Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing!

This is a sequel to Teenage Dirtbag
Pairing: 1+2+1/1x2x1
Warnings: Heero P.O.V., AU, citrusy, OOC?, sap, language, drug abuse (kidstuff), possibly some angst. Heero insisted (with death-threats and letter bombs) on a lem-o-licious sequel to 'Teenage Dirtbag' and he wanted it in his POV. This is for all the fans.

Authors Notes: Thanks to Anria for beta-ing this part! *smooch*

Summary: Five years later, Heero comes looking for Duo wanting more than his friendship.

Teenage Dirtbag Sequel
Chapter 4
by Granate

I wake slowly, not to a beeping alarm or a ringing phone. I wish all mornings could be like this. I'm so comfortable, no stiff neck from falling asleep at my desk and this bed is softer then I'm used to. It smells different too, smells like… I inhale deeply as I roll onto my stomach. Sex. It's clinging to the pillows, the sheets, my skin, my hair where he raked his fingers through it. Last night comes back to me and I smile, my body practically tingling with the memory of it. I don't want to leave here, I feel too good right now. As I'm enjoying this feeling, I blindly reach for Duo but find nothing. Surprised, I open my eyes. The room is dim, but I clearly see that I'm alone.

The door is shut, but there's a sliver of yellow light under it, telling me he's already up. A pit forms in my stomach and a chill creeps into my chest. If he were still here with me, this wouldn't have such a palpable "one-night stand" feeling to it…

I've been told more than once that I focus too much on the physical in relationships. I discovered early that sex was at least a brief escape from the discontent of my life and the frenetic pace of my mind. I rush in, I move too fast. I've done it again and again. I didn't intend to just use him and, in my head, I didn't. I sure as hell managed to make it look like I did, though.

Wow, I've done a lot of stupid things in my life, but rarely have I felt like such a jackass. What the hell was I thinking, coming over to his home, screwing him, and falling asleep in his bed like it's my God-given right. What the hell possessed me to treat him like that? It dawns on me just how bad I am messing this up and I sit up, feeling a little panicked.

I don't think I know enough obscenities to properly berate myself at the moment, so I settle for a groan. I came here with just an offer for him, a simple question, why couldn't I have left it at that? Why did I have to go and kiss him? Why didn't I rein in my libido? Why didn't I sleep on the damn couch? I'm going to go out there and it's going to be awkward and then he'll say no and I'll go back to Florida alone. Regret and fear taint the memory of last night that I was cherishing just a moment ago. I can only imagine how he feels.

I sigh to myself as I get up from the bed. Well, day two of Operation Hire Duo is off to a miserable start. I find my scattered clothes and pull on jeans and a tee-shirt. I feel like taking a shower is too much of an imposition, so I just wash my face and brush my teeth. As I return my toothbrush to my bag, my eyes pass over the tube on the table by the bed and I am momentarily swept into memories of last night. Slickening myself with the lube, his body accepting mine, his hands in my hair. God, even in the middle of this guilt and regret, I want him still. A little voice deep down confirms the suspicion that given another chance, I wouldn't be able to do it any other way. What is wrong with me?

Ok, enough is enough. It's time to go out there and salvage what I can of this disaster. Right now, I'm willing to get down on my knees and beg if he gives me the chance. I enter the kitchen blinking in the bright light, and find him scrambling eggs at the stove. Shirtless. I swallow. He looks up at me.

"Good morning," he says, eyes wide with a question unvoiced.

"Hey," I reply, trying to sound at ease.

He briefly looks me up and down, unconsciously I think, and then turns back to the eggs, giving them a secretive, restrained little smile as if they shared a private joke. I come into the cramped kitchen, following the smell of coffee.

"Almost ready," he tells me of the brewing pot. "Sorry to leave you in there by yourself," he says, eyes wide and looking at me again, "I woke up and thought I'd make breakfast."

"No problem," I lie. I don't manage to convince myself, but he doesn't say anything else about it. "It's been a while since anyone made me breakfast," I add, this time a truth.

He gives the eggs another curious little smile and I begin to suspect they know something I don't.

