A Little Death
...immediate termination upon event of capture...
The hands holding his arms gripped him with bruising force. Duo struggled against them out of habit more than with any expectation that he could actually break free. What he really wanted to do was laugh. It was funny, really, just how many things had gone wrong with what should have been a fairly routine reconnaissance mission.
The order had come a few days ago, pinging up on Heero’s laptop like any ordinary, innocuous e-mail. Surreptitiously, Duo had watched the Japanese boy as he’d answered the summons. Watching Heero wasn’t an unusual activity for him. Ever since first seeing those unusually vibrant, blue eyes on that windy pier, he’d done little else. Fortunately, his natural stealth had held him in good stead and his little staring problem, thus far, had gone unnoticed.
Duo had been lounging on the decrepit sofa that passed for furniture in their latest safe house, playing idly with his braid when Heero’s grunt had caught his attention.
“It’s for you,” he’d said, voice modulated with its usual monotone directness.
“Huh?” Duo had swung his long legs from over the arm of the sofa and had risen gracefully to his feet. He’d joined the other boy, peering over his shoulder at the glowing screen. His braid had fallen over his shoulder to lay across Heero’s arm and Duo didn’t bother trying to move it. Better to enjoy whatever physical contact he could get, superficial though it may have been.
“You have an assignment,” Heero had explained. His arm had shifted under the weight of the entwined hair, but not enough to dislodge it. “Surveillance on a new, OZ manufacturing facility. They may be making new mobile suits.”
“I can read, you know,” Duo had joked. The Wing pilot didn’t respond, but had let him peruse the specs without further comment. Heero had already finished reading the message and Duo could feel the other boy’s eyes resting on his face while he internalized the mission parameters.
He glanced over, briefly, at his partner. Heero’s face was as emotionless as ever, but there was something indefinable lurking within his hooded gaze. He had the sudden impression that the Japanese boy was trying to hide something. Puzzled, Duo continued to read the message. And then, he saw it, the words hidden innocently amongst a description of the terrain around the facility.
...high mountains surrounding the plant will provide ideal cover for vehicular approach. Land one mile southwest of the facility and travel on foot to the loading dock located thirty feet to the west of the main entrance. Execute mission at night to maximize cover. Facility is not heavily guarded but immediate termination upon event of capture will be mandatory...
Duo had finished reading the message, trying desperately to conceal the shiver that had gone through him at the unsubtle instructions. If he was going to be doing the reconnaissance, there was only one person who would be able to carry out that last command. He’d glanced at his silent companion, who had looked away to re-read the mission specs. If he were captured, Heero would come for him, gun in hand. Duo felt himself getting hard at the very thought of the possibility.
And captured he’d been. He’d used a stolen Jeep to reach the manufacturing plant, as ordered. His approach to the facility had been executed with his usually, stealthy expertise. But, when he’d reached the loading dock, he’d crouched in the dark cover of nearby bushes, cursing whoever had gathered the intel for this place.
“Not heavily guarded, my ass,” he’d murmured, counting no less than forty troops waiting at this entrance alone. He was supposed to sneak into the hanger at the far end of the loading dock, plant a microbug and camera, gather what information he could on whatever OZ was cooking up, and get out. Duo had been pondering how he would deal with the unexpected number of troops and still complete his mission when the strap on his backpack suddenly gave way, dumping the pack to the ground.
Cursing the shoddy material of the strap, and himself for being too cheap to get a new backpack when he’d had the chance, Duo had grabbed up the sack, as though trying belatedly to absorb the noise the clinking equipment inside had made as the pack fell to the ground. But it had been too late. For once, the Ozies had been on their game and they quickly located the source of the unexpected sound, finding it, and him, with annoying efficiency.
Now, he was begin hauled to some cell to await interrogation by the base commander. That he’d been expecting. What he hadn’t expected was for the two men guarding him to strip him of every stitch of clothing he wore before tossing him into the Spartan enclosure.
“You fucking pervs!” he yelled. Laughter floated through the door and he sighed, shivering as the cold metal of the floor and the colder air slowly leeched the heat from his skin. The bunk was blessedly covered with a thick blanket and he huddled on it, seeking relief from the chill.
‘Well, this is it,’ he thought. ‘I’ve been captured, and now, he’ll come.’
Duo shivered again, though this time, the cold wasn’t the sole cause. Heero would come, armed, ready to deliver that final kiss of death to his screw up of a partner. Duo had no doubt that the Wing pilot would make an appearance. His death had been written into the mission parameters, and Heero was ever a slave to duty.
Just like he had when he’d first read the order, the braided boy felt a stirring in his cock. He couldn’t help it, any more than he could help reaching down with a hand, slowly, as though trying to hide the movement from himself. His fingers brushed over his growing hardness and he let his head lean again the cell wall as he repressed a sigh.
Ever since first meeting the enigmatic Heero Yuy, he’d lived with this constant ache, this shameful need that he dared not speak. Even that first time, when he’d seen the other boy holding a gun on that blond girl, he’d felt it. He’d shot Heero to save the girl but it had been nothing more than a reflex. Causing the other boy injury had been the furthest thing from his mind.
