Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing.
Notes: It’s 1x2x1, but in this case it’s 2x1.
Warning: Not safe for work.
Blue and yellow walls, amber beer bottles, a metal Corona Light sign still held to the wall by three screws, and screaming Dutch haus music that was still only a substrate to the animated banter in the mixed group of travelers, all dripped past Heero’s headphones like almost too much chili in the salad. Outside the single paned windows, held in their arched no longer really white frames, the night was not quite dark and not really empty, but it was far away from the little metal cafe table that he owned in the corner of the hostel’s public room.
Duo’s playlist played on Duo’s headphones in his ears and he typed at a steady pace on a novel he hoped to turn into medical tuition for the. Some five pages into the new story, a restlessness jittered on his nerves and he was pretty sure everything he’d written was a piece of shit. In a few hours, when Duo would read it, he’d scratch his head, probably shedding a bit more pale sand and ask if maybe they didn’t really just want to rob a fucking bank. Heero stuck his hand back in the bag of Cheerios he eatting, took a deep breath and let the whisper of new headache float away.
The numbers all worked out. How hard could it be to write a really popular love story.
So he’d have a knight in some sci-fi world, a powerful man with blue eyes and some lovely and disreputable prince with violet eyes... and they’d... do stuff. They’d do fantastic stuff.
He shifted his weight on the small little metal chair that went with small little metal cafe table and willed away the whisper of hardon, sending it off with the unwelcome headache. The noisy haze of other humans attempting to group bond and, for all he knew, group fuck faded a little farther away.
So maybe not a violet eyed prince, but a violet eyed card player, in a battered black leather jacket, a crooked grin, and super proper knight... and he didn’t know how they met, but he could feel the love the knight would feel for that violet eyed mage, illiciet mage, hiding from the law. There was a dark ally in his mind, cobble stones, glowing orbs casting light, and his mage looking back over his shoulder, violet eyes bright in the dim light, dark lips that parted slightly and a hand reached out, a glowing ball of light in it, “Follow me.”
In that alley all the banging Dutch haus was gone and all he heard was his own heart beat, his desire to follow that mage down the alley to god only knows where.
Duo actually watching him, that crooked smile on his face, dark bangs, wet clinging to his face, caught Heero by surprise, restarting his heart after a moment. For the time of that caught breath, he wasn’t sure that those violet eyes watching him were real or just another wild hare of possible story. It was his Duo that propped his chin in his hand, ocean water pooling on the thick arm of a black leather couch that had clearly been faded by many years of shared beers and the loud music of travelers. Duo’s grin grew as their eyes locked, affection and a kind of protective proprietary ownership glowing in him.
His body was pale, so his wet hair was darker against that skin. He shifted, one wet leg thrown over the thick arm of the couch. He’d brought a little of the Pacific Ocean back with him, baked into his soul, clinging to his skin. It was more clothing than tight black swim trunks he wore. Bare toes wiggled at Heero, forcing Heero to suppress the giggle that tried to rise in his chest, suppressing it more urgently either headache or hardon had been suppressed.
Duo rolled again, shifting so his elbows were on the arm of the couch like it was a wall, his chin resting at the border of his palms. One dark eyebrow bounced suggestively, violet eyes dancing with meaning and the language that existed only between them.
Heero closed his laptop with a little more vigor than he intended. His gut felt like the empty beach and Duo the ocean as it pulls out before really slamming in.
When Duo bounced up, long limbs graceful like some wild thing, not like a civilized man, his braid swung, even heavy with the kiss of the ocean. It made Heero want the power in those hands, that form, that wild being to slam against him. Slouched on the couch, the lines of his abdomen hadn’t showed, the thickness of his thighs, the pinker jagged scars against his skin painted across his being like a warning of danger, a warning that this one wasn’t easy to swallow, and just as as Heero’s mind lost contact with the screaming haus again, lost to the poetry he found in Duo’s from, said poetry leaned over, hands on his knees and grinned like an idiot. Whatever water was left on the beach of Heero’s soul sank deep and he welcomed the tsunami what was his lover.
Duo cocked his head to the side, wrinkled his nose and he he was off, running up the pre-colony stairs, over foot worn carpet, towards the room they were sharing with two strangers. Heero grabbed his backpack and went after. He didn’t mean to run. He liked seeming civilized. He liked seeming nonthreatening. He liked being mistaken for some random college guy in a beach hostel, harmless and maybe hoarding a stash of good music. He went up the stairs four at a time, catching up to Duo just as he was slipping the key into the door.
Heero leaned against him, the beach reaching out for the wild of the ocean, longing for that wet that belonged to it. Duo’s still damp body pushed back against Heero’s cotton tee-shirt, thin summer slacks, soaking through the cloth at his center.