"Well then, gotta do it proper. What do you like?" he asks. "I've got bagels and cream cheese in the fridge, frozen waffles, cereal… Poptarts?" He flashes me a quick grin. "Or I could whip up some pancakes if you want."

"No, no, you don't have to do that," I tell him, "I don't want to trouble you or anything."

"Trouble me?" he gives me an inscrutable look. "Heero…"

"Cereal will be fine," I say and clear my throat.

"Bowls are in the cupboard, there," he says, pointing with a metal spatula. I reach up and bump his elbow.

"Sorry," I say immediately.

"S'ok," he replies, giving me another look. This time, I think I recognize some amusement there. I put out two plates and he dishes scrambled egg onto them. His hips brush mine as I search for silverware. It doesn't matter where I turn in this small space, we're always right on top of each other.

"By the fridge," he tells me. I find it and set the table for us. I go back to the fridge for juice and milk and then we sit down across from each other at the small, square table. I shake salt and pepper onto my well-scrambled eggs. He makes them dry, which is how I like them.

"These are good," I say after a taste.

"Thanks," he says, looking pleased. "I like them like this, but I've gotten complaints before."

"Oh, I doubt that," I comment. Our darting eyes lock for a minute and I feel my face burn at the unintentional innuendo. A grin quirks the very corners of his lips and I look down at my eggs. The toaster pops and he gets up for his waffles. I glance after him and am struck by the proof that he is not wearing underwear under his thin, black pajama pants.

He returns to the table, juggling two hot waffles and a bottle of syrup. "Sure you don't want one?" he asks, taking his seat.

"No, I'm good," I reply as I pour milk on my Frosted Flakes.

"You are," he agrees, holding my eyes for just a second before he goes about cutting his waffles and drowning them in syrup. My face burns again, but I don't blush. I only do that in very extreme cases. My face can feel hot without there being any visual difference, which I am grateful for this morning.

"You're still coming to the race, right?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah, of course!" I answer

"Good," he says, flashing a smile. "Gates open at five, but I need to be there in about an hour. Do whatever you want today, but I'd recommend being at the gates early. I'll have your ticket and pit pass waiting for you at the ticket booth. The pits aren't on the track, they're off the side, you'll see them. We're the guys in the red and black jumpsuits, just so you know.

"You know where the Motor Speedway is, right? Well, any cabbie in the city will, so don't worry. Anyway, the races will go all evening, and then the crew always goes out afterward. We have to clean up and get everything back to the garage, you're welcome to hang out," he says rapidly, "You just find our area at the track, ok? I mean, you don't have to…"

"No, it sounds like fun," I say honestly.

He smiles at me then. My mind wanders back to the job as we finish eating. He hasn't mentioned it yet. I assume he's still thinking about it. It is silent, but not terribly uncomfortable for a few minutes.

"I'm, uh, still thinking about your offer," he says without looking up.

"That's fine," I say. "I just don't want to rush you."

He raises his eyes directly to mine. "You're not," he says, obviously not talking about the job offer. I manage to swallow without choking and mumble something like 'good.' I look down and don't look up again until he gets up and takes his dishes to the sink. I do likewise.

"I'll clean up, you go get a shower," he says, taking them from me.

"Are you saying I stink?" I ask.

He laughs, probably grateful for a lighter mood. "No, what I'm saying is you need to do something about that hair," he teases.

I run my fingers through the tangled mess. Perhaps he has a point.

"Feel free to use anything in there," he says off-handedly, "I can't imagine you use as much conditioner as I do, at any rate."

"Conditioner?" I ask cluelessly. I know what it is, of course, I just want to make him laugh again. He does.

I get a few things from my bag, make my way to the bathroom, and start the water. I take off my clothes and my stomach twinges at the thought that maybe he'd join me in here. Well, those thoughts certainly didn't take long to resurface. I can't even articulate how much I would like that. You might say I'm craving a little affection this morning. Perhaps affirmation is a better word. We haven't kissed or even really touched.

That's when it hits me that if I thought this morning was awkward, tonight will be hell. Will we have sex again? Or mess around? Where will I sleep? I realize just how much I've complicated this. I suppose I should let him decide about tonight. I cringe as an old stand-by plan of action suggests itself to me: get really drunk tonight and pass out so I don't have to think about it. Yes, that is absolutely pathetic and I'm ashamed for thinking of it, but I'll keep it as a last resort.

