Author: Cinderzol
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language.
Pairings: 6x2; way background implied 1x/+R, 3x/+4, 5x/+S (overall)
Summary: Duo makes no more offers. Zechs doesn't wait for any.
Warnings: Yaoi. Oh well, angst. And it's been pointed out, 'not-niceness' too. And I'd still say PWP, but no one seems to believe me.
Notes: Post EW. Title taken from Rammstein's song Wollt ihr das Bett in Flammen sehen? (It goes like this: "Sex ist ein Schlacht Liebe ist Krieg").

Heartfelt thanks to UtopiaDoesn'tExist, for the beta and for staying ever so cool even when I'm not. And thanks to Asymphototropic without whose insistence (but it's really the bribe that did it) this would have taken me at least three months more.

Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing. Not making profit either.

Sex is a Battle, Love is War + Part 2

2: Second Battle

Cassiopeia. A star, a star, a star and two more. In his mind's eye a woman's slender finger traces five yellow dots on a faded page. Just as his eyes follow the familiar pattern in the sky above. M. Or is it W? Cassiopeia, the Queen. He has known her form long before he saw the stars.

Now he can't get enough of them.

It has been two years since he saw the sky for the first time -- the original, one and only thing in the known universe for which the word has any real meaning. The novelty has yet to wear off.

It is not something one can properly imagine. Being among the stars, in vacuum, is quite a different feeling. They are cold, and prosaic, and immediate -- and look nothing like they do from Earth. On Earth, the stars paint mythology.

Most colonies have "skies" with "stars". First settlers feeling lost and alone in an unfamiliar place away from home. Nostalgic and all that crap.  Not on L2 though. Or maybe they did, long ago. Duo has never cared enough to check because nobody remembers it now. So L2's "sky" is black. No stars, no fancy constellation reproductions, no unnecessary costs. Who cares about starlight where dying from hunger is considered one of the more benign ways to die anyway?

Shit. Here we go again. The residual -- and lately seemingly constant -- bitterness can't let him enjoy even this small moment of peace.

Okay, not going there.

The sky...is unbelievable. He knows, intellectually, the physics of it. Of course. But a part of him will always be in awe with the knowledge that between him, here, on Earth, and, say, Beta Cassiopeiae flickering merrily up there, there is nothing -- nothing solid at least, no man-made barriers -- nothing but air, layer upon thinning layer, and then, vacuum... It's such an intriguing phenomenon. That you can leave Earth's surface and cross into space from virtually anywhere - and not from a finite number of designated exit points...Natural atmosphere. The mind boggles.

Earth is funny like that.

The cold marble he's lying on makes him shiver but the view is worth it. It would be better if he were in a desert of course, or somewhere high on a mountain. The sky over Sanq has too much reflected light and too few stars in it, and the crescent moon is not helping any -- but fortunately old Cassy is strong enough to overcome the artificial hindrance.

His time in Sanq is drawing to an end. The more official part of the peace celebrations will be over by this evening. Then in two days he'll have to decide once and for all what to do with himself. Where to go. Not that there aren't many options. Just that having to think about it at all comes as a surprise, being alive and all that. And for a short -- very short -- while, he had... - well, not really, but still...kind of -  thought, that maybe, just maybe, he would have someone to make that choice with...

Oh fuck. Annoyance, mostly at his own wayward, stupid, thoughts, sweeps through him and successfully robs him of any remaining pleasure or desire to stargaze. This is just so... stupid!

Not until half a minute ago he had everything under control. He had spent the day smiling and laughing, and generally being Duo for everyone. It had been fun, all in all. Heero had seemed...content, and Duo hadn't wanted to begrudge him the happiness. He hadn't. And he doesn't. All in all. Mostly. It's not an easy job however, requires concentration. So he had needed his alone-time -- to take a break, find some inner peace, gather his resolve, whatever -- and not, most emphatically not, wallow in self-pity. Damn. Too late for that now.

Hell. He's alone, he can indulge a little. Misery sometimes just gets too tired of company.

Besides, he is safely away from everyone.

He should go back soon. Probably. The night weather is agreeable enough -- it's June after all, so lounging on a marble bench outside is a definite pleasure. That the bench is near the gazebo serving as the center point to the Royal Park's labyrinth is an added bonus. No one in their right mind would go wandering in the dark inside its two-meter high hedge-walls at that time.

Even the Preventers on duty are generally satisfied to keep watch from the outside at night. Duo knows where they are, and how they move. He had to, since he specifically made a point not to announce his presence to them coming here. Which, potentially, could turn nasty for him, should they take a sudden notice somehow. He's quite confident however that can't happen without intention on his part.

