August 1998
Somehow I need this.
I do not want it -- not precisely -- but in the end I, too, have succumbed. It's hard to say whether this knowledge is reflected in his eyes, or if he's unaware of what he's done. After all, we never spoke aloud any fragile words when both of us knew those might be broken at any moment by decisive action.
As things begin to fall apart, though, I know this balance we have created cannot hold. There will be no common ground. There will be a choice. And, at last...
...there will be a cost exacted.
Wufei irritably pushed back tendrils of dark, damp hair that had escaped from his tight ponytail. It was hot here, the air thick in his lungs, and he had to wonder if this sudden change of locale for Treize had been strategic.
Of course it was strategic, he chided himself, exasperated. Everything that man did was precisely calculated towards his own ends.
The question was, had it been calculated with *him* in mind?
The answer was weighing heavily on his mind as he debated his options. It might mean the gap between defeat and victory.
He couldn't risk waiting. That was all there was to it. He had to strike now, risking whether or not Treize was off-guard, because the other pilots were beginning to talk about a punitive strike that would take them halfway across the world, or even into space.
Tonight he would pit his strength against Treize. And if he lost again...
Wufei pushed himself upright, resolute. He shuttered away those useless thoughts. He would not lose. That was *all* there was to it.
He balanced himself against the giant leg of the hidden Nataku, once more checking over his sword, hefting the comforting balance in his hands. Both actions gave him peculiar reassurance. Setting himself into determination, Wufei vanished into the underbrush.
Treize peeled away the collar of his uniform from his sweaty skin yet again, fanning himself, in a fair degree of bad humor. The incompetents maintaining this place had somehow managed to let the cooling systems fall into disrepair, and had been summarily dispatched. That hadn't done anything for the temperature of this complex, though, and as he'd been meeting some fairly important envoys it had necessitated the donning of the stiff, stuffy dress uniform.
At last they were gone and he could relax. Treize shrugged out of the heavy blue jacket, draping it over his chair with a relieved sigh. The gold fringe of one of the epaulets hung askew but it didn't matter. There was no one left to impress, today.
He turned from his desk, intending to grab a bottle of some of the aged brandy left here -- strictly for medicinal purposes, of course -- and self-administer a drop of relaxation.
Treize froze, staring down into intent, earnest young black eyes, behind the razor's edge of a ready sword.
"We're not finished yet," Chang Wufei ground out.
"No," Treize agreed with a rueful twist of the lips.
Breath hung suspended in a timeless moment as the sheen of metal embedded itself deeply. The two figures remained still in a stunned tableau, stuck in immobility.
A drop of sweat tracked down Wufei's face.
Knowledge of the outcome was large in both their eyes.
Then the elongated moment was broken as action seized the upper hand again.
Wufei abandoned the sword stuck irretrievably into the desk, the result of a feint not betrayed by Treize's steady eyes, and he chopped out at Treize, his bronze features twisting in an angry snarl. The taller man seized one wrist at the same time his rapier whipped into action, bending at the point of Wufei's jaw, its tip digging into the sweat-darkened skin and beading up a drop of blood that rolled down and mingled with the salty moisture. Wufei's body went absolutely still, his eyes wide with shock.
Then they narrowed and in the next moment he lunged forward, determined to finish it as he'd demanded in their last duel. Treize was already in motion, anticipating his fatalistic determination, locking on to his wrist with an iron hand as he drew back his rapier to prevent Wufei from advancing his flesh onto its biting point.
"Ah, ah, young dragon," he admonished, tossing the rapier behind him carelessly as he seized both wrists in his adamant grasp. "As I said before, there will be no killing." He contemplated the flushed features and leaned forward.
Wufei flinched, jaw spasming, but Treize only bent close to him and tilted his head, not touching him with lips or face as he merely inhaled his scent. And leaned back, and smiled.
The Chinese boy looked back defiantly, face grim.
"Would it be so bad?" the commander murmured, leaning forward again and brushing his lips over Wufei's, pressing against the closed mouth that remained shut, immobile and stony. It was like kissing a statue.
A rather self-mocking look crossed Treize's face. "Don't answer that." One hand released Wufei to press a finger against his lips, even though the pilot made no move to respond.
"There will be no reprieve." He punctuated his statement with another insistent, closed-mouth caress, then worked his lips over the planes of Wufei's face. "This time, a price will be exacted."
Wufei remained unmoved as Treize traveled from cheekbone to his lips again, paying them thorough attention. One hand still gripped his wrist tightly, while the other had slipped to the base of his neck, reaching to tug free the elastic band that confined his hair. Again the dark wings of jet-black hair tumbled free to frame the ascetic bronze features, and Treize paused to admire the effect, thinking how appropriate the suggestion of release was.
He fingered the spill of hair and looked at his prize, brushing a hand over his cheek, bending to flick his tongue over the adamantly-closed lips. Wufei started, then his brows drew together in a solid black rush.