I put it out of my thoughts and scrub my hair. My body, remaining purposefully ignorant of the mess in my mind, has not forgotten how much it would like his company at the moment, but the idea of jerking off in his shower is a bit distasteful to me, so I try to ignore that too. And I am definitely ignoring the fact that he probably jerks off in here. Yup, totally denying that one.

I use his conditioner out of curiosity. It makes my hair slippery and I can't help wondering how his hair feels. I didn't get to touch it last night. My mind was on other things and rightly so, but I still want to see it down. I think maybe I have always been curious about it. More accurately, I want him here with me, wet and hard, with all that hair clinging to his smooth skin.

I dry off when I'm done and then go back to Duo's room to get changed. I'm rifling through my bag and thinking that I may not have brought enough clothes when I notice him in the doorway. I look up and he's just watching me. He's dressed now, changed out of those thin drawstring pants. He doesn't meet my eyes because that's not where he's looking. Damn, I have got to learn to read him better. He doesn't wear his feelings on his face quite the way he used to.

He looks as if he was about to come in here, but froze in the doorway. His eyes finally meet mine and I read him perfectly. I stand without thinking about it, tee-shirt and boxers in hand. I don't know what to say and can't force even enough breath out for unintelligible stammering, so I just stare back.

He moves first. As soon as he moves toward me I all but leap on him. I don't remember dropping my clothes, but they are no longer in my hand when it rises to clutch his shoulder as he kisses me. His arms are flung around my shoulders and I kiss him back with equal zeal. I push him back against the wall and my arm latches around his waist to pull him closer to me. His arms tighten around me and he moans as my hand slides up his neck to rest on his jaw. I tilt his head so that I can kiss and suck at his throat. He allows this but then pushes me away. I'm not over the surprise before he rips the towel from my waist.

"Thought so," he says, looking me up and down, "that shower wasn't long enough." He half pushes, half drags me over to the bed and deposits me on my back. I try to sit up, but he's already on the bed on his knees, holding my chest down with one hand. He leans down to claim my mouth again. I hold his head by the hair and kiss back starvedly. This is exactly what I wanted. Excitement and relief coil hotly in my stomach. My legs spread of their own accord when his fingers glide up my thigh. I realize how shameless that is, but that's a pretty accurate assessment of my state at the moment.

One hand still on my chest, he leans back again. I groan as he teases my now full erection. He leers down at me in a way that makes me ache for that perfect mouth on my dick. His lips trail down my chest at a teasingly slow pace before his mouth traverses my stomach. I bite back a growl, knowing where he's going and impatient for him to get there. He quickly opens a condom and as soon as it's on me, his hand closes around the base of my cock. His eyes blink up to mine for a second before he bends to suck and lick the head of my cock. There is the faintest grazing of teeth and then his hot mouth envelops me. I cry out in a breathy grunt and somehow manage to stop myself from thrusting up for more of that heat.

Last night, it sounded like it had been a while since he was with a man, but he gives decent head. He uses plenty of lips right around the head and then sucks as much of it as he can in, eagerly tonguing the shaft. He seems to be enjoying himself, which makes it even hotter. I wish he would look up at me again, though. I can tell by the way he holds my hips down that he can't deep throat, but I'm sure not going to complain because neither can I. Yet. If all goes my way, I'll get plenty of opportunity to practice on him in the future. And plenty of this. It crosses my mind that he should not even bother to look for an apartment and just move in with me, but I'm getting a blowjob at the moment and my thinking in understandably skewed.

It doesn't take him long to bring me to my peak. He begins to suck hard, obviously intent on finishing me. I close my eyes and throw my head back. His lips and tongue work over the head and I lose myself completely, nearly tearing the sheets clenched in my fists.

My head is spinning and I am just lying limply, unable to move except for the rapid rise and fall of my chest. I become aware that he is taking the condom off and then he dries me off and moves up to kiss my lips languidly. He plants a hand on either side of my head and looks straight into my eyes.

"You're mine tonight, Yuy," he says almost threateningly. He sucks my throat, repeating, "Mine."

