09-Oct-2005
Title: Watching Over
Author: Rurouni Triv
Warnings: Um... I do believe that this is the first lemon I've ever put on the Net. Be afraid, be very afraid. Another of my semi-patented (and sappy :P) POV fics, although not part of the POV series.
Pairing: Yep. Another 1x2x1. What can I say, I like the classics.
Disclaimer: I don't suppose I really need to tell anyone here they don't belong to me.
It's only at times like this that you see it. Only when he's deeply asleep, knowing he's safe, all of his defenses laid aside. When his normally-mobile face goes still and slack, and the force of his personality is dimmed, then you can see it.
They say that he's gorgeous, that he rivals Quatre for sheer male beauty, devil to Winner's angel.
They're wrong. When he sleeps so deeply, when the animation leaves his face and you can see it as it is, he's ... well, a bit funny-looking. His eyes are huge, almost bulging. His cheeks are wide, his chin is pointy, and his nose is so snubbed that it almost looks as if he pressed it to a window for so long that it stuck that way. If you look close enough, you can see that it's been broken at least once, leaving it even more upturned than it is.
You have to look closely to see the other scars, too. There's the thin one on his forehead, following the line of his right eyebrow, probably from a knife. Another knife-wound under his jaw, legacy of someone's attempt to slit his throat - you could barely see it unless the light hit it just so. A bump on the left side of his lip, a reminder of a stay in an OZ prison. The pock-marked burn scars left after an emergency repair job on his Deathscythe - he hadn't had a mask to protect him when the arc welder spat hot metal into his face.
When he's awake, you don't see any of that. The scars and imperfections disappear as if they never existed, overshadowed by the sheer force of his personality.
He knows they're there, of course. It amuses - and bemuses - him a bit when people say that he's beautiful, because he knows better. It doesn't really matter to him, though - he just goes along with it because what's important isn't if he's as gorgeous objectively as they say he is, just that he can use their reactions to him to his advantage. That's what makes it work: he polishes what shines brightest and it blinds them to his imperfections. It's one big game of bait and switch to him, and he's a master of it.
It's only with me that he rests from the shell-game he plays with the world. He'd fucked plenty of people before we hooked up, but he wouldn't sleep with any but me. He didn't trust any of them. With me, he sleeps as deeply as any child, knowing that I'll watch his back.
Has anyone else ever seen him like this? So trusting, so vulnerable? Not since Solo died, I'm sure. He wouldn't have left himself this vulnerable to G or even Howard. They wanted something from him: a hard worker, a thief, an assassin, a pilot. They wanted his body, basically. His thin, agile, scarred body with its unexpected wiry strength and his sharp-edged, ferally brilliant mind.
And he is brilliant. The gods or lucky genetics have blessed him with wits as sharp as his knives and as blinding as Deathscythe's EW at full power. He routinely makes leaps of intuition that leave everyone around him gasping in awe. Even we four, supposedly the colonies' best and brightest, can't always keep up with him now that he's had a chance to get a real education - and that education has progressed with amazing rapidity.
Did you know that when G first found him, he could only read at a third-grade level? That his knowledge of scientific theory was on a par with a six-year-old? He blew through G's best security systems like they were nothing, and he did it without really understanding how they worked. It was observation and guesswork, with a side-helping of highly illegal tutoring by shady characters overheard in back alleys.
If he'd had a normal childhood, a normal education... well, okay, he'd have been bored silly. But if he'd had the kind of teaching that, say, the old Specials cadets had, where they were taught as much as they could absorb as fast as they could learn it, he'd have been in college by the time he was twelve. He'd have gotten his first Masters by the time he was fourteen.
As it is, he's become a professional student. He'll pitch in at Preventers when it's needed, like all of us, but for the most part his life is consumed by the pursuit of knowledge.
At twenty-three, he has four Masters, two PhDs, a variety of lesser degrees, and standing offers of research fellowships at no less than twelve universities and research facilities. The Preventers had funded his first year of college - after that, people were falling all over themselves to fund his continued education.
Not that he's not giving them good value for their money. I've lost track of how many inventions he's patented. Every single one of his scholarships (and he'll sometimes have two or three at a time) has been paid off, some with interest far beyond what his benefactors expected. Duo Maxwell does not take charity, you see. He'll accept a loan, but not charity. If you do something for him (or, gods forbid, to him) he will find a way to pay you back. That goes double for his friends, by the way. I've never met anyone as overprotective - in a good way - as he is. And it's not that he doesn't think that we aren't quite capable of taking care of ourselves, because he knows we are, he trusts us to do what needs doing. But no matter what's going on or how bad it gets, if you're his friend he'll be there watching your back - and your front if he can manage it.