So far, he is content to stay where he is, marble digging reassuringly into his shoulder blades, arms crossed under his head, knees bent, one leg on the ground, the other propped on the bench's edge. All in all, a fairly comfortable position.

He will go back. Any minute now. He should. Really. It's the last night with all the guests present. Besides, although no one has given any indication that his last evening's disappearance had been noticed, vanishing twice in a row might be stretching his luck. Quatre for one has always been a little weird. Duo more than anything doesn't need to answer well-meaning questions right now. Not when he's found some peace and calm. Well, okay, there might be some things...not quite...festering...inside...but overall Duo is fine. There is no problem with anything. Everyone has seen this today.

Including Heero.

Yup, everything's fine. Just two minutes and he'll go back.

Where everyone is.

Including Zechs.

That man. An enigma. What had possessed him to agree to Duo's half-assed proposition last night? By all means, he should have dismissed the bawdy pick-up line as some sort of a practical joke or something. To actually go through with it...

Duo still doesn't know what he had expected -- acting on impulse again. Or what he'd been looking for. Well, a distraction, obviously. Probably.

It had worked. Quite well at that. It had been something like smashing your toes against a wall when you have a headache. It doesn't make your head stop hurting but it certainly takes your mind off it...

Today the prince had been keeping his distance all day long. Treated him like he always had. As if they had never exchanged two words. Much less bodily fluids.  

Which, of course, had been the truth. Until last night.

Yet the encounter had been oddly satisfying. Exhilarating. Liberating even. Not unlike jumping off an upper floor of a high building. With an outcome that could have easily turned out just as messy and painful in the end...

Damn it. Duo doesn't know what had happened between him and His Royal Highness last night -- well, apart from the obvious -- or even if anything did. But fuck if he is going to dwell on it further, or spare the bastard any more thoughts while looking at the sky.

He's not that pathetic.

Mood completely ruined by now, he is about to get up and make his quiet way to the palace. Then a noise freezes him on spot.

Footsteps.

Not quiet at all. Strong. Confident. Purposeful. Making their way through the labyrinth.

The person coming moves with no hesitation, no pauses at the convoluted turns -- unerringly -- like they fucking own the place -- and...

Well damn.

Maybe they really do.

Duo can hear the sound of feet on gravel quite clearly, approaching and moving away from him, as the man - little doubt now - follows the elaborate path leading to the gazebo. Thoughts of weapons-position-cover run almost subconsciously through Duo's mind -- he had familiarized himself with his surroundings, thoroughly, even before lying down -- but it's not like he's being stalked. So he stays where he is, watching the dark and only way into the central clearing with barely suppressed ...curiosity? apprehension?... Not that he's not ready to defend himself on a moment's notice. But the wild-haired idea - unfounded guess really - swirling unexpectedly in his mind makes his heartbeat hammer with anticipation.

Besides, he cannot think of a single reason for Zechs Merquise to attack him.

Not after last night at least.

It doesn't take long. The labyrinth - an honest-to-god, veritable pre-colony labyrinth - is painstakingly recreated after designs of times past. Relena is anything if not thorough once she makes up her mind:  the simple right-hand rule would bring anyone to the center with the little effort it takes to walk the maze's many but short passages.

When his fellow lover of moonlit walks through dark hedges appears at the entrance, Duo's mind has one thought only. He had been right. For the life of him, he can't say why.

And, for the life of him, he cannot imagine what the prince would want with him anymore.

That Merquise has sought him here on purpose is without doubt. How he had known where to look, and, most of all, why, is something Duo cannot fathom.

The prince stops on the verge of the clearing and appears to take in the tall-roofed marble gazebo at the center surrounded by park benches of the same material.

And, inevitably, Duo's prone form displayed on one of them.

The crunch of gravel ceases as his visitor's feet make the transition to uncovered soil. For a moment the man just stands there; his most formal, lavish, Royal-House-of-Sanq attire oddly in place in these pseudo-antiquated surroundings.

Scarce moonlight plating pale hair in liquid silver, eyes hidden in its shade, the prince looks haunting and haunted at the same time.

The sight causes an odd little twist in Duo's heart.

What ghosts are you running from, Zechs Merquise?

Duo blinks the unbidden thought away -- what the hell? -- and opens his mouth to speak when the prince beats him to action by taking the half-dozen steps to the only occupied bench in sight.

Which makes Duo suddenly see the drawbacks of his reclining position -feet on the ground but elbows still on the marble - as he really doesn't care for anyone towering over him like that. He's already half-way up when Merquise swiftly changes the balance of power.