I smack his ass, ruining his little moment of dominion over me. He yelps in surprise and glares at me. I smirk the best I can in my sated state.

"Only if you'll unbraid your hair," I say, neglecting to think about what I'm agreeing to here.

He smirks back at me. "Deal."

I reach for his fly, but he gets up. He takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers tenderly, an action that takes me totally by surprise. My breathing has calmed, but my heart is thudding in my chest and I can't blame it on the orgasm.

"Gotta go to work. Later," he promises and lets my hand fall back on the bed. He leaves without another word, but looks back and smiles before exiting into the hall.

My brain is still too fuzzed to get a real handle on what just happened here and what it means, but I do know that my plans for tonight just greatly improved and there's no question as to where I'll be sleeping.

I dress and wander Columbus, finding ways to amuse myself for the afternoon. I try not to think too much about Duo, or my job, or last night, or this morning. Or tonight. I get a cab to the speedway a little early in attempt to beat the rush. A pass and ticket are indeed waiting under my name at the ticket booth. Signs all over the place tell me I'm at the annual Buckeye Bash Super Series.

The speedway is not quite what I was expecting, it's much smaller. There is no big screen or scoreboard like at a stadium, but there are advertisements on the boards lining the far side of the track. The asphalt track is only a third of a mile and almost more circular that ovular. The stands are along one straightaway. Like Duo said, the pit is not really a pit like you'd see on NASCAR on TV. All the trailers and participating cars are parked in an area to the right, situated against the bend of the track.

There are some families in the crowd, but mostly groups of men or fathers and sons. I follow the flow of people towards the stands, but begin to think maybe I should go to the pit area instead. It's general admission, so he doesn't stand a chance of finding me in the audience. The time trials don't start for another hour, so I decide to prowl the pit for black and red jumpsuits.

As I walk around, I am reminded of how much I used to be into cars. It's been a while since I was under the hood of a car and being around it again makes me miss it. It was really all that was available to me growing up and it was exactly the kind of outlet I needed. My universe has enlarged quite a bit now.

"Hey, Heero!" a voice interrupts my thoughts. I look to its source on my left and see a man in a red and black jumpsuit standing next to a shiny red and black trailer, waving at me. It takes me just a second to recognize Duo because of the hat and sunglasses, but the grin is a dead give away.

"Hey," I greet as I sidle up to him.

"You made it ok," he observes.

I nod. "So, this is the Buckeye Bash, huh?"

"Sure is," he grins. "The school bus race was last weekend. Too bad you missed that one. Wanna see the car?" He turns and I see that his long braid is tucked safely down the back of his suit. He leads me around the trailer to a black car with sponsor logos all over it. He's nearly gushing as he runs through all the specs of car number 85.

"Is this your friend, Duo?" another man asks, coming up behind us. He is well into his thirties, with short reddish brown hair and a mustache.

"Yeah, this is Heero Yuy," Duo answers him and then turns to me. "Heero, this is one of our drivers, Beau Edwards."

I shake his extended hand. "Nice to meet you," I say.

"Glad you could make it," he says to me. "Any friend of Duo's is welcome here." I thank him and squash the guilt about being here specifically to steal Duo from them. We talk more about cars and races and Duo explains the three different kinds of cars that will be racing tonight. His team has a car of each kind, but he works almost exclusively on Beau's Limited Sportsman model.

There is a lot of hollering and general excitement in the pit when the cars are called out for time trials. I just try to stay out of the way as the team jumps into action. Duo drags me along as the pit members file into the small seating area reserved for them at the bend of the track. There is some general discussion as the team waits for the heats their cars are in. Beau wins his heat but not the Sportsman trials, however no one seems very concerned.

I hang back as Duo and the team powwow around the cars, making final decisions and adjustments. Finally, a booming announcement calls the cars to line up on the track and there's a lot of excitement in the pit and the crowd. I begin to follow people back to the viewing area, but Duo grabs my arm.

"We can watch from up here," he says. He turns to the trailer and climbs up a metal ladder to the top. I look around and then climb up after him. The truck and trailer are parked just on the other side of the wall from the track, so the view from up here couldn't be better.

"You don't need to be working on the car?" I ask as I sit next to him. The Limited Sportsman race is last and I figured he would be needed.

