Archive of Our Own ^beta

The safehouse can’t be considered small in any sense of the word. It’s actually the first time in years Duo can recall the Preventers being generous in their accommodations. After a particularly grueling mission that dragged out weeks beyond its paygrade, a place like this, spacious and remote, is the very least that they could do to compensate.

That doesn’t change the fact that being trapped in this house with Heero for days on end is going to kill them both, and Heero doesn’t even have a clue what’s coming.

It isn’t that they don’t get along. In the three years that they’ve been partners, they’ve worked out their issues to the point of irrelevance, and then some. They’re not quite close, not as close as Duo would like them to be, but there’s a renewed ease to their partnership, a warmth and a familiarity that hadn’t always been there. It’s made their personal relationship functional enough that he and Heero can work together like a well-oiled machine—or, at least, complete their missions without killing each other.

But all of that growth, no matter how admirable, means nothing when Duo is slipping further and further towards the point of no return with each passing breath.

Duo exhales from where he’s curled into the couch cushions, long limbs tangled together, pale and serpentine, as fever sends him spiraling into delirium. It’s obvious that this heat is coming, whether Duo likes it or not. And after years of doing anything and everything that he can to suppress it, it is going to absolutely destroy him.

Managing his condition had been difficult enough with suppressants on hand, but those have long since run out. This absolute monster of an extended mission saw to that, and now all Duo has left to defend himself are his prayers and his willpower. But he’s never been particularly lucky with prayers, and with Heero this agitated, prowling through the too-small house like a caged tiger, willpower is quickly ceasing to be an option.

There’s a not insignificant part of him that feels guilty for keeping Heero in the dark like this, especially considering that it’s Duo’s pheromones that have got him so worked up in the first place. Duo has long prided himself in his honesty, and technically, it’s not lying to keep what he is a secret. But this is about more than Duo’s pride in his adherence to those lofty ideals—this is about survival. Keeping this secret is for the good of them both, because if Heero finds out, if anyone finds out...

“Are you alright?”

The question comes so suddenly that Duo startles in spite of himself, jerks upright, and when he whirls around to put the voice to a face he finds Heero standing there, frowning at him. How hadn’t Duo heard him coming? Is he really so far gone that all his years of training have left him already?

Peering up at him from behind the pillows, Duo manages, stupidly, “What?”

Heero scoffs, and any concern flickering behind steel blue eyes is swiftly extinguished. “I asked if you were alright, but I guess that gives me my answer.”

Duo sinks into the cushions as heat rises to his face. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, and his lip quirks in a sheepish smile. “I guess I’m just… uh… not feeling too hot right now.” It’s a gross understatement. Or maybe it’s the opposite, since heat is quite literally the only thing he’s felt for hours on end. From the corner of his eye, Duo catches Heero’s gaze softening at him.

“Let me see,” Heero says, and Duo knows it’s a mistake to let his gaze linger when Heero comes around to face him, but he can’t help it. These past few years have been kind to him. Long gone were the days when he and Duo could see eye to eye; coming into his alpha nature granted Heero the height to show for it. He’s still slim and lean, that hasn’t changed, but he’s filled out. He looks good like this, every bit the alpha that Duo dreamed he’d become, the alpha he still dreams about.

Heero comes closer and the scent of him is nearly enough to make Duo keen. It’s so different from Duo’s own scent, which—when he’s not drowning it out—has been described to him as something like vanilla and lavender. Something bewitching, is the truth mercifully omitted. But Heero is all warmth and spice, smoke and sandalwood, though it feels unfair to describe him in terms of such earthly perfumes. It’s not an exaggeration to say that it’s absolutely intoxicating.

And intoxicating does not even begin to do him justice.

Were Duo a weaker man, just this would be enough to make him fall to his knees and beg. But he can’t afford that weakness, especially not now.

Duo flinches when Heero sits beside him, too close for comfort, and silently curses himself. What the hell has gotten into him? He’s not vain enough to believe that Heero wants him, regardless of their biological inclinations, so it’s not like Heero is going to try anything. It’s not like he even knows. And behaving like a skittish feline, rising onto his haunches like some sort of pathetic, cornered animal, will only make Duo look more suspicious.

“Sorry,” he croaks out, forcing a weak laugh. “Guess I’m just a little tired, is all.” As if that explains anything.

Heero seems affected by his recoil, startled by it, but if he notices anything amiss with Duo then he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t let it deter him from his course of action, either. Gently, Heero sweeps Duo’s long, feathered fringe to the side and presses the back of his hand to his forehead.

It’s all Duo can do not to moan. His stomach lurches at the sudden, fleeting contact, and were he standing, Duo surely would’ve gone weak at the knees.

He’s so close, now. Close enough that Duo could take Heero by the collar and draw him in, beg to be kissed by him, claimed by him. It would be too easy to just give in and embrace his instincts, to forfeit this fight he’s having with his too weak, too deprived body and just indulge, to just finally take what he’s wanted all this time.

“You’re definitely running a fever,” Heero confirms, and the shame washes over Duo, sobering like ice water. He can’t do this. He can’t be having these thoughts, not when Heero is looking at him with such concern, concern he’s only feeling because Duo’s pheromones are bewitching him into believing he cares. Duo can’t take advantage of him like this; he won’t. He cares for Heero too much to let this happen.

“I should get you an aspirin,” he adds, brows knitted together. “That fever won’t break on it’s own.” And when had Heero become this attentive? It’s tempting to give in but God knows how more pills would interact with the drugs still lingering in his system, so there’s little he can do there.

“I’m—fine,” Duo insists. His legs are wobbling when he stands, lamblike and unsteady, but he’ll just have to push through it. His weak smile is the only thing keeping the facade from crumbling altogether. “Don’t worry about me too much, alright? I’m just gonna go take a shower.”

Heero frowns at him, coming to his feet in turn. He seems cautious, like he’s afraid Duo is going to bolt at the sign of any sudden movement. “You’ve already showered today,” he says carefully. “Twice.”

And fuck if he’s not observant. Duo isn’t sure what frightens him more: the fact that he’s already forgotten, or that Heero is paying enough attention to have noticed. He has to turn his face to hide his grimace. “Look, Heero, I’m exhausted and I feel like shit, can’t a guy take a shower in peace?” Duo’s never been very good at pushing Heero away; his words sound hollow, even to his own burning ears, so he pushes harder. “I know you must think I’m used to living in filth, but—”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Heero says, almost gently, like he’s soothing a spooked colt. When Heero steps towards him, Duo is startled enough that he draws back, losing his balance as he does. He nearly falls and makes an even bigger mess of himself, but Heero swiftly catches him before he can hit the ground, a hand coming under his arm and the other slipping around his waist. 

It’s everything Duo can do not to melt into the touch, even though Heero is looking at him like he’s gone insane.

“What—”

“Nice catch,” Duo manages, breathless. Heero is tall enough now that Duo has to look up through long bangs to see his deepening frown.

“Look,” Heero starts to grind out, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I can see that you’re on edge. If there’s something you need to tell me…”

Duo swallows thickly, and tells himself that what Heero doesn’t know won’t hurt him. It can’t. And quite frankly, it’s a miracle Heero hasn’t figured him out yet—so Duo won’t push his luck by forcing their contact any longer than he has to, no matter the comfort it brings. To allow himself any more than this would be absurdly selfish.

“I don’t know what you’re so worked up about. I’m fine, ” he assures, and raises a trembling hand to remove Heero’s from where it grasps his arm. “I’m a little tired, that’s all. I just need to sleep it off.” Duo lifts his dark, clouded gaze to meet that of his partner, and offers a halfhearted smile. “Trust me, alright?”

Heero looks like he wants to say more, but the words are meaningful enough that he relents, and withdraws the hand at Duo’s waist. “Fine,” he mutters, clearly unhappy about it, but mercifully stepping back anyway. The gesture gives Duo enough room to push past and head for the stairs with the confidence that he’ll at least make it to his bedroom in one piece. That confidence shatters when Heero speaks again.

“Are you using a different shampoo, or something..?”

Duo risks a glance over his shoulder and finds Heero testing the air, looking particularly agitated. More than he has in days. Of course, he would think that. Were it anything else and Duo might have laughed, teased him about it; Heero’s always been so easy to bully. But there’s nothing particularly funny about the way he’s deceiving his partner, so he pulls himself together before he can crack and make things even worse.

Duo swallows the last vestiges of his pride and asks, lashes fluttering, “You don’t like it?”

He has been using the same cheap shampoo that Heero has for days, and nothing else.

“...No,” Heero mutters. “It’s—nice.”

Nice. It’s a bit of a shock to hear that he thinks so. Duo doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it.

He smiles thinly back at Heero, and doesn’t allow himself to breathe again until he shuts the bedroom door behind him.

A cold shower helps. Not much, but standing under the cool spray sobers Duo long enough for him to understand that this is a lost cause.

It’s a shameful thing, what he is, and at this point there’s no hiding it. He’d learned as much as a child, though he hadn’t known what he would become, then. Duo’s time on the streets had taught him that omegas were good for lying on their backs and little else. That beauty was less a blessing than a curse, a vulnerability, and a death sentence, if not in body than in soul. Duo had watched the light fade from their eyes when he’d been too young to understand what it meant, when he’d still been naive enough to believe he’d never have to.

There were few people condemned by the church that briefly became his home; rarely, if ever, was anyone turned away. But even those kind people who cared for him then had looked upon those broken, fast-fading youths with a sort of disdain that, even veiled, was hard not to notice. It was instilled upon him then, through looks and whispers, scriptures and sermons, that this was something filthy, something depraved.

Worse than being an orphan, worse than being a street rat, to be an omega was to be untouchable.

