Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing; the many respective owners do. This story is not for profit as I have yet to see a check addressed to me in the mail.

Author’s Notes: Started out as a PWP, then sort of developed a little plot, just a smidge. Yeah, that’s it. Also got the inspiration for this story from Jana’s “zero doesn't tell.”

Chapter 1 - In the Hangar
by syrupjunkie

Duo had always had a sense of curiosity that seemed to get him in trouble. Little things that he wanted to know that got him into some really bad situations. This was currently one of them, though it was the good kind of bad. The really good kind of bad. The kind of bad that made you want to be quite bad.

It had started with innocent words, a simple question. He figured he’d get a simple straightforward boring answer. Reading, mission reports, fixing Wing, but he didn’t expect the kind of shifty, rigid evasion he’d gotten when he asked what Heero what he did when everyone else was away on missions. When the Wing pilot stiffened up, coughed out a throat clearing ‘ahem’ and answered with his monotone, ‘nothing much,’ Duo’s curiosity peaked. He was hooked, and he was ready to go out dressing up like Sherlock Holmes and sniffing the clues until he found out the truth. So began the case of The Mystery of Heero’s Hobby.

It wasn’t as if it was really a mystery. Duo knew his fellow pilots inside and out, hours and hours of silent observation that slowly assembled into a profile. A few modifications here and there, but he had them all pretty much figured out, how’d they react to certain things, what they preferred to do, and most importantly the extent of their loyalty. It wasn’t a quiet meaningless exercise to get inside their heads; it was survival. If Duo had learned anything on L2, it was that you had to learn everything about someone else before you could place even a little trust in them. If you didn’t, you’d probably get fucked over, sometimes literally.

As it was, he knew what drove the other pilots, what each one was hiding behind their war faces. That’s what drew him to Heero. Heero didn’t know it, but he was going to be someone important in Duo’s life. His unwillingness to kill Relena, to kill Duo. Yes, there was kindness in him, there was some basic component to compassion. And the way he went on missions, the unblinking self-sacrifice and cool efficiency. He was emotionally strong, stronger than his altered body. It all made him the perfect candidate for a position of trust in Duo’s life. And the fact that he was fucking hot in that tank top and spandex and could turn Duo on with a well-directed scowl didn’t hurt a bit.

It was a pointless mystery really, but as Duo figured, there really wasn’t anything else do these days except the war. Might as well get some fun out of his teenage years before they disappeared. Of course he pretty much knew the answer to his quest; Heero would be doing something that would most likely bore you out of your mind. But at least it would be kind of interesting to find which exact boring thing he was doing. Maybe it could even be an embarrassing boring thing that could fuel hours of teasing.

So Duo started to craft his plan, began preparing as Wufei first bid them goodbye when he left for the kind of operation that sounded like a long one. Then when Sandrock and Heavyarms were conscripted into another mission, his plans began to fall swiftly into place. The only thing left was to put all his hope into getting a mission himself. Sure, it would’ve been easier to lie and just take off telling Heero he had a mission, then backtrack and hide and spy on him. But that would’ve been lying, and if anything else, Duo Maxwell did not lie. That didn’t mean he didn’t bend the truth when he got the chance though. Call it residual survival instinct from his childhood. So when he got the blessed mission assignment, he sent his acceptance posthaste and set his plan in motion.

First a few obvious signs of going on a mission, packing a bag of extra supplies, doing a bit of research and then informing Heero of his leave. A little slip of the tongue hoping that Heero didn’t run out of food while he was gone, showing off his backpack with over a week’s worth of rations, rattling on about why he hated long missions. Everything he said was true of course; he did hate long missions, and he sincerely hoped Heero wouldn’t run out of food while he was gone and he did need some rations. He only left out the part that his mission really only required one afternoon, but since Heero didn’t ask, like Duo knew he wouldn’t, everything was hunky dory. He was sure he’d be able to solve his little mystery by tonight.

The mission went as easy as he expected it to, quick reconnaissance about an OZ base, a few bugs planted here and there and some quick sabotage of some mobile units. Nothing big, and it was simple enough to let his mind wander and wonder what Heero was currently doing at the moment. Most likely something mission related or something equally efficient and logical. All boring so he let his imagination give him fun images of Heero sitting cross-legged in front of a roaring fire knitting baby booties. He almost laughed at that one or the one where Heero was wrapped in a pink frilly apron standing in front of the stove and pouting over a burnt sauce. Then there was a decidedly delicious one with Heero skidding across the living room in his spandex singing to the radio into a hairbrush. Ah, good old American movies… Who would scorn the classics?

The house was quiet when Duo snuck in through the basement window. Wouldn’t serve to have the quarry notified of his arrival would it? He stealthily checked the rooms, but found them empty. He’d half expected this. Sometime on the ride back, he’d come to the conclusion that Heero would most likely be fixing Wing; it seemed the most Heero-like thing to do. Gruff, manly, yet robotic and responsible. Very Heero-like indeed.

Duo crept out the back door towards the warehouse where their Gundams were currently hidden. Figures Quatre could get such a massive building erected so quickly; he was one rich bastard after all.

The door was ajar when Duo reached it, the slanting setting afternoon sun slicing triangular orange patches across the concrete floor. With timed and soft footsteps, he skulked slowly along the darkened semi-shadows, moving like liquid to crouch down behind some shipping crates. He sank slowly onto the packing straw and peeked warily over the tops of the wooden boxes. He was greeted with confirmation of a known fact. There was Heero seated in Wing’s cockpit, shirtless and bent over polishing the clutch.

