Warning: it's yaoi, lemon, PWP, Dr. J x Heero
Disclaimers: GW belongs to somebody else (too bad)!
He is punctual, as always. As I trained him to be. Slipping through the shadows, undetected, until finally he emerges from the darkness into the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp. My perfect soldier. Standing straight, his expression shuttered and hard, betraying nothing, he searches my face, as though trying to read the depths of my mechanical eyes. Finally, I grace him with a slight smile, and am instantly rewarded by a beautiful light in his eyes. His entire posture relaxes, his face, his eyes, are suddenly bright and alive, and so incredibly beautiful.
"Come here," I whisper, and he complies at once, crossing the room, moving to sit in my lap, curled like a child wanting comfort. The hard maturity of the soldier has faded away, as it always does, and I am left knowing that I am the only one who sees this side of him... the child still locked inside, still wanting to feel, to care, to know comfort and love, and to give it in return. I stroke his hair softly with my biological hand, even as he slides his fingers into my mechanical prosthesis, twining them with my three-pronged grip.
His eyes look up, into mine, shining, dark with love and need. I feel myself smiling once more, as I lean down and touch my lips to his, tasting the soft sweetness of his youth. He sighs, melting into the kiss, until finally oxygen deprivation forces us to part. No words pass between us; we know time is short, and the war goes on. But for a few moments, we put it aside; there is only us, the Earth and the colonies be damned.
I run my hand slowly over his side, caressing through the material of his tank, and he arches into the caress, his arms sliding around my neck, then moving to unfasten my shirt. His lips skim my chest lightly, and I can hear my own rumbling sigh of pleasure. Swiftly I pull the hem of the tank from his shorts, and gently push him to lie back on the bed. I skim my hand over the front of the spandex, then begin caressing gently between his legs. A soft cry escapes him as his eyes squeeze shut, wordlessly pleading for more with each tiny thrust of his hips against my hand. I reach down with my other hand and remove his shoes, each making a soft thud as it hits the carpet. His eyes open, soft and liquid in the low light, and he slowly reaches down to grasp the hem of his shorts, hips lifting as he pushes it down to his thighs, then his ankles. He pauses with them still looped around one foot, and lifts it into the air, waving it teasingly.
I chuckle softly, knowing he loves to play with me like this, though he doesn't do it often. Reaching out, I grasp the shorts and fling them away, to who cares where. He settles back with a sigh as I run my hands slowly up his sides, bunching the tank slightly around his ribs. For a moment, I sit back and stare; dressed in only the tank, the lean length of his stomach and legs exposed, with those pristine white socks still neatly on his feet, he is at once innocent and wanton, incredibly young, and infinitely desirable. As though sensing my thoughts, he stretches slightly, legs spreading as the muscles flex under the skin, then gets to his knees even as I reach for him.
His hands are on my shoulders, insistent, and I give in to his demands, lying back against the pillows where he had been, as he pulls my legs onto the bed. The braces are inconvenient, and unfortunately, my legs too weak to support myself over him, even if I did have both arms intact. He doesn't care about my imperfections, and for that I am grateful. What we have is strange; it defies logic and convention, and yet is so exactly what I have wanted, needed, all my long life.
He straddles my thighs, hands swiftly working at my belt and the fastenings of my trousers, then pulling them down as far as the braces allow. Retrieving the lubricant from my coat, he meets my eyes once more, smiling, trusting and vulnerable; he has grown much in confidence and dominance since we began. I smile at the memory, then inhale sharply as his small hands, calloused and slick with oil, wrap around my shaft, slowly sliding along the length and back again, with teasing slowness. My eyes close as he continues working the oil liberally into my skin, and I groan softly.
The tension soon grows unbearable, and I reach for him, grasping his hips in a wordless plea; he knows what I want, and he smiles, surging forward to press his lips to mine, hungrily. Slowly, his eyes filled with desire, he moves back, positioning himself, then lowers himself onto me in one smooth motion. His breath escapes him in a rush as he trembles, his insides clenching as he adjusts himself, soft sounds escaping his throat. His tight warmth encloses me, as pleasure radiates through my entire body, causing me to shudder.
Finally he moves, lifting himself almost completely off, then slowly lowering himself, only centimeters at a time. He trembles, his teasing play torturing himself even as he tortures me. Soon he reaches a rhythm, rocking his hips hard against mine, causing us both to moan.
Each downward stroke is like heaven, every inch of him warm and throbbing around me. Each retreat brings us briefly to reality, only to have him force himself down harder the next time, to reclaim the feeling. His breath comes in short gasps as our speed picks up, the rhythm fierce and hard and absolutely amazing. Consciousness blurs into a haze of pleasure and need, both of us straining toward release.
I reach down and curl my hand around his shaft, giving a single firm stroke, and he cries out, the tension finally snapping. Warm seed pumps from his shaft, coating my stomach as his body clenches around me. The rhythmic pulse is too much, and I let go, flooding his insides, causing him to cry out once more.
Finally he is exhausted, slumped against my chest as we both fight for breath, warmth radiating from us in waves. Sleep beckons, but neither of us wants to give up this feeling yet... for a moment, we are the only two people in the universe, nothing matters beyond our love and the confines of our room and our skin. His breath is a soft sigh against my chest as he snuggles close, holding me like he never wants to let go.
"Suki da," he murmurs sleepily, burying his head in my shoulder. I smile, pulling the blankets over us before giving in to sleep. "Suki da, Heero." The morning will bring more fighting, more bloodshed, and my angel will once again be called to the battlefield, closing off his heart and soul, becoming the perfect soldier I trained him to be. But for now, the night goes on, and we sleep, joined in body, heart, and soul.
The End
(:./madcat/rendez)