It’s a sick joke that he ends up like this. That after losing everything he has and everyone he’s ever loved, he has to suffer through the loss of his dignity on top of it all.

They’d been on a mission then too that first time, all five of them. During the war they’d rarely been all together at once, so it was just Duo’s luck that he should present then, fifteen and surrounded by budding alphas. Only Quatre, the lone beta among them, had been there to help him, and had dutifully guarded and cared for Duo until he recovered, working double time to smother the thick, heavy scent of heat swirling behind the airlocked door.

“Please don’t tell them,” Duo had begged in a rare, lucid moment when he wasn’t muffling his senseless keening for Heero, for his knot, for his presence, for anything to sate the relentless heat engulfing his trembling body in burgeoning flames.

Even like this, feverish and barely there, Duo knew that the others finding out would mean the end of it. Of all of this. Omegas were seen as too high-strung to pilot and too emotional for anything else. The moment anyone found out what he was, Duo knew he’d be sent straight back to L2, back to the streets, selling himself like those he’d once had the audacity to look down upon.

Quatre had seemed so hesitant. Duo still remembers the pitying look in his eyes; he must’ve truly ached for Duo then, tenderhearted as he was. “Duo, I don’t know, this is…”

Dangerous. A massive risk. He didn’t need to say it. An omega among military ranks, among the alphas that swarmed every base in the civilized world, was only asking for trouble. Duo knew that, but his mind was unchanged. They couldn’t know. Wufei had made his feelings on such lesser creatures quite clear, and Trowa had always been, more or less, indifferent to them. But Heero, who already thought so little of him… What would he possibly think of Duo now, knowing this?

“Please,” he’d begged, verging on hysterics. “He can’t know, you can’t—”

“Alright,” Quatre had soothed, smoothing back Duo’s sweat-soaked hair and offering a reassuring smile. Duo was sure that, in spite of that sweet smile, Quatre was just as terrified as he was. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

And he’d kept his word. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d survived that awful incident with Duo’s secret intact, and it never happened again. With Quatre’s wealth and connections, it had been easy for him to slip Duo suppressants when needed—on the condition that this was only a temporary solution, lest he risk permanent injury. Quatre had complained once that their exchanges had made him feel like some sort of drug dealer, and Duo had laughed at the scandalized way he said it, in spite of the guilt coiling ever-tighter in his abdomen.

Duo knew that it was unfair to ask this of him, swore that it would only be a temporary measure, and he’d paid him back every cent—though he was sure Quatre was undercharging him, just because that seemed like something he’d do. But even after the wars, he had few other options. Reliable employment was Duo’s only hope of staying out of the system, at least until he turned eighteen, and employment opportunities for veteran child soldiers were few and far between as it was. Duo could always go back to the scrapyard, or the Sweepers, but all those paths led right back to L2, and as he was now, Duo knew exactly how he’d end up the moment he stepped foot onto those sordid streets.

So Duo joined the Preventers. He kept hiding. And in the end it wouldn’t really matter, because he wouldn’t be around long enough for anyone else to find out. Once he was old enough, once he’d saved up enough money to get away, when it was clear he could no longer keep up the charade, he would leave for good. 

Duo tells himself that they’re better off without him. That it’s easier to just leave, to retire somewhere no one can find him, where he won’t have to hide. Somewhere his mere presence won’t hang over them like a dark cloud, an ill omen of the ruin that comes to everything he touches. He tells himself that the thought of being alone again doesn’t make his heart ache.

And that’s all fine until he’s partnered with Heero, right out of the gate. Duo had thought it would be torture—and in some ways, it is. But Heero, though still unsmiling, distant and reserved, is so different now from the person he’d been during the wars. There’s a kindness to him, a warmth; he’s gentle when he tends to Duo’s wounds, always attentive to his condition. He trusts Duo’s judgment, listens to him, and actually, really seems to care what he thinks.

In their three years together, Heero had grown into a good man, a handsome man. And sometimes Duo still can’t quite believe that a silly childhood crush could become this horrible thing, this unyielding devotion. This love.

It’s this love that keeps Duo at Heero’s side, foolishly, when he has no right to be, when Heero has never wanted him despite Duo’s desperate, waking need to give all of himself and more. Never mind that he’s nineteen now, that he finally has the freedom he’s always wanted, to leave and never look back. Duo knows that it’s a sin to exist as this depraved, filthy thing when Heero is so good and right, so above all of this nonsense—immune to it. But it’s selfishness that keeps him here when sense tells him to run, and Duo still can't tear himself from Heero’s side, no matter how his life depends on it.

And now, standing in the spray of the cold shower for what’s apparently the third time today, weak at the knees, Duo is paying the price for that selfishness. It’s a testament to what he is that he’d been too pathetic to leave when he still had the chance, and now, everything is going to come spilling out into the open, whether he likes it or not. 

Really, he only has himself to blame.

Duo shuts off the water and heaves a deep, sobering sigh. He cannot afford to catastrophize. He can still make it out of this. He swears that if he does, he’ll resign the moment they get back to the base, and extricate himself from this mess once and for all. For now, he’ll just have to endure it. This is not a mission he can afford to fail.

It’s a miracle that he doesn’t slip and fall when he steps out onto the cold tile, relishing the feeling of it under his burning soles. Duo pauses to towel at his soaked hair but doesn’t really bother with the rest of his body, just slings a towel around his slim waist and keeps moving. It’s only when Duo’s hunting for his comb that he catches his reflection in the mirror, and it brings him pause.

Duo wonders when it was that he stopped recognizing himself in the mirror. This lean, delicate thing that meets his eyes—this can’t be him. For as long as Duo can remember he’s been a fighter, still is, and yet he sees absolutely none of that in his reflection. The scars from his youth have faded, the roundness in his cheeks has softened some, and though he’s grown a paltry few inches since the wars he still looks so docile, somehow. Like he’s been declawed and defanged all at once, and this soft, pliant kitten is all that’s left of him.

It isn’t fair that Heero’s grown so much, and yet Duo still looks just as thin and waifish as he’d been the day they first met, maybe even more so. Omega to his very core, so much that he’s shocked no one has called him on it yet; at least to him, it’s painfully obvious.

Looking at himself now, Duo can only wonder how his body could have betrayed him this way when it’s all he’s ever had. How he could have become so weak when for his entire life, survival was dependent on strength. Necessitated by it.

The gold cross glinting from where it drapes over his chest is a shining beacon of every sin he’s ever committed, every sin that he embodies. Duo often wonders if those from the church would be ashamed of him now, of what he’s become. He wonders if it even matters anymore.

It’s a relief when Duo finds his comb, because brushing his hair is a far more pleasant alternative to brooding and self flagellation. Duo takes some solace in the fact that, in spite of all the ways his body has betrayed him, at least he still has his hair. He’d only kept it like this for sentimental reasons, at first, but he really has grown fond of it—his most striking, defining feature. It’s longer than ever now, silken ends brushing just past his knees unbound, and foolishly, he can’t help feeling rather proud of it.

It occurs to him then that if he really wants to disappear once he’s out of this mess, he’ll probably have to cut it off. How fitting that Duo should have to lose this, too; it wouldn’t be the first thing he’s loved and lost. But he isn’t sure he can follow this line of thought without really breaking down, so he tries to put it out of mind.

Besides, he can probably just hide it, since he’s already hiding every fundamental thing about himself, anyways. From concealing the truth of what he is to burying what he feels for the man in the next room, Duo has made evasion into an art form, so it can’t be too hard to hide his long hair from prying eyes, if it means getting to keep it.

Brushing his hair suddenly feels like an emotional labor more than it does anything else, so he gives up on it. It’s probably safest to leave it down to smother his scent, anyways. The heat will be awful and the tangles will be a nightmare tomorrow, but it’s better than having to answer to Heero’s interrogation on what brand of conditioner he’s using.

Heero, who really doesn’t deserve any of this. This had always been a risk and Duo never should have subjected him to it. The best thing that Duo can do for Heero now is stay far away from him—as far as he can, in this house—and pray that it will be enough. Perhaps, if Duo goes to sleep now, the storm will even have passed when he wakes. It’s wishful thinking, but without the pills to suppress the heat or an alpha to sate it, there’s little else he can do.

Right now, he just has to get out of this bathroom, which, despite the cold shower, is starting to feel unbearably warm.

It all happens so quickly that he doesn’t have the chance to process it. When Duo opens the bathroom door to make his escape, this time, he really does slip on the wet marble. He hears himself swear as he uselessly grapples for the edge of the sink, but it’s a wasted effort. When he falls onto his hip with a graceless thud, an oppressive, unmistakable heat washes over him in its full intensity.

If there were ever a prayer for Duo to get out of this, it’s long gone now.

Duo can only imagine how he looks, strewn out on the floor like this; flushed red and barely clothed, with still-damp hair spreading like a veil over his scalding skin. The warmth is heady and inescapable; clouding his vision, coiling between his thighs and radiating through every inch of his boneless, still-trembling body. Duo’s breath comes heavy and stilted, shaken by his shock and horror and the unbidden desire he feels pulsating through him, climbing ever-higher in its intensity.

Futilely, he tries to clear his head. Duo knows that Heero is observant to a fault, and that the thud when he hit the floor would have been more than enough to alert him that something was amiss. He knows he has to get up and pull himself together, but he can’t get a grip. His mind is too frantic with thoughts of shame and dread and desperation of all kinds, but Duo manages a silent plea, praying that Heero will be the same cold, unfeeling asshole he’s been from the day they’d first met, and stay the hell away from that door.

Of course, Duo has never been so lucky with prayers. The floorboards creak as Heero approaches at what must be breakneck pace, for he’s at Duo’s door in seconds. His mere presence this close makes Duo’s stomach lurch, and it isn’t hard to figure out why.

