10-Oct-2004
Title: Mirage 1/?
Author: Muffie
It might not have been so bad if Trowa hadn't been balls deep inside of him when the twisted up shriek woke them both. Then again, there wasn't anything that could have made this particular situation any better. Quatre had paused on the brink of entering and his mouth had clicked shut on whatever he'd been about to say. His eyes took in the scattered clothes, the empty bottles, too-close bodies slumped on the floor on their sides, and then seemed to center themselves where Duo's naked rear was tightly pressed to Trowa's naked front.
Duo tensed. Big mistake. His body clamped down around the hot length of Tro-cock that shouldn't have been there. Trowa moaned, deep in his chest and his hips twitched, rocking himself inside. Duo fought against the red haze of lust steamrolling through his brain and shut his eyes. He tried to ward it off, get rid of it, but the head of Trowa's cock found his prostate and he couldn't stop himself from writhing. He could barely recall why he should stop. It was so hard to think; it was like trying to shove a wet noodle through soggy cardboard.
The shocked looked melted from Quatre's face, leaving behind a pleasant expression that bordered on blank. "Sorry for the interruption," he said in that perfectly polite tone he only used with donation-hungry politicians and paparazzi. His eyes flicked from where Trowa twitched with the effort not to thrust, to Duo's face. "Heero is due in a few minutes. You should," the eyes touched them where they were joined, where they were still rocking against each other, "hurry." Then he was gone.
Duo pressed his hands to his face. "Shit."
And didn't that just say it all?
Trowa grunted, an almost silent exhalation of breath in his ear, and wrapped his arms around Duo. One banded his chest, clutching them together with almost painful intensity; the other around his lower belly, fingers widespread and nudging against his pubic hair. The grunts ground out in rhythm with Trowa's thrusts and Duo's counterthrust.
"Hurting?"
Yes. He was sore and raw, but he couldn't stop. He was getting another rug burn, this time on his right hip. He should stop. He needed to stop. He had to, had to... "God, Tro, harder."
The groan was long and low; the rhythm picked up until Duo had to pretzel his upper leg back with Trowa's to anchor himself. The hand on his belly shifted and flowed until it wrapped around his cock and squeezed. He couldn't stop the choked whimper anymore than he could stop his hips from reflexively impaling himself over and over on Trowa. And he couldn't block out the strangled keening coming from the doorway anymore than he could stop the orgasm from boiling his insides. Near his ear, Trowa throttled a whine just before emptying himself in Duo.
Duo's eyes blinked open, almost against his will. His eyelids felt grainy and his vision blurred, but not enough. There stood Heero, leaning against the doorjamb as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His face was blotchy, red and a sickly white, like the underbelly of a fish. Heero's eyes, oh dear God, his eyes...
Duo threw himself to his feet and barely made it to the commode before emptying his stomach. Bile, snot, and tears gummed up his nose and he heaved again and again. Distantly, through the roaring of the blood pounding in his ears, he heard shouting coming from Quatre's comfortable, private den. He could only hold himself there and retch. Nothing came out and nothing, anywhere, felt better.
Finally, he collapsed onto the cool tile of the floor and blinked up into the darkness. His guts were on fire and his blood ached in ways that itched and gnawed.
Wufei's bellow pierced his pitiful sanctuary. "Yuy!"
More voices followed. Heero's low and enraged, the words running together until he served as the underpinning of some horrific aria. Quatre's, high pitched and furious, the descant punctuated by the occasional snaps of injustice, trash, and Maxwell from Wufei. There was nothing that sounded like Trowa.
He bolted over the toilet again and heaved.
Wrung out and thick-headed, he dropped heavily again, sitting with his feet flat on the floor and back to the wall. He could feel Trowa's semen leaking from his ass and squelching on the tile. Shit. Holy fucking shit. Trowa's semen. Trowa's semen. Holy fucking hell.
The shouting had escalated to screaming on Quatre's part. He could distantly hear the sound of flesh striking flesh and a disjointed justice rant. And he sat there, in the dark, with Trowa's semen slowly gluing his ass to the floor.
"--that bastard Maxwell!" Wufei roared. "I'll br--"
Heero's incoherent bellow overshadowed whatever Wufei thought to say.
Crack. The gunshot shut everyone up. Hell, it shut him up and he wasn't even talking.
"Enough!" Rashid? Holy fuck. Oh God. Holy fuck. Shit. Shit. Shit. Duo had just fucked Quatre's man, the lover of the guy Rashid and his fellow large, maniacal Maganacs practically worshiped.
What in the fuck happened? What in the fuck?
He forced himself to take a deep breath before he started trying to puke up his intestines again. Facts were simple. Fact: last night he had repeatedly fucked his best friend, who happened to be his adopted lil' brother's main squeeze and patently was not Heero. Fact two: everyone was fucking pissed the fuck off and it was all his fault. Fact three: he had just hurt the shit out of everyone he cared about. Fact four: Duo Maxwell was a piece of shit. Fact five: he was burning to do it again.
He pressed his face into his palms. "Oh God."