"Nah, it's our custom that everyone on the team watches each race. Kinda takes your mind off things and nobody gets psyched out," he tells me.

"I see," I reply.

"I'll probably have to pop down there just before Beau goes out, though."

"Sure," I shrug.

"Sorry I've been ignoring you," he adds.

"No problem," I say, "You've got a job to do."

He takes off his sunglasses and looks at me. I can tell from his face that he wants to kiss me and I'd like that, too, except people can see us up here. I glance around and then back to him. He gives me an apologetic look before adjusting his hat and putting his sunglasses back on. We'll just have to wait until we're alone. He settles closer to me and mimics my posture, placing his hands behind him and leaning back. Our hands are touching, and the cars haven't even gone one lap before his pinky is getting fresh with mine.

"A hundred and fifty laps tonight," he says off-handedly as we watch. The laps around the third of a mile track seem endless. It's not boring, but I begin to see that the social aspect of is just as important as the race and the cars. 150 laps around the track will be 50 miles, which should take under 50 minutes given the speed of the cars.

I'm not sure what constitutes as 'pinky sex,' but I'm pretty sure we've had it before Duo gets up for snacks. Ten minutes later, a cardboard tray with sodas and french fries slides onto the top of the trailer and I grab it while he climbs back up. We chow and things start to get interesting as the first race nears its end. The car from Duo's team has been in the lead the entire time, but now vies with two other cars. The crowd grows loud with the tight competition. The driver from Duo's team pulls it together by the last lap and finishes firmly in first place. There is passionate cheering as he takes a victory lap with the checkered flag.

"That was a close one," Duo remarks. "Street stocks are next. That's our weakest category. A couple of teams specialize in just this style, so competition is fierce." He takes off his sunglasses since it is starting to get dark out. There is activity around the trailer and Duo calls good luck to the driver, who waves up at us.

His team ends in third for the next race, which is still decent considering the number of cars. Duo moves to the ladder and tells me he'll be right back. He climbs down and talks with Beau and the other mechanics. Only when the car pulls out does he come back up. He looks jittery.

"No one is supposed to get psyched out, remember?" I say.

He laughs a little. "Out of my hands now," he replies. He sits close to me again and I'm having a tougher time keeping my hands off of him. "Beau knows what he's doing," he continues, "he knows where he likes to be. Watch, he'll lurk in the back for the first twenty-five laps or so, just watching the other drivers. With one hundred and fifty laps, he'll probably wait until fifty to start his attack."

The green flag goes down and I watch intently as Duo's prophecy comes true. Their car stays to the back of the pack for sixty laps or so before starting to move up. "He likes to see who the over-eager ones are going to be," Duo says. "It's not a real uncommon strategy. The driver of number 36 out there will do the same thing. Look, he's making his move, too."

Both cars start to gain ground, moving towards the front of the pack. Around lap 125, Beau slips into fifth place and then upsets both cars battling for fourth. Car 36 takes the opportunity to take third but Beau holds back. The last ten laps are the most exciting and cheering erupts from the stands. Car 36 challenges the car in first, but can't get an edge. Beau gains on them and passes 36 around a curve. He makes the push for first place look painfully simple and holds it for the last two laps. Duo just grins as his car takes the victory lap and then shoos me down the ladder.

The entire pit area is now in chaos of celebration. I hang back where it's safe and watch as they load the gear into the trailer and look over the other two cars before putting them away. Duo and his team are laughing and trading congratulations. It struck me as soon as I walked in the place how different the atmosphere is from where I work. I want Duo to say yes and come work with me, but I don't want him to be unhappy. After watching tonight, I can't imagine he'd want to leave here.

"Hey, Heero!" he calls to me as he walks over. "We're going back to garage, you can squeeze into the back of the truck with me, ok?" Car 85 has been put away and I hear the trailer doors slam. Duo opens the door of the extended cab pick-up and we get in. He rubs his hand on my thigh but we are interrupted when another young man gets in the other side. The three of us talk a bit and the owner and his wife get in the front. We arrive at the garage and I do my staying out of the way routine again as people scramble around parking cars and putting equipment away, eager to start the real celebration.

on to chapter 5

back to fiction

back to granate fiction

back home