It only occurs to him when Heero throws open the door that he’d forgotten to lock it.

“Are you alright?” Heero asks, breathless, and then that azure gaze sweeps over Duo, finding the little wet knot he’s made of himself collapsed on the floor. The realization takes Heero all of a few seconds, and his eyes grow wide, stunned.

“Get out,” Duo all but shrieks, curling in on himself. “Get away from me!” Don’t touch me, he wants to scream, in spite of the way his sinful body betrays him. There’s a growing heat between his legs, something hot and wet that makes him feel filthy as he tries and fails to scramble back. It’s all he can do to frantically tug the fast-unravelling towel over his burning thighs. This can’t be happening. Heero can’t see him like this. “Don’t—Don’t look at me!”

It’s too late for that. Heero is looking at him now with an intensity that makes Duo want to run and hide, as if he’s ever been good at anything else. But with the way his legs have given up on him, running does not present itself as an option. Desperate, Duo reaches up for the hairbrush still resting at the edge of the sink then flings it in Heero’s general direction. It does little more than make a dull thump when it collides with Heero’s broad chest; he doesn’t even seem to notice.

“You’re not,” is all Heero can manage, walking slowly towards him, trancelike. Duo isn’t sure if it’s shock or rage that makes his voice tremble. “You can’t be. You’ve never…”

Duo keeps his gaze low, but manages a quiet, mirthless laugh, heavy with guilt. “You know how much I like to hide, Heero.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. Heero’s hand shoots out and he takes Duo by the jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. He isn’t cruel about it, his grasp isn’t rough enough for it to hurt; he just lifts Duo’s face up, chin in hand, holding him there. Duo had once shied from the feeling of those hands on his skin, but now he can only melt into it with a whine, soft yet obscene, utterly disarmed by the hand at his throat—totally helpless to it.

Heero pulls back from him as though burned, flustered and red-faced. Duo doesn’t blame him for being repulsed; he doesn’t blame him for being angry. He has every right to be. Duo’s head slumps forward again, vision swimming, but this time, Heero doesn’t move to lift him.

There’s silence, for a moment, as Heero pulls himself together. “You told me,” he says eventually, “that I could trust you. Is this your idea of trust?”

He had said that, hadn't he? He’d meant it too; what a fool Duo had been, to think he could hide this. “I… I thought...”

What had Duo thought? That this would all blow over without a hitch, that he could bite his tongue and lock himself in this room, desperate and wanting, if it came to that? Did Duo even trust himself not to throw himself at Heero, when neither of them would have the sense to say no?

Duo knows as soon as it crosses his mind that he doesn’t. What the fuck had he been thinking? This was an inevitability. Misfortune comes to everyone who even looks at him; of course, Heero wouldn’t be spared.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is!?” Heero snarls, and it startles Duo into snapping his head upright. Duo’s seen this look in him before, the same expression that flashed whenever Heero had threatened his life, all those years ago. He’d always been calm then, kept his emotions in check. But even though he’s animated now, rage contorting his handsome features, that same look blazes in his eyes.

Duo swallows hard. “Yes,” he says quietly. At least, now he does.

He must look really pathetic then, because for a brief moment Heero looks startled, taken aback. Duo doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know how he could have dared to imagine Heero treating him with anything other than pity and anger and disgust. He doesn’t know how he could’ve been foolish enough to dream of Heero wanting him back.

It’s sudden when Heero slips a hand under Duo’s back and another under his knees, righting him, then promptly gathers Duo’s trembling body up into his arms. His stomach flips. 

“What the hell—Don’t touch me!” Duo snarls, thrashing and flailing against the arms that bind him as if it would do anything but tire him out. It would be so easy to melt into these arms, to just embrace what he’s wanted for so long, burned for, ached for—but he’s running on panic and adrenaline and little else, so he keeps fighting the losing battle. “Heero, put me down!”

All protests die on his lips when Heero deposits him squarely on the bed and takes a pointed step back. He’s got a hand clamped over his mouth as his gaze sweeps over Duo’s trembling frame, sprawled out on his back like something cheap and pretty, and that’s when Duo notices that Heero is shaking, too. It takes every ounce of sanity Duo has left to keep his gaze from traveling lower on Heero’s imposing figure.

Heero drops his hand and the question tears itself from his throat, raw, like it pains him. “Did you think I was going to hurt you?” 

Duo can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it, breathless. He wonders how he could’ve thought anything else. Falling into heat with an alpha twice his size charging at him, taking hold of him—what was Duo supposed to think? “Is this really the time for questions like that?”

Heero considers him for a moment. “I can control myself,” he says firmly. He says it so seriously, like he really believes he can, despite the bloodshot hue of his eyes and the way each ragged breath saps even more of his composure. Duo doesn’t care how good of a soldier—or an agent—he is; Heero can fight his feelings, but he can’t fight this. Duo finally risks a glance lower, then wishes he hadn’t.

“Yeah, right,” Duo mutters, then curses himself. He must really have a death wish, baiting an alpha at a time like this, especially when said alpha is looking at Duo like he’s a piece of meat. But isn’t this what he wanted? Duo’s never seen Heero like this, so agitated and worked up. And though part of him is frightened by that, terrified even, there’s another part of him that craves it, so much that Duo knows he would never be able to resist, even if he wanted to.

Heero makes a guttural sound of frustration in the back of his throat. “I would never, ” he bites back. “Not when you’re—not like this. ”

Duo knows that he should be relieved, but he finds himself resenting the implication; that he’s somehow lesser now in Heero’s eyes. Like it would be dishonorable to lay a hand on someone so weak and vulnerable, the same way that you wouldn’t hit a woman if you could help it. He grits his teeth, but Duo doesn’t get a chance to argue his case as he watches Heero come closer. So much for self control.

“How long,” Heero grinds out. “How long have you known.”

“...a while.” He supposes that four years constitutes a while. And although Duo can tell that Heero isn’t satisfied with the answer, mercifully, he doesn’t press it.

“Who else knows?”

“Quatre.” The heat is almost blinding, at this point. With a deep, shuddering sigh, Duo pushes back his hair and reclines on the bed, and he doesn’t miss the way Heero stiffens at the sight. Duo knows it won’t be long until his mind is gone; he’s already grasping at what shadows of clarity he has left, shifting in and out of focus. And Duo can’t salvage the way he looks now, weak and wilting as he fights his primal desires, but if he can just get Heero out of here before he really falls apart, maybe Duo won’t have to subject him to what’s coming, too. God knows Heero doesn’t deserve this. “Can’t this wait?”

“And why not me?” Heero blurts out. He looks every bit the mess that Duo feels. He’s going to go into a rut, and when that happens there will be nothing either of them can do to save this. Duo can’t let that happen. He needs to get Heero out of here before this heat ruins them both, and yet, neither of them have moved an inch. “You think you can’t trust me?”

It isn’t like that. It’s not about trust. It’s about Duo’s cursed, filthy body that debases and destroys everything in its wake, and the fact that he can’t sully Heero with it too, no matter how he wants to, needs to. It isn’t like there was anything Heero could’ve done for him back then, that first time, or any of the times that came after. It’s not like there’s anything he can do for him now.

“I just didn’t see why you’d care,” is what comes out, thoughtlessly bitter, like he’s some kind of scorned lover. As if. Duo fixes his dark, clouded gaze on Heero, desperate. “Please, just go.”

The request hangs in the air between them, ignored, unanswered. Heero draws nearer and Duo fights the urge to scramble back, because there’s nowhere to go, anyways. Duo knows he can’t fight this. “You really can’t figure that out?”

Duo braces himself and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting when Heero grabs him again by the jaw, softer this time, until a pair of lips press firmly against his own. The kiss smothers any protests Duo might’ve uttered, were he sane, and claims every last bit of defiance left in him.

Because if Heero wanted him, even like this, Duo could never have hoped to resist.

The kiss thaws everything in Duo but the desire to be taken, to be claimed, to indulge in the cardinal sin that his cursed, filthy body was made for. Sharp teeth graze Duo’s lower lip and he can only melt into it, and let Heero come into him. There’s no point in fighting it; he doesn’t want to, anyways. Duo doesn’t have the strength to pull away from this now that he’s tasted it. He could fight Heero, but he can’t fight himself, and he no longer has the will to try.

Duo gasps when Heero abruptly pulls away, a soft, pained sound that he barely has the mind to be ashamed of. His whole world is a kiss, suddenly. It doesn’t matter that Heero is far too good for someone like him, or that Duo will never forgive himself for doing this to him. It doesn’t matter that Heero doesn’t really want him, that scent and heat have only bewitched him into believing he does. Nothing matters to Duo but that feeling of those lips against his own, a feeling he’ll chase to the ends of the universe if he has to.

Belatedly, it occurs to Duo that this had been his first kiss.

Heero makes to leave, but Duo fists his hands into his shirt before he can stop himself, drawing the man back in with what strength he has left. “Don’t,” he begs, “don’t leave me now, please, you can’t—”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Heero mutters, strained. He sounds—frustrated. Disappointed, almost.

Duo fervently shakes his head, wisps of long hair fluttering about his flushed face. “I am,” he insists, “more than I ever have.”

It’s the truth, for once. Stripped of his moral sense and sanity, there’s nothing left in Duo but unbridled devotion for the man in front of him. He wants this. He needs this. And Heero can hate him tomorrow and the next day and for the rest of their lives, but Duo will be long gone by then, anyways, so it won’t matter. “Please,” he whines, softer. “Please, I—”

He doesn’t have to beg. Heero kisses him tenderly and Duo welcomes it, open-mouthed and hungry. Duo can give himself to this. He can be this serpent in Heero’s bed, just for tonight, because he knows it will never be more than that. That Heero will never want him for anything more than this, nor should he. Duo takes some sad comfort in that, knowing that there will be no lifelong consequence of this, for either of them, but it’s better this way. It’s the last coherent thought he has before his reason gives out altogether.