Duo knew what it was that so fascinated him. Or rather, he knew the main reason. Heero had stood there holding the pistol, the dark, gray metal reflecting the cold blue of his eyes, and the braided pilot was lost. Even more than Heero’s prowess, more than his reluctant beauty, it was that symbol of death, resting so comfortably in his strong hand, that made Duo ache. It was that damn gun that had made him almost say, ‘Screw the girl.’ It had called to him, whispering dark secrets that he could only concede in his most secret dreams. He’d stood on that dock, wanting nothing more than for the strange, Asian boy to fuck him until he screamed.
Resigning himself, Duo lied down, stretching out fully on the hard cot, the cool air on his heated skin becoming almost pleasant. He let one hand drift over the long line of his throat, over his peaked nipples, over his flat stomach, teasing himself with light touches. But his other hand was not so complacent. He wrapped it around his, now, fully erect length, stroking himself slowly but in deadly earnest. Thoughts of his quiet partner filled his thoughts, the name, ‘Heero,’ slipping from his lips on a breath, whispering through the stillness of the cell.
He would come, Duo thought, and what would happen then? Would those unfeeling, blue eyes slid along his naked flesh, searching for the most efficient point in which to unload the essence of his gun? The braided pilot increased the speed of his strokes ever so slightly, twisting his hand as it moved up and down his length. His hips began to lift from the cot with nearly imperceptible thrusts. He thought about that gun, as much a part of Heero as his green tank top and spandex shorts, a shield he held between himself and the rest of the world.
How would it feel getting shot? The thought resounded through Duo’s mind, increasing the pulsing throb in his cock that was becoming more and more unbearable. A thin trickle of fluid began to leak from the tip of his shaft and he ran a thumb through the moisture. He hissed as he touched the sensitive head, and rubbed the wetness down the side of the stiff rod of flesh, easing the friction as he caressed himself. He tightened his grip, letting the pressure grow, letting it tingle in his gut and in his toes. Duo reached down with the other hand, grabbing hold of his sack, squeezing it almost painfully. He forgot where he was, locked in an OZ cell, awaiting the “pleasure” of the base commander, as his captors had so euphemistically put it. He tilted his head back, lips parting on a soft cry.
How would it feel? He’d been shot before, plenty of times, but never by Heero. Never by that damned robot of a boy who made him shout out in the night, sheet and hand wet with helpless desire. So many times, as they’d roomed together on some mission or other, Duo had come close to begging for something, anything, that would ease his futile obsession. Surely just one bad fuck would cure him, allowing him to put the Japanese boy in his proper place as a fellow soldier and nothing more. But, what if Heero did fuck him and it was good? What then?
It was nothing more than a pipe dream, in any case. Heero didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘libido’. He was dedicated to the cause with a single-mindedness that Duo found ludicrous. Sure he wanted peace between Earth and the colonies, but not at the expense of his own soul. Of course, he wasn’t sure that his soul was truly his own any longer. Heero apparently had stolen that along with his sanity.
So, how would it feel to get shot by the beautiful, perfect, killing machine? Duo could almost feel the bullet piercing his flesh with remorseless purpose. The agony would be excruciating, filling every corner of his body, making him scream. Yes, it would be incredible and he would accept the hot lead into himself as he longed to take in that one part of Heero he would never have.
His hand moved over his arousal roughly, the motion becoming more frantic as he began to lose control. Duo planted his feet against the cot, spreading his legs to open himself fully to the eyes he imagined were observing his self-debasement. His other hand drifted even lower, teasing at his entrance, his dry finger a poor, painful, substitute as he forced it inside his clenching passage. He imagined that his finger was the bullet and that the bullet was Heero’s cock.
The Wing pilot would come and shoot him with the cold efficiency of an assassin trained since birth. Finally, he would feel that penetration he wanted so desperately, fucked by Heero’s gun.
The other boy’s name fell from Duo’s lips like a prayer, a prayer to Shinigami, whom he claimed as his own. How appropriate that his beloved God of Death should grant him his most fervent wish, even at the sacrifice of his own life. He pushed another finger into his body, whimpering softly as the burning sensation added to the pressure in his throbbing cock.
Duo heard the swish of the cell door opening even through the haze of passion fogging his mind. At last, he thought, his lover had come, not completely certain to which lover he was referring – Heero or his gun. He opened his eyes slowly and turned towards the presence he could feel in the doorway, never ceasing the movement of his hand. Rather, he spread his legs even further, riding his fingers and thrusting his aching cock into his hand with abandon as he offered himself to the icy, blue gaze. Duo glanced towards the silent boy, looking deeply into the unreadable eyes which were caressing every inch of his bared skin.
“I was waiting for you,” he rasped, his voice unable to conceal his desire, his need.
“Where are your clothes?” No hint of emotion dared mar the low-voiced question.
“T-They took them,” Duo answered on a shuddering moaning as his questing fingers found the spot which he’d been seeking. “The commander w-was going to f-fuck me for I-information.” His hips jerked into the air, cock dripping in earnest as his hand moved over the reddened flesh with growing fury.