Silent as if they were robbing a bank, the door opened for them and they crossed the three steps to the bathroom. Heero pushed the door closed, as silent as possible in a pre-colony building they were paying thirty-two bucks a night to share with two other strangers, one of whom was not the same as when they’d first went to bed. It was a bunk near the beach and Duo wanted the ocean and Heero wanted Duo like he was. He flipped the light on.
Duo’s hands, large and able, slipped under the tight back second skin of his swim trunks and pushed down. That was the rush back of the ocean and Heero could hear the roar of his heart in his ears.
He locked the bathroom door with one hand as he set his laptop on the shelf in the empty closet. Duo stepped out of the wet black and somehow to Heero’s overwrought mind, that was like the shedding of past sins, of the pretense of civilization, of inhibition. Duo’s hand caught his face, strong thumbs moving over his cheekbones, and Heero was just like the beach, owned as the tsunami roared back over him.
Duo was a little taller and he tipped Heero’s head back just slightly as their lips caressed over each other. No sound, no sharing with the world outside of themselves and Heero caught Duo as he crashed back over him. His mouth opened and Duo was in him, in him deep as his soul. Heero let himself being pivoted around, the most controlled spinning of debris in the torrent ever. He reached out behind him to turn on the shower, pulling the knob, twisting it to where he expected the water would be okay for both of them, but not really sure of some kind of objective measure as Duo’s nible fingers slipped under his tee-shirt, over his skin, washing away reason and logic as they painted warmth over Heero’s skin.
How Duo could come out of swimming in the the early morning ocean and be warm as the tropics, Heero didn’t know and as Duo bit his lip, he forgot wanting to understand. As soon as the water was running, his hands went to his slacks, unbuttoning them, letting the gray cloth drop. Duo dropped as well, going to one knee as he tugged Heero’s clean white briefs down. They were silence, maybe the kind of silence one has underwater, spinning in the rush. Duo knew the map of Heero’s being though and as his mouth took Heero’s cock in, Heero’s mouth was open, his being swirling into the center of Duo’s warmth.
The hardon that happened then couldn’t have been willed away for anything. Tee-shirt off of one shoulder, both of his hands went over Duo’s wet hair, caressing, learning, knowing, re-being with Duo, refinding his humanity that he hadn’t known he’d even mislaid as that mouth wrapped around him. Duo sucked, ran his teeth over sensitive skin. His tongue circled the head, under the edge, then he kissed the very tip. He was up, carrying them both into the shower as they were, Heero with his shirt still on, socks still on. Strong hands turned Heero around. Heart beating, warm water running down his back, soaking into his hair, his tee-shirt, Heero spread his legs, arched his back, offering his smooth honey colored ass.
Duo reached up to the ledge above the shower for the small tube of lube they’d left there and pulled the glass shower door closed behind them. He quickly coated his hard cock, doing his best to keep it out of the stream of the shower.
On the floor below them haus music roared back to life, in a different and harder language. Duo pushed slick fingers into Heero’s relaxed anus, into the warmth that was them shared, fingers and soft inner skin. Duo leaned close, body long and sheltering over Heero’s as they leaned against the shower wall. His whisper was well below the volume of the main room’s music, hidden by it, shared only with Heero. “Love you,” Duo whispered, the deepest truth of his soul, then in a more playful and menacing tone, “I’m gonna fuck that pretty ass. Don’t cry out, Baby.”
Duo’s arm was around his chest as his breath caught, holding him tight, lips pressing to Heero’s neck, wet bangs trailing water onto Heero’s soaked tee-shirt. He slid into him, the ocean rejoining the beach, familiar and home. Duo hid his groan against Heero’s shoulder. Heero found his freedom as Duo’s hand covered his mouth. Their movements were a faster tide cycle, pushing and pulling towards each other. It was a familiar and cherished song that suited them both. The semi public nature of the hostel bathroom made it a short song and they came. Duo in Heero’s body; Heero in Duo’s arms.
The shower washed over them and they were content there, holding to each other. There was no money for medical school. They had three months of funds to live on. The ocean was still vast.
Duo kissed Heero’s ear and whispered, “I don’t need to rob that bank, Baby. You’re a great writer.”
Heero’s hand shook as he reached up and took Duo’s hand. For a moment, he saw his mage in the alley and smiled. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Duo bit his ear gently. “Damn straight.” He pushed the water off, ran his hand over Heero’s ass and as he pulled away, he left a coolness where his body had been, but to Heero it felt like the chill of spring, where life restarts. He smiled stupidly and accepted the only towel that Duo was handing him with a questioning brow.
“I don’t need it. I’m gonna go swimming again. I’ll bring breakfast back in a couple hours, ‘kay?”
“Yeah,” Heero said, as he peeled his wet shirt off. Then he was standing there in the wet shower, in wet black socks and a stupid in love smile as his wild mage ran back out the door. He wondered if ‘Fucked by a Tsunami’ would be a successful book title.