but she made no move to go, made it clear she didn't mind, as he pressed her into the wet tile wall, slamming into her not enough to bruise her, but enough to hurt. When they'd both finished, and Duo had regained his footing on the slippery floor, they'd cleaned each other off, slightly dazed. They'd climbed from the shower and toweled each other off gently, hands running over one another like water.

"I have to go home," he told her. They had dressed - him in his clothes from the night before, slightly rumpled if nothing else, and her in a pair of jeans and a tank top. "I have work to do." She nodded, blank.

"I do too," she told him. "I mean, I'm finally getting back into the political arena..." she trailed off, and they looked at each other. Neither wanted to go. He wanted to cling to her like a baby to its mother, and she wanted him to pick her up and take her with him. She packed her things silently, wondering.

"Come with me," his words surprised even him, throwing him for a loop he hadn't expected. And even as he opened his arms and she pulled herself into them, she told him.

"I can't," her voice was so soft he could barely hear it. "I have...work."

"I understand." He kissed her once, softly, his tongue barely touching her lips. She pulled back after only a moment, and went to her bag, where it sat on the unmade bed. She pulled from it a pair of scissors. She glanced in the mirror, pulling a strand of her moonlight hair up, and snipped it.

A single move, and yet he realized what her hair represented. He took the piece, then the scissors. He let his hair back down from the braid he'd put it in after the shower, and snipped a few strands for her. They each wound the strands around their fingers, then tucked them into their pockets. She sat on the bed and braided his hair, gentle with the thick locks and his scalp.

They left, in opposite directions. She climbed into a cab, and he walked slowly along the streets, not caring how far it was, simply walking in the cold air, his hands on the lock of hair in his pocket.

He eventually wandered into the hotel room he shared with Hilde and Keli, his eyes downcast, his expression neutral. Hilde bounced on the bed as soon as she saw him, and Keli sat next to her, her delicate legs wrapped in a skirt.

"We were wondering when you'd get back!" Hilde teased. "So I'm guessing it went well?"

He nodded, forcing the usual cheerfulness into his voice. "Yeah. We're still really good friends."

Hilde snorted. "Friends. Yeah. When you walk in after noon the next day, I have to wonder if you're just friends," she told him. He looked out the window, and she grinned. "I knew it! You got laid! Duo got lai -" her girlfriend cut her off with a hand around her mouth and a soft shushing noise. Hilde had the sense to look contrite then grinned. "That's great! So when're you gonna see her again?"

"I don't know," Duo said softly, packing his things. "Look, you guys stay here for the rest of the trip. I'm going to see if I can't get an earlier flight out of here. I still have some work at home that needs to be done."

Hilde looked at him cautiously, suddenly concerned. "OK, Duo. We'll see you when we get home then."

He nodded, grabbed his bag, and left.

More to come...