It drives Wufei insane, because he feels like Duo doesn't trust him to take care of himself. Trowa finds it baffling - he's been a mercenary as long as he can remember, why would Duo think he needs protecting? Quatre... well, after the years that the Manguanacs have spent trying to wrap him in cotton, Quatre's almost immune to it and just goes about his business.
And me? I adore it. My whole life, I was the defender, I was the one on the front lines, I was the one expected to lay down his life to accomplish the mission. For Duo to be there, ready to lay down his life to keep me safe, even knowing I can more than take care of myself and knowing that he can expect me to defend him just as fiercely, makes me want to swoon like the heroine of one of those silly romance-novels of Relena's sometimes.
Either that, or rip his clothes off and fuck him through the mattress. Or let him fuck me, I'm easy that way... easy for him. Anyone else who tried to touch me would pull back a bloody stump, assuming that Duo didn't get to him before me. I know of at least three people who've left town or changed jobs rather than deal with a jealous Duo, and at least one... well, you know the difference between a good friend and a great friend? The one time that someone tried forcing himself on me, I didn't have time to defend myself. Duo saw to that.
They never found the bastard. I never mentioned what happened to anyone either. Not like they're going to arrest him for anything at this point, and I'd rather avoid either of us getting charged with murder. They could, after all, say that between the two of us we should certainly have been able to stop him without resorting to lethal force.
It doesn't matter to me. Just the fact that he'd defended me matters. No one had ever done that. I'm the "Perfect Soldier", after all. I can bend steel bars with my bare hands. I've been trained since I was a toddler in a thousand ways to kill a man. I'm a child of chaos, heir to the assassin Odin Lowe.
I've had teammates, of course - the other Gundam pilots, occasionally the Manguanacs - but that was different. It was a matter of all of us having a common objective, a mission that was best accomplished through cooperation. I was a worthy comrade, an asset far too valuable to waste for lack of a bit of backup.
This... this was different. He defended me, knowing that with the war over those who feared us as murderous terrorists could use his actions to have him imprisoned or executed, and he did it knowing that I could have protected myself quite easily and gotten nothing more than a slap on the wrist for what was clearly self-defense. He put everything he'd gained since the last battle on the line, and he did it for me. Not his ally, not the soldier, but the man called Heero Yuy.
Just thinking about that makes me hot. Makes all the physical flaws and personal quirks fade to insignificance.
Makes me want to roll over and be his bitch for a lifetime.
He twitches in his sleep and moans as I lick my way down his neck, his chest, down to his soft cock. It hardens as I lick and suckle it, my hand cupping his balls, kneading gently in the way he adores. He loves being woken up like this, loves it when his first thoughts aren't thoughts at all but the pure, raw sensations of lust. When he knows nothing more than pleasure and love, the love that I feel for him, that he feels for me.
His hands come down to tangle in my hair, hips languidly thrusting as he uses my throat, pumping into me. He moans my name, and even though it's not truly mine, even though it was just a code-name, it's the name that I've kept because it was the name by which he knows me, and in his voice it is the sweetest music I have ever heard.
He cried out as he came, pumping cum down my throat, and I swallowed as much as I could, licking the remnants off his dick afterwards with a lazy tongue. I was hard as a rock, I always am at times like this, and I slide up his sweaty body as his legs, still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, lifted to wrap around me, as his arms draped himself around my neck. His wild bangs were sticking to his forehead, and his eyes... those amazing, hypnotic eyes... were hazy with orgasm. In this moment, he truly was beautiful.
I eased into his body like coming home. He is my home, has been ever since that day, the only home I've ever known or ever wanted. He is love and trust and joy and he is mine, completely and totally and because he has given himself to me. He lets me use his body - he, who fought for years to avoid becoming another body in a meat-market slum - as if it were mine by right. He is tight and hot and he moves with me as if he has always been a part of me, as if this moment will never end, as if we will remained joined together forever, and he gives a low moan of satisfaction with every thrust. And when I am done, when I have emptied myself inside of him, he cradles me against him, in the warm embrace of his limbs, until my trembling ceases and I drift off to sleep. Until I rest, as deep and untroubled as any child, knowing that as I have watched over his sleep, he will watch over mine.
I am safe. I am loved. I am home.
The End
...I warned you it was sappy. ^^;
(:./rt/watching)