Voices filtered to him while he tried to figure out what to do. He was highly in favor of making a run for it, but two things stopped him. One, his clothes were scattered around the den and he wasn't into streaking, and, two, there was only one way out of the bathroom and that was directly into the den filled not only with hurt and angry former gundam pilots, but with at least one extremely large Maganac with a gun. And, even though his motto was run and hide, he just couldn't do that to them. Not on top of what he'd already done.
He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the sink. He spent a few minutes carefully washing himself and rinsing out his mouth; anything to put it off, until there was nothing left to do. He wished there was a towel handy to cover up with. He settled for pulling his braid in front of himself, sucking in a lungful of bilious air, and easing into the den.
Wufei, who stood like a bulwark between Quatre and everyone else, fixed him with a look filled with such loathing that he almost fled into the bathroom again. He gripped his braid, instead, and took another step forward. "Maxwell," Wufei hissed.
Quatre looked utterly betrayed. Hurt, anger, and a touch of hate filtered through those usually gentle eyes. "Why? Duo? Why did you do it?"
"He didn't do it!" Heero roared. He sat in a chair, almost against his will, Rashid and his gun just out of his reach.
Trowa wasn't in the room.
"I... " Duo swallowed and tried to understand it himself. He didn't know why. Twelve hours ago, when he, Hilde, and Trowa had sat down in this very room, he would have said that he never would cheat on Heero, let alone with Quatre's man, not in a quintillion years. And yet, he had. "I don't know."
Heero swallowed a twisted up whine. He couldn't meet Heero's eyes, couldn't see the hurt, the confusion, and the blinding faith that ripped him to the quick. "You didn't do it. You wouldn't do a thing like that," Heero growled, but there was a question in it.
"Of course he did!" Wufei bellowed. "That honorless bastard has been sniffing around us all for years. Why not use the opportunity when it arose to get what he's always wanted?"
"He's not like that!" Heero snarled.
You had to give the man points, Wufei held his ground against Pissed Heero. He shut up, but he held his ground.
"You owe me the courtesy of an explanation, Duo," Quatre stated flatly. It was that same, cold voice he used when dealing with the people he never offered a chance to surrender before Sandrock came plowing through.
"I don't know!" Duo jerked at his braid and forced himself to stand still when the only thing he wanted to do was run like hell. "One minute we're talking about the new Scorpios and the next minute we're ripping each other's clothes off. I don't know why. It was just, it was just wrong."
"Of course you play the innocent perfectly," Wufei sneered.
Heero leaped to his feet, hands clenched into fists. Wufei lifted his chin and crossed his arms over his chest.
Duo ignored them for Quatre. "I never wanted to hurt you."
Quatre's lips tightened in fury. "Rashid, please see that Mr. Maxwell and his belongings are off of Winner property in ten minutes."
"With pleasure, Master Quatre."
"Quatre, I--"
"Get out."
"But--"
"Rashid, make sure he doesn't steal anything." Quatre turned and walked from the room. That hurt.
Wufei paused long enough to glare disdainfully, then followed.
"Gather your belongings, or you will be removed without them and they will be tossed in the rubbish," Rashid said.
Duo blinked at him, then ducked his head and scuttled into his clothes. Heero kept himself between Duo and Rashid on the trip to Duo's room. Auda and Abdul were there already, stuffing his things into his duffel.
Auda bowed to Heero. "Master Heero, Master Quatre would like a word with you."
Rashid stepped through the doorway. "You have my word that he will not come to harm on Winner property, Master Heero." The tone distinctly implied that they were not like him.
Heero's jaws flexed. "No. I stay with Duo."
"You should go, Heero," he said softly, slinging the duffel strap over his shoulder. "Just ‘cause I fucked everything up doesn't mean you should let it fuck things up for you. He's your friend."
"Will you wait for me?"
He bit his lip and met Heero's eyes. "I'll always wait for you."
"I won't be long."
He nodded.
"Mr. Maxwell," Rashid snapped. Ducking his head, he hitched the strap farther up and followed Rashid from the estate. Impassively, Rashid stood on the Winner side of the wrought iron gate and stared at him. "What you have done cannot be forgiven."
He just stood there, like an idiot, and blinked at Rashid. What could he say? No, he wasn't like that? He wouldn't fuck his lil' brother's man? He just did. Repeatedly and with great gusto. He knew he had an unruly libido, to put a pretty face on it, but he was a trained soldier. He did have as much self-control as any of the other pilots, up to and including stick-up-his-ass Wufei. He might have been celibate as hell for the past year that he and Heero had been dancing their way toward a relationship, but he never would've gotten so fucking horny that he would hurt Heero, not to mention Trowa and Quatre. He loved them too much.
Never. That was so much bullshit. He'd fucked Trowa like a hot L2 street whore. All night long. God, he hadn't gone soft once. Come to think of it, neither had Trowa. Hell, he was sporting a semi right then and he couldn't think of anything less sexy than the gundam battle mess that his life had just become.
Rashid was still glaring him and he was still blinking like an idiot. Dumbfounded quietly added itself to the I'm stupid look and he desperately tried to shut his mouth. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
He knew one thing, despite all evidence to the contrary, Shinigami would never hurt the ones he loved. Not like that. Not ever.
The End
(:./muffie/mirage1)