Duo loses himself in the embrace. Heero’s on top of him now, forcing Duo’s soaked, bare thighs apart with a clothed knee, the pressure of it nearly enough to make him sob. Heero threads a reverent hand through his long, sleek hair, pressing kisses into the damp strands that send shivers down Duo’s spine. It’s so much at once, more than he’s ever had, that Duo can’t help but throw his head back and cry out.

Heero takes advantage of his weakness, shifting his attention to the long, exposed column of Duo’s pale, swanlike neck. “Beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, and it’s so soft that Duo wonders if he’s hearing right, or if he really has finally lost his mind. The graze of sharp teeth against sensitive skin brings Duo back to the moment, and it ignites something in him that’s nearly impossible to resist.

But there’s a silent voice in the back of his head reminding Duo that this is the one thing he can’t have, and he jerks from it, panting and wide-eyed.

“Don’t,” he gasps. “Whatever you want, anything, just… don’t mark me.”

Heero lifts his clouded gaze, eyeing him for a moment, but then he nods, resolute. “I won’t,” he assures, leaving Duo to silently fight the unbidden rush of disappointment surging within him.

The bared fangs dutifully draw back, a feat that must take every ounce of restraint Heero has left in him, but the kisses continue unburdened in their assault. He’s merciless in his attentions, yet he holds Duo so gently, like he’s something precious, something breakable, as though he’s wrought from spun glass. Heero works a kiss that will surely bruise into the side of his neck, but the hand that cups the back of Duo’s head is so gentle that it’s all he can do not to come undone from this alone.

“You’re so pretty,” Heero murmurs when he draws back, and this time, Duo is sure he’s not imagining it. He can’t be, not when Heero is looking at him like this, with those ocean blue eyes so fathomless, so full of feeling. “Too pretty to be anything else…” He scoffs in spite of himself. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

Those whispered words should make Duo recoil; they should make him feel sick. For years he’s loathed being this pretty, fragile thing, yet how can he do anything but melt under this praise? When Heero is looking at him with so much awe and adoration, how can it be wrong to be what he is? How can Duo be ashamed when Heero is looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen?

Duo gasps when large hands slip to the small of his narrow waist, encircling it. All that remains now to protect his modesty is the fast-unraveling towel clinging to glistening, damp skin, but Heero makes to strip him of that, too.

“Lift your hips for me,” he says, soft. Like a lover. He doesn’t even have to ask. Duo bucks his hips, too eager, and almost misses the quiet huff of a laugh that falls from Heero’s lips. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s heard Heero laugh like this, if he ever has before. It brings heat to Duo’s face and he tries to look anywhere but at the man above him.

The towel is carefully unraveled from where it clings to his hips and Heero swiftly discards it, leaving Duo bare and trembling beneath him. There’s a moment of pause as Heero settles him back against the sheets. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fond. 

Duo suddenly feels unbearably vulnerable like this, stripped totally bare, guarded only by the gold of the cross shining like a brand from atop his heaving chest. Somehow, the memory of it makes guilt and shame rise in Duo’s throat all over again, but he swallows the feeling before it can color his face.

Heero has a hand cradling Duo’s lower back as the other ghosts down the line of his narrow hips. He’s slow about it, as if mapping out every curve and line of Duo’s body, every dip and peak, committing them to memory. Duo can only cry out when he feels Heero’s mouth come to the hollow of his hip, pressing warm, wet lips to the inner part of his trembling thighs. He feels himself shudder at the sudden feeling of fangs pressing into the already sensitive, overworked skin, branding him there.

“Oh God,” Duo chokes out, hands scrambling to claw at Heero’s shoulders, clinging to him. It’s so much, and it shouldn’t be. Duo feels his inexperience showing, writhing under the sensation of teeth and tongue grazing his tender skin, painting him like he’s bare canvas, like his body was made to be coloured by Heero’s marks. Duo is so wet and throbbing that he can feel tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, and Heero has yet to even take off his clothes.

Duo feels aware of his nakedness, suddenly. Ashamed of it, if he has any shame left in him at all. Duo writhes uselessly in the silken sheets and manages a soft sound of protest. “Take them off,” he manages, weak. He feels Heero pause and pull away, and when the cold air brushes against his exposed skin, Duo kind of wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. “Your… your clothes. Take them—”

“Alright,” Heero says, a whisper against Duo’s heated skin. He can’t contain the soft whine that slips out when Heero pulls away, rocking back onto his heels. Duo watches through heavily lidded eyes, entranced, as Heero crosses his arms over his front and tugs his shirt off over his head. He’s bigger than Duo had thought he would be; still slim, but broader at the chest and shoulders. All hard, lean muscle, and when he thumbs at the elastic of his sweatpants, Duo can see that Heero’s big there, too.

Suddenly, Duo can’t keep his hands off of him, and then he’s pushing himself upright and throwing himself into Heero’s arms. It’s messy and uncoordinated, inexperience colouring each frenzied sweep of hand as Duo works the loose pants off of Heero’s hips, but it gets him in Heero’s lap with his hands on bare skin and that’s more than enough. When he gets them off, Duo brings still-shaking hands up to Heero’s face as he kisses him, holding him there, savoring the very taste of him as if this kiss will be his last.

For a moment self consciousness courses through him, makes him want to shy away, but Heero welcomes the kiss, letting a hand slip to the arc of Duo’s lower back as he holds him there. The veil of auburn-hued hair that drapes over them is swept tenderly to the side, and Duo obliges at the whisper of touch, tossing the long velvet curtain over one shoulder to free the pale expanse of his back. Duo feels Heero’s hand slipping lower onto his frame, below his hips to the curve of his rear, and the touch alone sends a shiver down his spine.

When Heero’s finger tests at his entrance, Duo can only jerk from it and gasp, startled and wide-eyed, like some kind of affronted maiden. He feels like an idiot when he imagines the picture he must make: the temptress luring men into his bed, then blushing like a virgin when he actually gets what he wants.

The thought makes Duo drop his gaze, blushing hard. Heero looks at him strangely for a moment but dutifully withdraws his hand, bringing it instead to ghost the narrow of Duo’s waist. The realization takes him longer than it probably should, but at this point Duo doubts Heero has the mind to think with any more clarity than he can, anyways.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Duo ducks his head, lavender-colored eyes darting away. “I…” He can barely speak but he doesn’t need to; the color rising to his face is answer enough. It’s humiliatingly obvious. For so long this is what he’s wanted, to be taken, to be claimed, and now that it’s finally happening he can only shy away from it. The man he’s been saving himself for finally wants him, and all Duo can do is run from him.

Heero only sighs and eases him back into the pillows. “You should have told me,” he mutters, and pulls his hands back. It leaves Duo feeling cold and helpless, laying there beneath him. He wonders if he’s said or done something he shouldn’t have, something unacceptable, if his fear and inexperience have finally made him untouchable in Heero’s eyes, like he is in everyone else’s.

“I’m sorry,” Duo manages, desperate. He wants to beg Heero not to leave, but he isn’t sure he can bring himself to speak those words into existence a second time. “I… I didn’t think—”

Heero silences Duo with a kiss to his temple, carding a hand through his hair. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” He promises against Duo’s cheek, kissing him again. “You’re perfect.”

This time when Heero touches him, he’s gentler. His kisses have lost some of their bite but none of their hunger, none of their adoration. If Duo had thought he’d been reverent before, now, it’s as though Heero is worshipping him.

“Are you scared?” Heero whispers against him. It’s sweet of him to ask. Duo knows Heero wouldn’t be able to stop now, even if he were, but it doesn’t matter, anyways.

“No,” Duo whines against him, soft and petulant. “I want you.”

There’s a soft breath of relief from Heero above him. “Good,” is the immediate response. “I’ll be careful,” he assures, and Duo nods, fervently. He’s grateful for it, but truthfully, Duo would take Heero any way he could get him. Duo would endure anything if it means he gets to have this.

This time, when Heero’s upturned hand slips between Duo’s long legs, he doesn’t flinch from it, and the only indication Duo’s felt it at all is the soft hitch of his breath when rough tipped fingers tease at the wetness there.

“So eager,” Heero murmurs, almost sympathetic. “Have you been like this all day?”

The truth is that Duo has been like this for days, weeks, that he’s yearned to be under Heero’s hands like this for longer than he can remember. Yes, Duo tries to say, but all he can manage is a pathetic little whine, needy and desperate.

Any proper response Duo might’ve uttered is silenced by the finger that presses into him, and the cry it provokes from his own bruised lips. Heero drops a chaste kiss to the corner of his eye, and Duo hadn’t even noticed the tears pooling there, already trailing down his temples into the spill of his silken hair, like droplets of glittering amber.

Heero slowly thrusts his finger in deeper, to the knuckle, and when it flexes and curls Duo feels his own back arch up, like he’s lost control over his body and exists here only as a witness to what’s happening to it. When Heero adds a second finger, the digits press deeper and brush against something that has Duo seeing stars. He can hear himself cry out for a God he doesn’t believe in as his toes curl in the sheets, and Duo throws his arms around Heero’s shoulders, desperate for anything to ground himself in a reality that is quickly slipping from his grasp.