A smile tugged Treize's mouth as he drew the boy closer into his arms and Wufei moved stiffly, a marionette within his embrace. His skin trembled under Treize's fingertips and the young officer wondered if it was from fear, repulsion, or attraction -- or some disconcerting combination of the three.
He kissed over the flushed skin and ate at the pale closed lips, hands rubbing in soothing circles over the sweat-soaked blue halter top. Treize grimaced at the nubby cloth feel of it; skin was so much nicer. In a sudden move he peeled the top away from Wufei's sticky skin. Wufei inhaled as his top was skimmed off and tossed away casually. He glared up at Treize, dark glass-chip eyes askew with anger and a growing confusion.
As he took his mouth again Treize was wondering just how far he could take this. Despite Chang Wufei's obvious expectations he had no taste for rape. And though his tastes ran to boys he preferred by far that they were willing, and passionate.
Fortunately this dragon, if handled the right way, had enough fire for the both of them.
Wufei pushed against him. Not a violent shove, though, not this time. A push, clenched fingers working furiously against the linen of his white dress shirt, and then another, weaker push. "Omae..."
Treize leaned back and tipped the proud chin up to catch the barely-heard words. To avoid his gaze the heavy lids ground shut over slanted dark eyes. "Damn you," Wufei croaked, throat closing over the words. "Damn..."
Treize silenced him with another lingering, coaxing kiss. His lips still did not move to return the gesture but Wufei was tense beneath his hands and mouth, a vibrating wire of sensation. Again Treize dug his fingers into the rock-solid muscles, delighting in the feel of his hands over the satiny skin, trying to soothe out the hardness, the kiss drawing on as Wufei's back suddenly relaxed under his hands.
He drew back and moisture glistened at the corners of Wufei's closed eyes. Kissing him again, Treize found the younger pilot's mouth pliant enough to work open, and so he tasted him.
It was hard to control the urge to smile. He could feel the minute relaxation of the boy's defenses, an unspoken expectanty between them.
Teeth nearly clamped down on his intruding tongue but then Wufei responded, his tongue battle-ready, his body still shaking under Treize's hands. Treize met the fury with an urgency of his own, gripping again at Wufei's chin, nipping at his lips, then meeting and twining his tongue. He bit it lightly and Wufei growled, stunning him.
The lines of his body were perfect. Toned and sheened now with sweat, his hands ran over Wufei's chest easily, exploring. Grasping a nipple and tweaking it, he savored the way Wufei's body lapsed into immobility, examining the sensation.
He soothed over the pinch with the replacement of his tongue, tasting the nipple, and crowded Wufei back against the desk.
The young pilot's eyes popped open wide and he opened his mouth, presumably to protest. Treize took it for an invitation and covered it with his own, fingers continuing to play with the sensitized upthrusts of flesh while he fit his body against Wufei's.
And, with consideration, he *pushed.*
Wufei's body jerked again and went utterly motionless.
For a moment Treize thought he'd gone too far, and reached the boy's limits. Then, *most* surprisingly, Wufei grabbed at his hips and pushed back, breath hitching.
Then he opened his eyes and blinked and his face did a slow burn as he looked away, fierce black gaze sliding to a corner of the room. His hands fell away.
Treize continued to tease at his nipples, trying to coax away the natural shyness and guide him into further delightful displays of sexuality. He moved again to take Wufei's mouth emphatically. It was most satisfying, as his erection dug into the other's body, to feel his friction greeted with an answering throb, still only a flicker, between Wufei's legs.
Wufei was flushing, refusing to meet his eyes. Treize decided to up the ante, perhaps startle him out of his uncertainty. He pulled back and peeled away his own shirt. He was seized by the inescapable conviction that if he didn't finish this quickly, the young dragon would start to entertain his doubts again.
Besides, his own passion demanded it.
He kissed Wufei again, paid brief attention to his nipples, then reached down and cupped those firm buttocks in both hands, grasping them and providing even more leverage against which to pump his hips. With greedy brutal force he took his mouth, and Wufei was groaning, hands fisting uselessly against Treize's naked chest, his own hips beginning to gyrate a response.
Then Treize released one hand to grope over his desk, knocking over a small jar that he'd been contemplating without much hope. He rolled it over the wooden surface, fumbling it into reach, clumsy with his urgency.
Treize began to strip Wufei's pants off and the Chinese pilot stiffened and tried to strike at him again. He simply reached down, fingers grasping, and *squeezed.*
Wufei's mouth opened in a soundless 'O' and his secondary struggles ceased.
With the other hand, Treize got his pants off the rest of the way, squeezing steadily. He contemplated taking Wufei into his mouth, then decided to save that for another time.
If there was another time.
Instead, Treize dipped his fingers deeply into the jar, then similarly deep into Wufei's cleft.
Wufei jerked and he cut him off with another soothing squeeze. The boy released an abortive whimper then groaned as Treize's skilled hands wrung sensation, sparks of pleasure and pain, from both front and back. His eyes slid closed, mouth still open in amazement and the young officer smothered the parted lips with another kiss.