Duo almost stood up then. He’d solved his little mystery, pretty much as expected. Heero working on Wing when everyone else was gone. Big surprise there. It was predictable and it strangely made Duo feel just a little more safe. He began to straighten his legs from the crouch when he stopped and frowned, scrutinizing Heero’s movements more closely. The Wing pilot was still bent over oiling the clutch, fingers grasping and smoothing something over the lever. Seemed normal enough, except he was using an excessive amount of lotion. Surely the grip didn’t need to be that soft right?

And then it happened, the kind of thing that happens in one split second, that changes one’s day from routine to unbelievable. It was also the moment when he found himself trapped between the proverbial rock and the hard place, which incidentally became a very good adjective suddenly.

Heero in one unselfconscious movement had straightened up and leaned back against the cushion of his chair. His head back, something else coming up. Duo watched, riveted, noting abstractedly his mouth bursting into flames and drying up like burnt toast. Heero wasn’t wearing anything, no spandex shorts, no underwear. Only a blank look and a spectacular erection. It sprung up quickly, taking its place in rising towards the sky, towering like a beacon of sex and lust and passion.

Later Duo would confess that that one sight caused something in his head to pop, probably a blood vessel. A gentle haze drifted over his eyes afterward and left him fixed on Heero’s aroused state, desperately trying to wet his lips with a sandy tongue. It became even worse when Heero spread and propped his legs up on control console, leaning even farther back in invitation of a non-existent lover. It was with a surge of bubbling stomach-turning fire that Duo drank in the sight fully. Heero. Laid back. Legs spread looking ready for sex. Cleft of his ass in front of a heavily lubricated clutch.

Oh shit. Another blood vessel gave way at this new realization, this time somewhere in the region of his sinus cavity. Heero wasn’t going to… He couldn’t… Duo’s brain was somewhere between jello and mashed bananas, threatening to liquefy and drip through any available orifice. His head felt even lighter when Heero slid his seat forward, making his intention that much clearer. If Duo hadn’t lost the ability to breathe, he might have let out a lusty groan as Heero positioned himself careful before the clutch, coated synthetic rubber grip fitting snugly up against his entrance.

Duo panted to make up for lost air, unheeding of his own erection pounding and throbbing. The discomfort went unnoticed at the sound of Heero’s quiet hiss. He had slid his seat forward again, passing the black tip into his body. It was arousing as hell. Duo, cramped and agonizingly excited, felt the need to get closer, to see in detail Heero’s face and smell the bleachy scent of sex as he made Wing fuck him. Fortunately, his instinct of self-preservation kept him hidden, secretly watching Heero bury himself fully on the lever, still for a moment then use his strong legs to push the seat back and draw out the bar.

It continued on like this for what seemed like days. Duo’s breath had long since disappeared into shallow little gasps of air, only to have them hitch in his throat when Heero picked up the pace, nearly slamming himself against the penetrating object. His strangled moans floated breathlessly through the hangar, little growling ‘nnns’ of what was undoubtedly raw explosive pleasure. Duo almost felt it himself, imagining the finger grip ridges teasing Heero’s inner walls, prodding against his pleasure center, simulating glorious rough sex.

The act itself transfixed Duo, but something else intrigued what was left of his conscious mind. Heero’s hands were braced on the armrests, squeezing and crushing. All the while, his erection went untouched, thrust and pointed up towards the heavens entirely ignored. Duo’s body screamed with the thought of imagining what unbearable pleasure was coursing through Heero, reciricling through his veins with no outlet of relief. Why would Heero try to withstand it, being used so roughly, pleasured so completely and not being able to expel it to a controllable level?

There wasn’t time for an answer. When a particularly deep thrust landed Heero’s ass flat against the buttoned control panel, Duo’s body rebelled, spilling his own untouched release into his pants. The orgasm took over his vision for a while, blackened the sides of his vision as he death-gripped the wooden crates to keep his balance. The waves kept rolling, strong deep body shaking waves that made his insides quiver and muscles clench. Near the end, his eyes began to refocus, in time to watch Heero’s body jerk and explode with his own relief. A thick strained, arousing as sin, raspy scream tore its way across the building and converged in Duo’s crotch. Heero’s seed flew every which way, splattering and bubbling and dripping, marking each surface it touched.

Duo lost the fight with his muscles at the sight, sinking bonelessly into the straw, Heero’s sated form disappearing behind the crates. Everything in his clouded brain began to recirculate, overlay the erotic images, tempt him back into the grip of sex. But again, the self-preservation instinct reigned superior and swept him up onto his feet, dragging him quietly through the door. He couldn’t be found, not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his neck.

It was night outside, but Duo never noticed it, only acknowledging the sudden fear of being caught in soiled pants. He ran quickly to the house. His body reacted only on instinct. Food. He grabbed something from the refrigerator and bolted upstairs to the only place he knew Heero would never be check, and yet was the most dangerous place to hide in. Survival. He leapt into his closet, dragging down a pile of his clothes off the hangars onto the floor before slamming the slatted door into place. His voice was harsh against his ears, his hands already dropping down to his lap and undoing the buttons to his pants. He hastily cleaned himself up with random clothing and set to eat whatever he brought up. At the last bite of cold Chinese food, Heero entered the room, almost literally steaming from his shower. Half an hour later, he was deep in sleep. Yes, he must’ve been quite exhausted after that display.

As he listened to Heero’s slow breaths, Duo dropped back against the pile of clothes, curling up in the somewhat stuffy darkness and tried to fall asleep. It wasn’t like he’d be able to leave for a while, even if he wanted to. Behind his eyelids, Heero’s naked thrusting body kept moving and moaning, little snippets of the afternoon on continuous loop until they started to bleed seamlessly into the most fulfilling dreams Duo ever had. Damn, he’d have a hell of a problem between his legs in the morning.

on to chapter 2

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