“Please,” Duo sobs, not sure what it is that he’s asking for, only that he’ll do anything to satisfy the need pulsating through every fiber of his being, ravaging him. Just when the sensation has ebbed enough that he thinks he can bear it, Heero adds a third, and Duo nearly screams. He’s lost the composure to feel ashamed of the sounds he’s making, of the tears trailing down his cheeks. All he can do now is hide his face in the crook of Heero’s shoulder and beg as the fingers spread apart in him, wider and deeper with each unrelenting thrust.

“You’re so good,” Heero whispers into his hair, and it’s almost enough to push Duo over the edge. “So…”

Whatever he says is lost on Duo when those fingers leave him, and now it’s not a want anymore, but a need. The emptiness is so much worse than anything that came before it, so much worse than he remembers. “Please, Heero,” Duo cries, shaking. “I—I need…”

There are so many ways that could end. For you to fill me, breed me, fuck me until I forget my own name. He can’t manage any of it. Between the shuddering breaths, what finally slips out is a whispered prayer: “I need you.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. Heero bids him to lay back and he does, aching from the loss of touch. There are so many things he longs to ask, so much that he’s unsure of, but when Heero grabs him by his hips, lifting them, Duo can’t think of anything that would even matter.

When Heero finally makes the slow push into him, Duo’s vision goes white. The sound he makes is awful, vulgar and obscene, unrecognizable to his own ears, but he’s helpless to stop it. He hears Heero too, gasping out something that sounds like either a curse or a prayer, something primal. Whatever it is, Duo is deaf to it. This is so far removed from what his fingers had been, it’s another sensation entirely. Heero feels so much bigger than he had looked—which says enough—big enough for Duo to break apart stretched around him, if he hasn’t already.

“Are you alright?” Heero asks, urgent, like it’s not the first time he’s asked. Apparently Duo really was that far gone. “Duo?”

“Don’t stop,” is all he can manage, almost a moan. Duo bucks his hips into it, chasing the relief of heat that finally, finally overflows into him. “Oh God, please don’t—”

Heero’s answer comes in an immediate thrust, hard and deep, so sudden that it tears a sob from Duo’s throat. He keeps a steady pace, pounding Duo into the mattress, and it’s torture and euphoria all at once. It’s too much, he thinks, and yet it will never be enough.

For years Duo has worn a mask, and it isn’t just slipping now—it’s irreparably shattered. He feels so exposed breaking apart like this, so transparent, so vulnerable that all he can manage is to hide his crumbling face in his hands, as if he has any shred of dignity left to preserve.

He doesn’t get the chance. Heero grabs his wrist just as he thrusts again into that sweet spot, the one that has Duo seeing stars, and brings the shaking hand up to his own cheek. 

“Don’t hide,” Heero says, like it’s an order. Duo wouldn’t be able to resist even if it weren’t. Then he turns his head to press a kiss into Duo’s palm, and the simple act sends butterflies fluttering into his stomach. Then, softer, “let me see that pretty face.”

How can Duo say no to that? Even if he could speak, he wouldn’t. All he can do now is cling onto Heero as he ravages his broken body with long, deep strokes, and Duo lets it show on his face when he finally comes undone with a strangled sob. 

There’s an intensity to the release, something far worse than it had ever been on his own, a fire that makes Duo fear he’ll slip out of consciousness. When he finally comes back to himself, moments later, he isn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t.

In the brief clarity that comes as he lays there, chest heaving, Duo thinks it’s a miracle that he held out that long to begin with. Yet there’s a part of him that can’t help feeling ashamed. That he’s incapable, even as this cursed, depraved thing, of doing the one thing he was made to do, of bringing an alpha to a proper finish. That he’s already ruined his one chance to have this before it’s even started.

Duo wilts in the wave of embarrassment that washes over him and starts to apologize but Heero kisses his hand again, inexplicably fond.

So the spell hasn’t broken, yet.

“Don’t be sorry,” Heero soothes, and sweetly cups Duo’s tear-streaked face with his other hand. His pace has slowed to a halt, allowing Duo a merciful moment of reprieve. “You’re doing so well.”

A shudder courses through Duo then. So they aren’t finished, after all. The heat is far from broken, anyways; his pathetic body still craves more, still stretched around Heero’s girth. Duo leans into the hand caressing his cheek, his hair, and nods through the aftershocks, trembling in them.

“I—I want—” Duo wants to beg for Heero’s knot, but some lingering vestige of sanity in this sacred moment of clarity restrains him. “More,” is what he decides on, then adds, desperate and strained, “please.”

The answer is swift. Heero is still inside of him when they switch positions, but the feeling isn’t quite so earth-shattering anymore, the novelty of it having waned. Instead there’s a sense of wholeness to being joined with Heero this way, a rightness, like Duo’s body was meant for more than just sin and suffering, but for this.

Heero rolls onto his back then and pulls Duo into his lap, and the suddenness of it has Duo throwing his hands out, graceless. He involuntarily plants his palms on Heero’s broad chest to steady himself, and somehow still has enough shame left in him to be embarrassed about it.

The realization sinks in, and Duo feels himself flush. “I’ve never—” he starts, but that’s obvious. “I don’t know how.”

A reassuring hand comes to the curve of his waist. “That’s fine,” Heero tells him. “I’ll help you.”

It occurs to him then that Heero knows what he’s doing. Duo hadn’t been able to process it before but this is definitely not Heero’s first time, nor his second. Duo wonders briefly when someone as busy as Heero would have found the time to take lovers; he wonders who they were. It’s common sense that an alpha in his prime wouldn’t spend his ruts alone, so it shouldn’t mean anything, but it weighs on him, a little.

It shouldn’t matter, because Heero is not his and he never will be. So it shouldn’t hurt Duo the way that it does—and yet.

Duo wonders if Heero had used these pretty words on them, too. If he had ever marked one of his partners, or tried to. If Duo is deluding himself by thinking that he had ever even been an option.

“Okay,” is what he says, because there’s nothing else he could say now that would make a difference. 

When Heero eases Duo down onto him, he forgets how to think all over again. The feeling of fullness is so much more than it had been before, bringing with it a heat that floods his senses, drowning him in it. A shocked, shuddering gasp is wrenched from Duo’s lips as he sinks lower, sheaths him to the hilt, loud and unrestrained enough that it nearly drowns Heero’s voice out altogether.

“God, you’re so tight,” Heero hisses, so softly that Duo nearly misses it. Compared to who, he wants to ask, but he knows there’s no place for questions like that, knows that he has no right and never will. Duo banishes the thought and lets the deep, penetrating heat overtake him. 

True to his word, Heero helps Duo along with a hand at his waist, coaxing him into rolling his hips forward. “Fuck,” Duo exhales, breathless, the grind of his hips slow and circular. He’s grateful for Heero’s guiding hand, because there’s no way Duo would be able to move on his own without it. It’s all he can do to keep his weak, trembling body upright, so he keeps his hands on Heero’s chest, back arching as he pushes himself up. Duo bows his head as he fights to keep pace, crucifix dangling from his neck and hair spilling forward across Heero’s abdomen, like falling water.

“Good,” Heero says, and Duo hears his voice but it’s distant, like he’s hearing him from underwater, like he’s in another place altogether. “Just like that.” Duo can feel the tightness growing in him and he realizes belatedly that it’s Heero’s knot locking them against one another. Suddenly, moving seems like far more than he can manage.

Heero sits upright then and Duo doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around his shoulders, melting into him, clinging to the one tangible thing keeping him from losing himself altogether. When Heero takes him in hand, stroking down the length of him with a slow, measured touch, Duo can only cry out, and his long-fingered hands claw at Heero’s back, frantic and unsteady.

“God, Heero,” he cries softly, brokenly, far too weak for much else. They’ve spent years together and yet Duo still can’t remember when Heero had gotten so big, big enough for one hand to sheath Duo in near entirety as he teases at him, toys with him. For so long Duo has loathed this pathetic, weak little thing that he’s become, but now, under Heero’s skilled hands, he can’t bring himself to altogether mind it.

He lets Heero work him, all of him, in hips and in hand, coaxing Duo into motion when it’s clear that he’s too tired to do anything of use on his own, and that staying upright is about all that he can manage. Heero is close enough that Duo can press his forehead against him so he leans into it, chest heaving, and surrenders himself.

Duo’s senses are utterly overwhelmed, enveloped in Heero’s warmth and heat, the sensations becoming far too much to bear. Suddenly Duo can’t contain himself, and he no longer cares to try. “Please,” he sobs, soft. “Please, I… I need you, Heero, please…”

Apparently it’s enough to make Heero take pity on him, for he removes both hands then, and Duo can’t contain a soft whine at the loss of touch. There’s little time to mourn, though, because then Heero flips them over, pinning Duo back into the mattress beneath him.

“You like it better this way, don’t you?” Heero asks from over him, and Duo barely has the comprehension left to nod. He feels like a mess and knows he must look it too, but that doesn’t stop Heero from leaning down to press a bruising kiss to Duo’s parted lips.

The kiss is nearly hard enough to draw blood but if it does, Duo doesn’t notice and he doesn’t think he’d care either way. He moans into it, needy and petulant as he clasps his hands behind Heero’s neck, tangling long fingers into his wild, dark hair. Duo forgets every thought, every reservation he’s ever had when Heero starts thrusting into him again, bigger than ever with the knot spreading in him, filling him. Duo would let Heero claim every inch of him if he has to, inside and out, anything to make this feeling last.

“That’s fine,” Heero murmurs against his lips, voice husky and low. He punctuates his words with another hard rut, slamming into that spot that makes Duo keen, unrestrained and unapologetic, like the utter bitch in heat that he is. “I do, too.”