Heero stood as still as a statue, making no reply. Every line in his motionless form shouted some nameless emotion at which Duo could only guess. Only his shuttered gaze moved, continuing its journey over the expanse of pale skin stretched so wantonly before him. His eyes slid down to the movement of Duo’s hand, as though drawn against its will. His own hands tightened into fists at his side.
Fists of anger? Of jealousy? The braided boy didn’t know or care. If these were to be his last moments of life, there was no risk in letting Heero finally know the truth.
“Did you bring your gun?” Duo breathed. He thrust himself into his tightening grip. He was so close. So close that his entire body was humming with the need for release.
“Hn,” Heero replied, reaching towards the small of his back and retrieving the weapon. The matte, gray surface seemed to absorb all light, robbing the eye of the terror of its true self. He stepped towards the boy writhing in ecstasy on the cot, and pressed the barrel against Duo’s parted, gasping lips. Shooting a target through the mouth, letting the bullet explode through the back of the head, it was an effective tactic. The braided boy licked the barrel in appreciation before drawing the metal tip into his mouth with a moan of pleasure. Heero froze and amethyst eyes drifted towards the growing bulge in the Japanese boy’s shorts.
“Do it, Heero,” he whispered, not stopping his oral worship of the gun. “I’m ready.”
Indecision wavered uncharacteristically in Heero’s eyes. He pulled the gun from Duo’s mouth, ignoring his moan of protest, and let the barrel slide over the braided boy’s slim body. He drug it down the slope of his throat, sheened with sweat, and over the pointed nubs of his nipples in unknowing imitation of Duo’s earlier self-discovery.
Was he looking for an alternate point of attack? Duo groaned, pulling his fingers from his body with a quickness that made him cry out, and grabbed hold of the trespassing shaft of metal. Not trying to guide Heero’s movements, he simply let his hand be led, his hold on the gun his only connection to the other boy. He arched his back, thrusting towards the warming barrel as it traced among the ridges of his abs and moved down the crease of his groin.
A smoldering, blue glare followed the weapon’s progress, Heero’s free hand clenching ever tighter as the braided boy continued to work his cock with fast, jerky strokes. The husky moans echoing from the cold, metal walls had become continuous, filling the air with erotic music. He could feel Duo’s glazed eyes on his face as he moved the gun down then up the pale inside of a gaping thigh.
But the braided boy’s gaze failed when the barrel pressed between the cheeks of his ass, the metal shaft beginning to penetrate the tight passage where his own fingers had so recently been. Was Heero’s finger on the trigger?! Duo gasped, fighting against the need to shout Heero’s name, afraid the weapon would be cruelly taken away. This was it, the answer to his shameful prayers. His heart shouted, his hips thrusting violent from the hard cot as his equally hard cock sought the firm pressure of his hand. He was being fucked by the gun, Heero’s gun. Heero was his gun. Finally, Heero was fucking him...
Duo cried out, spewing his need violently over his hand and stomach, stray drops of his passion falling on the metal shoved so perfectly up his ass. Then the gun was drawn away, shirking away from his outpouring of pleasure, retreating back into its deadly form.
Heero stepped away, moving carefully as though in pain. His eyes flicked away from the boy heaving for breath on the cot just long enough to examine the white droplets marring the smooth surface of his gun. Suddenly, he tensed, alerted by the whining servomotors of the cell door. He was moving towards it before the thought had consciously formed in his dazed mind. He disabled the hapless guard standing outside the open door, drawing the man inside and letting him fall heavily to the floor.
Duo heard nothing of the intrusion or of the other boy’s swift response. His body, twitching slightly in the aftermath of his powerful release, was sapped of all strength, knowing only the bliss of completion. It was a good day to die, he decided, waiting patiently for the sound of the silencer that would herald the end of his earthly concerns. He started as a pair of pants landed on his chest. He looked over at Heero, his amethyst eyes reflecting his confusion as the Japanese boy efficiently stripped the guard.
“Get dressed,” Heero said, not looking in Duo’s direction until he’d freed the downed guard from his shirt. The shirt followed the trajectory of the pants and he finally looked up, meeting the other boy’s curious expression. “Hurry up,” he urged in a pointed monotone. He raised his gun, still speckled with spots of white, as the braided pilot threw on the proffered attire.
As soon as Duo had adjusted the cuffs on the pants and sleeves of the too large uniform, he lifted his head, indicating his readiness. His gaze, teaming with puzzlement, flitted from the gun to Heero’s composed face. The Japanese boy glanced at him and their eyes met for an endless moment, the knowledge of the unfulfilled command hanging between them. Though his expression was calm, Heero’s blue gaze spoke a multitude of deep, dark whispers that sparked new life in Duo’s spent flesh. Wide eyed, he glanced down to the prominent bulge in the other boy’s shorts before looking up again. The Wing pilot just stared, making sure that Duo understood the silent missive before keying the release on the door.
As he followed Heero from the cell, Duo was only able to commit half of his thoughts to the necessities of escape. The other half were mired in a sea of growing hope, hope that he would soon receive what Heero’s eyes had promised with unstated eloquence. Hope that, at last, he would receive the one thing he wanted most from the Perfect Solder.
A little death...