By the time the hips were kilting to the rhythm of his hands, Treize could barely control himself. He pulled his fingers free and turned the young pilot around, pushing him against the desk and parting the bronze thighs with his knee. Swiftly he shed the rest of his clothing and grabbed another dollop from the jar, coating the head of his upright shaft.
Wufei lurched forward and stuttered a surprised cry as he was penetrated. Treize barely noticed, so focused on the glorious feeling of finally possessing this young dragon, of taking this beautiful virginal young soldier, this Chang Wufei. He was tight and unbelievably perfect.
Wufei cried out again as he plunged deep, aiming for the spot he knew was there. And then the rounded buttocks were beating back against him, Wufei's lean body twisting back to meet the thrusts. Treize panted harshly, grabbed Wufei's hips, and embedded himself deeply, over and over.
And Wufei cried out once more.
With three final, hard thrusts he expended himself into the beautiful dragon's body, semen unspooling to remain as a connection even after he would withdraw. Wufei was gasping and Treize reached for him, clasping the hardened penis and forming a tunnel with both hands to give him purchase. Wufei's breath hissed out his pleasure as sticky jets washed over Treize's hands.
He pulled out with a moue of discontent and Wufei remained prone over the desk for a moment, body shuddering with the aftershocks of such intense rocking pleasure. Then the Chinese pilot pushed up off the desk with his hands.
Wufei did not meet Treize's eyes once as he grabbed up his clothing with phenomenal speed, throwing them on and seizing his sword.
Treize raised an eyebrow, pulling up his pants. "Can I count on you for a rematch?"
Wufei turned and speared him with a positively vicious glance. "Kisama!" he spat, then vanished out the open window into the muggy night.
Treize sighed and trailed a finger over the desk, through a spatter of Wufei's opalescent leavings. Whether he would be back or not, who could say. It shouldn't matter to him anymore...should it? Nevertheless, he truly had won.
To the victor go the spoils.
Wufei stumbled through the underbrush, heedless of sharp branches and razored leaves cutting across the skin of face and hands. He clutched his sword tightly, hacking at outstretched branches that clung from time to time, breath sobbing between his teeth. And between the heaving gasps, one phrase spilled from his lips, a fraying refrain.
"I'm sorry...Nataku...I'm sorry..."
He tripped over the clinging sprawl of a twisted root, and landed on his elbows and face in muddy water. With a desperate cry Wufei flipped himself to his feet, groping for the fallen sword. Treize might give chase. Treize might...he might...
...do it again.
Wufei shivered, the icy tingle racing through his entire body. There was a tight feeling again in his lower stomach, almost pushing out the long aching sensation that burned yet from Treize's penetration. He sank to his knees, forehead nearly touching the clouded surface of the water.
*I'm sorry...Nataku...I'm sorry...excuse the actions of this weakling cur...*
His body betrayed him. This body, that had been trained for a weapon, that he was to use as a force for punishing the OZ -- it had succumbed to Treize's touch. His hands. His mouth. His length...
Wufei's face burned as fiercely as the pain *that* had left behind. In that molten moment though, he'd desired Treize as deeply as the OZ officer had wanted him. And that was why...
*I'm sorry...Nataku...I'm sorry...I am unclean...*
Swiftly, with violence, Wufei stripped his clothing off and splashed water over himself. It was dirty from the mud-sifting puddle but better than nothing. He was mortified to discover traces of moisture, and salve, still seeping out of himself from behind. More guilty evidence of this most shameful encounter.
He tried to cleanse himself but soon the repulsion for the muddy water overcame him, and he gave up. It was just...he did not want to enter the cockpit of Shenlong and sully it so. He dressed again, more slowly this time especially when pulling his pants on. He wondered how long he would be sore with this reminder.
It hurt.
Because the most shameful part of the whole affair...he wanted to do it again.
In what part of this body, this brain, does the human soul reside? Its heart? Its truest feelings?
One cannot ever say.
Even we, for all our technological advancements, we in AC 195 cannot point to a region of the brain and say decisively, "this is the place." Perhaps we are not meant to know. Yet, it is difficult to encompass the notion that the sum of this person -- or the sum of my young dragon -- is bound into thousands of synaptic endings and nerve connections and sensory input and feedback forming a peculiar gestalt. Only this and nothing more.
Which part of *me* harbors the feeling?
If it is only a trick of our bodies, if all this is, hinges upon the flesh that houses us, the flesh that will turn into dust -- I wish I could excise it.
What I have created, this OZ, is something that will last behind me. Inextricably bound up in history whether I succeed or not. But I will succeed. And I do not fear death for having this.
Yet, these feelings. This moment. My eyes looking towards him in time. If this is something that will not last past drawn breath, can it truly exist? It must be some illusion.
I want him, more than anything. It is these feelings -- the ones I fear I cannot last, the ones I cannot remove or point to the source with any conviction -- they cost me more than I care to admit.
If this illusion is real; if we ourselves are more than the sum of our parts... then at the last, perhaps I have given away a piece of my soul.
The End
(:./talya/price3)