Duo recognizes that he should be embarrassed for folding so easily, but the words won’t come. Speech feels too distant, too challenging to form, as though he’s in a dream. Reflexively, Duo drops a hand again to hide his flushed face, but Heero is faster, grabbing him by the wrist to pin his limp, trembling hand back against the pillow, palm to palm.

“I thought I told you not to hide,” Heero says, pulsing forward again and it catches Duo in an ardent moan. “I want to see you.”

Duo can’t help it, not when being this exposed, this vulnerable, has only ever brought him grief. It’s why he wears a mask in the first place. But then Heero weaves their fingers together, entwining them, and the reassurance is enough to make Duo squeeze back, in spite of himself.

The touch only seems to spur Heero on, and every move he makes suddenly feels that much more intense, almost painfully so. That feeling of fullness starts to finally crest within him, and it’s all Duo can do to hook his long, pale legs around that toned back, drawing Heero into him. As if this knot weren’t enough to bind them to one another.

But then Duo feels Heero’s warm breath come to the side of his pale, unmarred throat, and his whole body goes cold.

“What—What are you…” Duo gasps, soft. He tries to shake his head but there’s nowhere to go, no point in trying. A thread of sanity pulls Duo back from the brink, and now he’s too alert to let this continue. “Heero, stop it. You promised, you can’t—”

“Why not,” Heero growls and it’s primal, almost predatory. Like there isn’t much left in him to reason with. He looks at Duo from the corner of his eye with a desperation that’s nearly inhuman. “Why can’t I have you?”

There are so many good reasons. This will destroy both of their lives, their careers, everything that they’ve fought so hard to attain. Heero will be dishonorably discharged, Duo will be sent away. Nothing good can come of this and there are so many sane, rational reasons why.

“You’ll hate me,” is what Duo whispers instead, and suddenly he can feel the sting of tears in his eyes all over again, like teeth.

“I won’t,” Heero insists. “I couldn’t.”

And Duo thinks that’s all bullshit but he doesn’t know how to say that without pissing Heero off enough to make him leave, or worse. Duo doesn’t know what he’s so afraid of. Heero, when sane, almost certainly hates him already, and if he hadn’t before then he definitely will after this. Regardless of what Duo does or does not allow him to do now.

So why shouldn’t he give in to this, then? Will it even matter, when Duo has already damned the both of them, when it will be obvious to anyone with eyes what they’ve done to each other, whether Heero marks him or not? What difference could it make?

Duo shakes his head fervently, banishing the thought. He can’t allow himself to be this weak, this pathetic; he’s disgusted with himself for even entertaining this. Duo can’t surrender to these pretty words when he knows they’re only a mirage, a product of the temporary insanity he’s selfishly inflicted onto Heero. He can’t allow this to go further. Duo won’t burden anyone else with the weight of his sins.

“You can’t,” Duo pleads. Then, softer, “I’ll ruin you.” Like he does everything else he’s ever loved.

“You already have!” Heero bites back, and Duo’s breath stops. “For so long, I’ve been—” 

He cuts himself off with an angry, frustrated sound, raw with desperation. Duo can’t think about what Heero would’ve said if he hadn’t. He can’t think about anything right now. He’s still so warm but it feels like there’s ice in his veins, paralyzing him. Duo knows that he should say something but he doesn’t know that he can, doesn’t know if he’d even trust himself to try.

“Damn it, Duo, don’t worry about me!” Heero seethes, but how can he not? When Duo thinks of nothing and no one else, when he would sacrifice everything he has left to remain at Heero’s side, against all odds. When, in spite of everything, Duo doesn’t regret making the choices that have brought him here, not for a second, not even now.

Duo’s lack of response must be getting to him, because then Heero draws back enough to look at him and murmurs, softer, “I know what I want.”

“You don’t,” Duo manages, finally. The entirety of this is becoming too much for him to endure. Heero can do whatever he wants with Duo’s filthy body but he can’t break Duo’s heart, not like this. “Don’t—”

“I want you, Duo,” he begs, voice trembling. “I want you so much.” Heero whispers the words like a prayer into Duo’s silk-soft hair, and noses the strands aside to expose the nape of his pale neck. 

He sounds so broken when he says it. Is Duo really to blame for all of this? Is this cursed body really enough to bring Heero to his knees, enough to trick Heero into wanting him? Duo can’t fathom it. He can’t begin to understand any other way that Heero could want this. Want him.

“Please, I…” Heero starts again. He’s so close, now. It would be so easy for Duo to just let go. “I’ll take care of you.”

Duo doesn’t know what’s different about this, but something in him breaks. That one, simple promise pushes Duo over the edge, breaks a dam he hadn’t known he’d still been holding together. That so little in the way of reassurance could have him unraveling in the palm of Heero’s hand is a testament to his weakness, a testament to how very little he deserves this. How little he deserves Heero. 

But selfishness always has been Duo’s greatest sin.

“So take me,” Duo cries, and that’s the end of it.

Duo feels him exhale with relief, feels Heero relax against him, and then it all happens so fast. There’s a prick of fangs against the side of Duo’s neck and when Heero’s teeth snag on the metal of his chain, Duo reaches up and yanks it off—for once in his life, unrepentant. And when Heero’s teeth finally press into bare skin, breaking it, Duo’s mind is lost to him.

The marking tears a scream from Duo’s wet lips, and it’s blinding, more painful than he’d ever thought it could be. And yet, in spite of that searing pain, it sates him, floods his body with blessed relief. Duo grasps blindly at Heero’s back with his unclaimed hand, chasing his proximity, his presence, the warmth of heated skin against his own.

When Duo comes this time it shatters him to his core, nearly enough to destroy him. Duo hears his own voice sobbing out something desperate and incoherent, something he distantly recognizes that he shouldn’t, something he has no right to. But then he feels Heero finish inside of him, hears the broken, muffled sob against the column of his throat, and all of Duo’s reservations thoroughly dissipate.

Duo doesn’t know how much time it’s been, when he feels Heero start to shift against him. Yet even as the knot recedes and Heero slowly eases out of him, Duo has never felt more whole.

With lips and teeth drawn back from Duo’s swollen neck, the cold air sweeps over his sensitive, overworked skin, enough to make him wince. He allows himself to go limp in Heero’s embrace, like a bruised, broken doll, something helplessly frail. There’s a whisper of a kiss pressed to his forehead as Heero picks up the pieces, holding Duo to his chest with an arm kept dutifully around his slender waist.

Heero’s scent had always been intoxicating, always enough to make Duo weak at the knees, but now it’s more comforting than anything; a promise of devotion, of care. It’s why Duo doesn’t protest Heero’s handling of him, though he’s so gentle there’d have been no real reason to try. So he lets Heero tuck him into bed, lets him draw Duo into his chest. He’d let him do anything, now.

And as he drifts into blissful sleep, Duo vaguely recalls Heero’s promise to care for him, and realizes that perhaps he really had meant it.

Waking up is a daze. A tangle of sheets, of limbs, the sunlight streaking across his face and the comforting warmth at his back are nearly enough to lull Duo back to sleep. It’s the sudden throb of burning heat at the side of his neck that shatters the illusion of bliss.

What exactly had he done?

Duo tries, and fails, to get up, finding himself hindered by a heavy arm—Heero’s arm—draped over his waist. It weighs him down and keeps Duo in place, his back fitted snugly against Heero’s chest.

In the moments that follow as he lays there, trapped, Duo makes several realizations.

The first is that his heat has broken. He’s thinking clearly and despite being enveloped in warmth, this warmth has an… external source. The second is that this heat did not pass on it’s own, if the warm body beside him is any indication. And the third, judging from the dull ache of heat at the junction of his neck and shoulder, is that an alpha’s mark was the thing to break it.

The weight of what he’s done crashes into Duo like tidal waves, and he can only groan. Honestly, what did he think was going to happen? Duo had played with fire and now he has the fucking burns to show for it. Really, he only has himself to blame.

Somehow, Duo manages to worm his way out of Heero’s binding embrace to sit up, ignoring the overwhelming soreness everywhere as he does. It strikes him then just how bare his neck feels, aside from the mark, and when his hands scramble up to his throat he realizes it’s his crucifix that’s missing. He doesn’t even remember taking it off, but then, Duo has done a lot of things in these last few hours that he can’t seem to remember.

It’s not like he has any business wearing something like that now, anyways. It’s not like he ever has.

But it’s not important. He can punish himself for this later; now, there are more pressing matters to attend. Duo heaves a deep, sobering sigh before he musters the courage to look at Heero, still soundly asleep, and when he does, his stomach sinks.

How is Duo going to apologize for this? How will he ever be able to atone for what he’s done? As if seducing his partner were not enough, Duo had somehow coerced Heero into forging a life bond, all because he had been too selfish and stupid to deny himself this release. Because when Heero’s lips were at his ear, begging for him, wanting for him, Duo could never have denied him.

But this was not some drunken hook-up that would be forgotten with enough time and distance to numb the memory. This was permanent; irreversible. This was forever. How Duo could have eternally cursed the one man he loves more than anything, he’ll never be able to understand. He’ll never be able to forgive himself.

If Heero were to wake and try to kill him for this, Duo doesn’t think he could blame him. He isn’t entirely sure he’d even try to fight him off.

Duo stiffens when Heero stirs, apparently displeased at the absence of warmth in his arms. Heero opens his eyes then, still bleary from sleep, and when their eyes meet, Duo can’t stop the stream of words that spill unbidden from his swollen lips.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. “God, Heero, I am so fucking sorry, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what got into me, I don’t know how I could have… I’m so sorry for—for—”

Whatever he’s babbling is cut off when Heero reaches up, snakes a hand around the back of Duo’s neck, and tugs him back down to bed. He’s too weak to resist and falls heavily back into the pillows.

