"But it's too hot if I stand close to the fire..."
"Then you learn to love the burn."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Heero reacted in the only way he knew how -- his fist lashed out to injure that which was attempting to harm him. It was an animal instinct, much like fight or flight -- and Heero didn't like to run away.
But Wufei had known Heero for too long, had known that their relationship would someday come down to this. Though, deep in his heart, he never thought that Heero would actually lay a hand on him. Not like this. The battle they had fought in their Gundams was starkly different from hand-to-hand. There was flesh, blood, and bone. There was the warm pulse of life and the shallow rasp of breath. There was the ability to actually look your opponent in the eyes and *see* them.
Heero knew this.
He had to.
And his fist flew anyway.
Wufei knew the power that lay behind Heero's clenched knuckles. He had seen Heero punch his fist through a wall in anger, had seen the Japanese teen do nothing more than brush off stray bits of plaster after taking out his vengeance on the inanimate object. And this knowledge angered Wufei. That Heero -- the man he was calling lover -- would deliberately raise his hand to harm him...
The Chinese man reacted in the only way he knew how -- instinctively and immediately. With his left hand, he diverted the direction of Heero's fist and his right hand was already waiting to grab Heero's *other* fist as it aimed where its brother should have been. Wufei's right hand tightened around Heero's left fist while his left gripped Heero's right wrist. His flat-black eyes narrowed as he saw the shock filter across Heero's formerly angry expression.
"Don't you *ever* think about trying to hit me again, Yuy," Wufei hissed through clenched teeth. He shoved Heero away from him like so much garbage, watching for a few moments as Heero realized just what he would have done. Wufei deliberately turned his back on his lover, stalking into the bedroom and throwing himself onto the bed. He curled up on his right side, back to the open bedroom door.
Wufei knew what was going to happen next.
After some minutes -- it could have been hours -- Wufei heard Heero slip into the dark bedroom, closing the door behind him. The bedsprings squeaked as Heero settled onto the bed and Wufei felt gentle hands rub across his tense back and shoulders.
Wufei hated himself for allowing the tension to drain out of his body. He hated himself for allowing Heero to roll him onto his back and cover his face with soft kisses. He hated himself for allowing Heero to strip him of his clothing, leaving him naked before hungry Prussian eyes. He hated himself for craving the touch of Heero's hands over his body, the feel of Heero's leg between his, the weight of Heero's body on top of his own.
Heero never said he was sorry.
He never did.
But Wufei allowed him to go on, as if nothing had ever happened.
Wufei hated himself.
Wufei hated Heero.
Wufei hated *everything.*
But Heero's hands were experienced and soon Wufei stopped hating at all, drowning in a sea of passion and feeling.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Duo closed his eyes as he moved in time to the breakneck pulse of the music. He didn't need to see anything. It was another club, another experience, another chance to grasp at something that he had been chasing for so long, but never managed to reach.
Duo felt the bodies pressed up against him on the crowded dance floor. He allowed strange hands to run down his body, allowed others to press their bodies against his in open invitation. He didn't need to see these nameless, faceless people either. They were all the same. Another warm body in the night. Male, female, it didn't matter. All that mattered was finding that *something* that he didn't even know the name of.
Duo felt insistent hands press him into the corner of a seat, could feel the press of the seat back to his right and the table to his left. He felt small soft hands -- a woman this time, then -- fumble with the fastening to his pants and stroke his growing arousal. Duo opened his eyes, but couldn't see anything besides the flickering strobes and neon lights on the ceiling above as the woman rode him hard and fast. Duo gave himself up to the feeling.
A handful of minutes and another shotglass later, Duo was back on the dance floor. The woman -- whoever she was -- was gone now. Or perhaps she, too, was on the dance floor looking for her next partner. Duo didn't care. She wasn't the one. While the flush of orgasm and oblivion had made Duo *feel*, it hadn't lasted.
Where was his happiness?
Why couldn't he find it?
Duo threw himself into his dancing. Only this made him feel alive anymore. Only losing himself to the drive and beat of bass and treble could drown out the demons in his head. If he couldn't have sex, Duo Maxwell could dance.
All too soon, it seemed, another body was pressed against his, rocking in time to the music. The telltale hardness at the small of his back confirmed that his newest partner was male, and Duo simply closed violet eyes to the world and allowed the music to move him. He didn't bother to turn around and face the man. Then the sounds of the music got duller, fainter, and Duo realized that he had been maneuvered to the back of the club, his back now against the carpeted wall. Something in Duo hummed and he licked his lips in anticipation, reaching for the hard body pressed against his.
What Duo didn't expect was to have soft fingertips skim the side of his face and tilt his chin up. Duo's eyes flew open in shock -- there were weirdos who trolled the clubs and he couldn't afford to get caught by one of *them.*
Duo was doubly shocked that once his violet eyes traveled up the tall length of the man's chest, past broad shoulders, he was confronted with the face of Quatre Raberba Winner.
"What are you doing here, Duo?"
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