“Don’t worry about that,” Heero murmurs, soft, as he pulls Duo into his chest. “Just come back to bed.”

Duo is so stunned that, for a moment, he doesn’t respond; he just lays there, wide-eyed, like he’s been slapped. How can Heero be so blasé about this? Does he not remember what happened between them? Or, if he does, did it mean so little to him that he isn’t even upset about it? 

Or, perhaps worst of all, has he done this so many times that it doesn’t even faze him any more?

Any of those would make Duo feel insulted beyond belief, though he really has no right to be. Right now, going back to sleep like Heero wants is far more appealing than worrying about any of this, but Duo can’t allow himself to even consider the offer.

Once again, Duo struggles out of Heero’s embrace, pushing himself upright. Flustered, Duo tries to blow his tousled bangs back from his eyes as he sets his gaze on the man lying beside him. “How can you even think about sleeping right now? After… what happened, aren’t you upset? Aren’t you…” Disgusted? Horrified? “Aren’t you angry?” 

Only when it becomes clear that Duo is not going to acquiesce to his wishes does Heero sigh and sit up. He looks tired, but not unduly so, not the way that Duo feels. What kind of stamina is this guy working with? If he weren’t so absolutely shell-shocked, Duo might be impressed.

Heero rakes a hand through his disheveled hair then, and even rumpled from sleep he looks so striking, somehow. With rays of sun casting light and shadow over bronzed skin, just the sight of him alone is blinding. 

Watching him, Duo silently wonders how he can have the gall to admire Heero, even now, after what he’s done.

“No,” Heero says blandly. “Why would I be angry?”

It’s all Duo can do not to gawk at him. He kind of feels like he’s going insane. “You… You remember what happened, right?” He’s a little afraid to hear Heero’s answer. “What we did?”

He nearly startles at Heero’s soft huff of a laugh, and the corner of his lips twitch into something not unlike a smile. Duo isn’t used to this. He feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. At least an angry Heero would be easy to understand, but he doesn’t know what to make of this gentle, affectionate person sitting in front of him.

“Yes, Duo, I remember. I’d be hard pressed to forget something like that.”

The words aren’t cruel. He says it fondly, like he really means it. Duo silently searches Heero’s face for some trace of contempt but there’s no anger there, either; he looks vaguely amused and still a little tired, but otherwise content.

It’s not what Duo had been expecting, not at all. He briefly explores the possibility that this is some lingering aftereffect of heat, or this new mark, or some other aphrodisiac clouding sanity from Heero’s mind, but that seems unlikely, too.

So what’s the meaning of this, then? Who is this kind, doting man in front of him, and where the hell is Heero Yuy? What had become of the man for whom smiles were rare and laughs even rarer, and who is this person looking at Duo like he’d hung up the moon?

For years, Duo has longed for this. Longed for these tender touches and loving looks. But now that he has them, he can’t begin to understand the meaning of it all.

“Oh,” says Duo, because it’s all he can manage without fully breaking down. “Okay.”

When Heero lifts a hand to caress his long fringe, Duo surprises himself when he doesn’t flinch from it. “You’re a mess,” Heero tells him softly, but it doesn’t sound like a criticism, even as he sweeps a stray lock behind Duo’s ear. “Let me help you with your hair.”

Of all the things Heero could’ve asked of him, Duo had not even considered this. The offer scares him a little, so he manages to school his features into a wry smile as a familiar gleam returns to his eyes. “Got a thing for hair, huh?”

Heero falters at that, just for a split second. It’s the same kind of flustered he’d been when Duo had moaned with his cheek in Heero’s palm, and now Duo is the one getting embarrassed just thinking about it. He wonders what Heero’s been doing if he can fuck Duo senseless without breaking a sweat, yet this is what’s got him hot and bothered.

“That’s… not it,” Heero says carefully, but Duo is already beaming at him.

“Oh, you totally do,” Duo leers as he leans forward, and his grin turns triumphant. He wonders if that’s what this is all about; if it’s the hair that Heero’s attracted to, and not Duo. He wonders if Heero would still want him if it were cut off. He wonders if Heero would still find him beautiful.

“Only because it’s yours,” Heero concedes, with such sincerity that it’s hard to argue with him.

Well. Maybe he would, then.

Duo deflates a little, feeling his cheeks warm. Oh, what the hell. This isn’t something he’d ever ordinarily allow, but with the amount of forbidden acts he’d permitted last night, it feels almost absurd to deny Heero this. “Alright, sure,” he laughs helplessly, because this entire operation has already gone off the rails, anyways. “Why not?”

Heero rises from the bed then, and it occurs to Duo that he’s probably going to retrieve the brush he’d thrown at him the night before. His face heats at the thought; how he’d ever been desperate enough to think that would work, he isn’t sure. But when Heero stands, still unclothed, it’s the sight of his broad back that leaves Duo stricken.

The numerous inflamed, red scratches criss-crossed against tanned skin are a shock, not because they’re particularly gruesome or unsightly, but because Duo doesn’t remember making them. At all. Had he really been so far gone that he hadn’t realized what he was doing? Barring the possibility of a particularly agitated housecat taking out its anger on Heero during the night, it seems like the only explanation.

It makes Duo wonder what else he’s forgotten. If he’d unknowingly done something to spur this change in Heero—from the perfect soldier he’s always known to this gentle lover in front of him—and he just can’t remember it now.

While he had been certifiably out of his mind for most of their evening, Duo remembers it well enough, at least up until he’d let Heero mark him. He fixates on that. With his inhibitions lost to him, Duo must’ve said something truly stupid that landed him in this mess, living out this fantasy his waking mind has no business being a part of.

The bed sinks when Heero settles behind him and Duo tries not to tense. He wants to ask Heero to be careful but that feels kind of silly; with all that his body has been through in the past few hours, Duo is sure that he can endure at least this much. 

But there’s no need to ask, anyways. Heero is exceedingly gentle with him; his fingertips fleetingly graze flushed skin as he gathers the long hair into his hands, setting it loose over Duo’s back. He starts with the ends, too—like he knows what he’s doing.

Duo tosses a suspicious look back over one shoulder. “How’d you know to do it like that?”

Heero snorts an almost-laugh. “I’ve watched you do it enough times.” His fingertips linger on Duo’s cheek as he brushes hair back from his eyes. “It’d be remiss of me not to notice.”

Now Duo is sure that he’s dreaming. Watched him? What the hell? While they’ve certainly spent a lot of time together these past few years, sharing safe houses and hotel rooms, brushing one’s hair is a rather intimate act and Duo had never accounted for witnesses. He never thought Heero would have even noticed something like that. Or, if he did, Duo certainly never thought he’d care.

“Oh,” Duo says again, because apparently that’s the only response he’s capable of anymore. Duo clears his throat and tries for something vaguely more articulate. 

“Um, look, Heero,” he starts, but it’s hard to manage intelligent thought when those hands are in his hair. Heero’s touch has always been enough to make Duo come undone, but it’s different now. He’s so good at this; so gentle, as if Duo’s hair is precious to him. As if Duo is precious to him. Heero’s fingertips caress the nape of his neck as he carefully gathers the soft strands curling there, and Duo has to stifle a gasp.

Suddenly, he finds himself wanting for another cold shower.

“Look,” Duo tries again, wincing when his voice almost cracks. Has he not embarrassed himself enough? “I know I must have said and done a lot of stupid shit last night, and I’m really sorry. About all of this. You have every right to be angry with me.”

There’s silence from Heero then, a momentary stillness to his hands. Duo holds his breath.

“You’re sorry?” Heero asks.

After what he’s done, Duo doesn’t know how he could be anything else. He’d ruined Heero’s life, just as he ruins everything he touches, turns it all to ash. Taken his body, his bond, and probably his career too, because fraternization has never been acceptable in their line of work and even they won’t be exceptions to that.

“Yeah,” he exhales. Duo is suddenly very glad he does not have to look Heero in the eyes to have this conversation. “I am. Like, I really wasn’t myself, but that’s still no excuse—”

“You didn’t mean it, then?”

Didn’t mean it? Didn’t mean what? “What?” Duo feels his own breath quicken. “I—I don’t know what you’re—”

Heero’s hand comes up to the line of his jaw, brushing against soft skin, and he gently angles Duo’s head just enough to force their eyes to meet. There’s something intense about Heero’s steely gaze, something that sends a shiver down Duo’s spine.

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

Duo’s mouth goes dry.

Of course, he would’ve said that. Of course, Duo is not allowed to retain even the barest essence of his dignity. That he could be this pathetic—the naive, virgin omega spouting love confessions after his first proper fuck—is just too much to bear. He almost wishes that Heero would just knock him out now and get it over with.

He wishes his words had been anything but the truth.

“Of course I did,” Duo says softly, and means it.

And just like that, Heero softens. His features relax, and for a moment his thumb ghosts over Duo’s lower lip, still a little swollen and flushed with color. Then, Heero releases Duo from his grasp, and goes right back to what he had been doing before.

It leaves Duo feeling, once again, like he’d been slapped.

“Good,” says Heero, sounding rather pleased. He strokes through Duo’s hair with the brush and the whiplash of it all is nearly enough to make Duo shut down.

“You’re not upset?” Duo croaks out. He can’t even begin to consider why that is. Duo can’t allow himself to imagine why Heero is so oddly at ease with this. It’s not an option.

“I’m not,” Heero says, and when he rightly guesses that Duo doesn’t believe him, adds, “I mean it.”

No amount of reassurance will ever convince Duo that this is somehow normal, but he’ll just have to pretend, at least for now. “You seemed so angry, at first,” he murmurs, soft. “I really thought you were gonna…” Duo laughs under his breath. “I don’t know… beat the shit out of me?”

A pause. “Absolutely not,” Heero says stiffly, like he’s offended at the mere suggestion. “I told you I would never hurt you.”

Duo huffs out a sad little laugh. “Then what? It’s fine, I’m not blaming you or anything, I just don’t see what else—”

“It was dangerous,” is what he says instead. Duo can feel Heero sifting the heavy mass of his hair into even parts, and silently wonders if he even knows how to braid it. “I was just thinking about what could have happened.”

“What could’ve happened,” Duo says slowly.

There’s a sound of frustration from behind him, a sigh. “I could not have watched someone else… have you.”

Duo considers that, for a moment. So Heero wasn’t angry at Duo for jeopardizing a mission, for posing some imagined threat with the weakness of his condition. He was angry for him, thinking of what could’ve happened to Duo in the wrong place at the wrong time, thinking of someone else touching him, taking him—

Because maybe Heero had wanted him all along.

“Oh,” Duo ekes out. He cannot imagine this. He cannot imagine Heero wanting him for any reason past instinct. Any alpha would be weak before an omega in heat. That is all this is; that is all this will ever be. Duo feels himself flush in spite of it all. “I can hold my own, you know.”

“I don’t doubt your abilities,” Heero assures, and Duo can feel him weaving the strands of his hair together, fumbling with it only once or twice as he does. “I’ve seen you at your best. But… when you’re like this…”

There’s no need for him to finish. Duo knows he’s not much use to anyone when he’s a literal and figurative hot mess, but he still feels a little put-out, somehow. The stupid, mindless omega who can’t even keep himself alive—that’s all he is to Heero. “I guess,” he grumbles to himself.

He doesn’t get the chance to lick his wounds, because then Heero drapes the finished braid over his bare shoulder, and Duo turns to look at it.

It’s not perfect—this, at least, is one thing Heero certainly has not done before—but it’s not bad. There are some untamable flyaways slipping free from the heavy plait, and it’s a little lopsided, looser in some places than in others. But for a first effort, it really isn’t bad, and then there’s the fact that Heero cared enough to even try…

“Not bad,” Duo says, unable to fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. He flicks his hair back over one shoulder as he looks back to Heero and adds, teasing, “could use some work, though.”

But Heero takes it all in stride, barely bats an eyelash. “I’ll get better,” he says, “if you’ll let me.” And that sucks all the hot air right out of Duo’s chest.

“Heero…” he starts to protest, but the man in question is already up and moving, heading for his discarded clothes on the floor by the foot of the bed.

 “Are you cold?” Heero asks, and Duo wants to protest more but he is a little cold with the blanket of his hair bound back, so he nods and takes the shirt when offered. It had been big on Heero so it’s no surprise that it’s absolutely huge on him; Duo is swimming in swathes of fabric and comforting scent, and when he finally breaches the surface he can see that Heero’s gotten dressed, too. 

He’s wearing those sweatpants again, and he looks so tall and strapping like this, all light and warmth, that Duo can feel his throat tightening just from looking at him. “Heero, I can’t stay,” he starts again. “Shit, I shouldn’t even still be here…”

“What?” Heero steps towards him, brows drawn tense with concern. “You’re not leaving.” 

It’s not a command, but a statement—a fact. He says it like it’s obvious, and Duo doesn’t usually take to being ordered around but he is so tired, and it would be so easy to just let Heero take control of everything. But Duo has always been on his own and it’s for the best if it stays that way. He can’t drag Heero down with him, not more than he already has. “And what are you, my fucking keeper?” he scoffs, but there’s no real venom behind it.

“I am your mate, ” Heero says, and just hearing that aloud makes Duo’s whole body tense. Mate. That’s what they are to each other, now. Not partners, not even lovers—but mates. “And I am concerned. Why do you want to leave, Duo? What good will that do?”

Heero sits in front of him and now Duo has no excuse not to look at him. “Well it’s not like I can go back,” he mutters. “Heero, do you have any idea what they would do to me?” 

There’s a reason people like him don’t work at places like Preventer, much less in active duty. It doesn’t matter if Duo’s well liked, whether he's a friend, colleague, or coworker—they would eat him alive.  

Duo would be lucky if all they did was fire him, and even then where would he go? With a tarnished record and no prospects to speak of, he knows there’s nothing for him. Duo knows he’ll end up right back in the gutter, right where he started.

There’s a tightening to Heero’s jaw then, drawing Duo from his ruminations, and he speaks slowly, looking into Duo’s eyes as he does. “I would kill anyone who even thinks of touching you.”

Duo’s stomach flips, and suddenly he is very glad that he’s sitting down because hearing that might just be enough to do him in. “I’d kinda prefer to avoid all that,” he says as he tugs Heero’s shirt down over his bare thighs, looking down to hide his blush. “I think it’d be better for everyone if I just go.”

Heero considers him, for a moment. Duo braces himself for some sort of fight, but it never comes. “Alright,” he says, eerily calm. “Then I will come with you.”

Suddenly, Duo feels lightheaded. “What?” he asks. What is he talking about?

“Wherever you want to go, I’ll come with you.” Heero speaks slowly and surely, leaving no room for doubt in his words. “I would follow you anywhere.”

Duo can’t process this. This mark, this wretched, sacred thing between them—it’s not supposed to mean anything. And yet here is Heero, acting like some doting husband, as ready to plan a travel itinerary as he is to plan their lives together.

He talks as if Duo is his. It makes Duo wonder if it wasn’t so insane to want Heero to be his, too.

“What about your job?” Duo asks, but it sounds half-hearted even to his own ears.

Heero sort of scoffs at him, but the look in his eyes is gentle. “What about it? Do you think that means anything to me now?”

Duo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know how to imagine a future with Heero at his side, doesn’t know if he dares to. Duo is not destined to have the people he loves in his life, and believing he does will only result in heartache.

When he doesn’t respond, Heero finds Duo’s hand with his own and lifts it to his lips, then drops a tender kiss to the back of it, aching with restraint.

“I love you,” Heero says. “And I finally have you. I’m not letting you go.”

Duo goes very still, hand in Heero’s, feeling as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. This was never supposed to happen; this was never supposed to be possible for him, for either of them. Duo knows this, and yet those words from Heero are enough to flood him with warmth, enough to make the prickle of tears return to his eyes.

Duo knows he can’t lie to him now.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, so softly that he half hopes Heero won’t hear. But despite his words, he knows that he is not worthy of Heero’s love, that this isn’t something he’s meant to have. And Duo opens his mouth to tell him so, but then Heero moves in to kiss him, and suddenly it doesn’t seem so important anymore.

It’s not like it had been when Heero kissed him last night, fraught with hunger and want; this is gentle and unbearably sweet, so selfless that it makes Duo’s chest ache. Heero pulls back after just a moment, and Duo is struck then by how bare the longing is in his crystalline eyes, how open and unguarded his oft impassive features seem now.

It seems so absurd to him. Mister perfect soldier, mister do-or-die; the man who always prioritizes the mission above all else, looking at Duo now like nothing matters in the world but him.

“I am not a mission, you know,” Duo says quietly. He is not something that Heero can just fix, like crossed wires. He shouldn’t have to, either; it will never be that simple with Duo. He wouldn’t wish himself on anyone.

“I know,” Heero tells him anyway. “That doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you.”

The words have Duo flushing bright red. God, what the fuck had he been thinking with that one? He really is an idiot, he can’t believe that is what he fell for—

Duo’s tirade is cut off by the kiss Heero drops to his forehead. It paralyzes him, and like a cornered rabbit Duo stills, frozen with terror. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to run from this. For the first time in years, Duo doesn’t know what to do now.

“You must be exhausted,” Heero comments idly, as if he hasn’t just shaken Duo’s entire world off its axis. Then Heero’s fingers slip from his grasp, and he reaches out to cup Duo’s face in his hand. “I’ll go and make you something to eat.”

Duo can only watch as Heero gets up and makes to leave the room. He shifts a little, feeling uncomfortable suddenly, then his leg nudges at something cold and his eyes widen at the realization.

He finds his crucifix in the sheets, letting the cool metal fit into the palm of his hand. It seems like something that could burn, like it’s obscene for him to even touch it. The clasp is broken, but Duo isn’t sure he’d wear it even if it weren’t. Someone like him doesn’t even have the right.

But Duo has to ask himself; is that really so bad? He might be this disgusting, sinful thing, but Heero still wants him, in spite of that. No, not in spite of it—it’s as though he loves this part of Duo too, in all of its depravity and ugliness. Heero, who sees all of him and wants all of him, too, no matter what that entails.

For the first time, Duo truly wonders if he can allow himself to have this. If he can allow himself to be cared for, and maybe even loved. There’s no changing what they’ve done to each other now, so why shouldn’t he? Why should he run from Heero, who’s seen all the things Duo’s desperately tried to hide, and loves him for them anyways?

Even if it means embracing his sins, Duo won’t run from a man who loves him, and who he loves in turn.

He lets the broken chain slip from his fingertips.

“Wait,” Duo cries out when Heero’s almost at the door. “Wait, I…” he fumbles over his words, but even embarrassment won’t deter him now. “I, uh… I don’t think I can make it on my own.” Duo has walked through sprained ankles, broken legs and gunshot wounds; he has managed far worse with far less. But then again, Heero always has had a way of making Duo weak at the knees. “Will you help me?”

For the first time, he catches a smile tugging at Heero’s lips. Not just a smirk or a chuckle, but something raw, something real, and as he comes closer the fluttering wingbeats of Duo’s own heart are impossible to ignore. 

Heero speaks softly, like he’s still worried he’ll scare Duo off. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “Come here.”

And when Heero offers his hand, Duo takes it.