By simply kneeling down to the ground.

Between Duo's legs.

Duo is so thrown back by the abrupt gesture - and the gloved palm splayed on his belly -- that he is not only rendered speechless but also easily allows the light pressure to return him to his previous position.

The prince merely regards him for a heartbeat, as if in contemplation. In the meager starlight, Duo can see his eyes, ice-cold as usual, but dark and narrowed now, and the... distaste in them

...Distaste?...

Duo is half a moment away from pushing away -- and to hell with Merquise and his weird behavior -- when the other white-gloved hand joins the first on his stomach. In an instant they're already hooked on his belt.

Duo is paralyzed, mind blanking in utter incomprehension. ...Sex?...Merquise sought him for sex?

...Here?!

No way.

"..Hey!...Wait a minute! What the fuck?..."

He doesn't care if his voice comes out slightly panicked, even if he is whispering - there are Preventers somewhere out there, he doesn't need them barging through the hedges on a scene like that --...! there are Preventers out there, who undoubtedly know where the prince is, and the bastard wants to do this, here? Now?

Merquise doesn't react, doesn't even lift his head from his self-appointed chore as the long fingers continue uninterruptedly and methodically to open Duo's fly. It feels oddly impersonal -- Heero cleans his gun with more passion that that -- and Duo has to stop this, lifts a hand to do so -- but suddenly he doesn't want to, not really, as he stares transfixed at the bowed head, long pale strands of hair inundating his lap and spilling all over his thighs towards the ground. Shiver races through Duo, desire flaring sharply in his belly at the sight; so strong and potent, it makes him dizzy -- that's a frickin' prince kneeling between his legs!...and he's going to... -- when Merquise takes him in his mouth.

With an effort he never knew he was capable of, Duo manages to suppress any sound from leaving his throat -- just barely -- as the heat... and wet...and sucking...and oh god, twirling -- turn his insides, his whole body, into quivering mush. He is vaguely grateful to the support of the bench as his knees seem inordinately affected.

After some impossible moments spent in dealing with the initial shock, Duo gathers some wits enough to watch. The willpower required to stop the proceedings being presently sucked right out of him, there's precious little for him left to do, and the visual...the visual is not something he would likely ever forget.

Curiously, nor does he want to.

Merquise is...efficient. No other word for it. He doesn't show any hesitation in the task at hand -- Duo is not surprised somehow -- and there is no trace of teasing in his actions. He appears completely focused on bringing Duo off, and soon, although he doesn't make any noticeable haste out of it either. The action seems cold and removed, in perfect contrast to the sensations coming from his cock -- and Duo has to stifle a sob, though he can't say which of the two feelings - or maybe both - affects him so. It's pure pleasure -- undeniable, inevitable, and it's building - yet he wants it over. He would like to see the prince's face, and eyes -- and at the same time is relieved that he cannot. So he stares at the movement of the blond head instead, up and down, driving, intensifying, urging his pleasure with every up and every down, and cannot take his eyes off the flowing silver strands. So long, they seem bound to sweep the dust but somehow never quite reach it, hovering just above the ground instead.

It's disturbing for some reason. Duo's not sure whether he'd like to completely force the perfect tresses down to the dirt or reach over and save them from such an unseemly fate...

Then the prince does something -- with his tongue, or lips -- it has been all mouth all the way, no hands - and Duo's utterly helpless to stop his strange wayward thoughts from scattering inconsequentially in all directions before converging with a vengeance into one single blinding need -- to thrust, to get deeper, to get more! His hands must have found purchase on the sides of the bench, as his fingers are currently trying to embed themselves into the marble, while his hips begin to surge upward -- or attempt to, since Merquise effortlessly holds him down, gloved palms pressing on Duo's thighs. But the whole exercise has one goal and one goal only -- on which they both agree for once -- and the tip of the tongue -- or the swirl -- or the wet movement of the lips just there -- tips him over. Orgasm hits him hard; his head hits the marble, and he's seeing fireworks.

When the colorful lights dancing in his vision do not disappear even after the prince has stopped swallowing, Duo is forced to realize that he is seeing fireworks.

As the loud bang-bangbang that has taken over the quiet sounds of a forest at nighttime attests,  once his heartbeat has quieted down enough to allow him to actually hear it. He remembers vaguely reading about that in some program of the evening events or another...

And he can't help but smile. Because now, that precise moment -- is the first time he feels peace. Not just peace -- but peace. A year and a half after the end of the war, six months after the Mariemaia Incident, and just now Duo can say he knows what peace feels like -- it's this, this moment, under the open sky alight with exuberant colors, afterglow tingling through his veins. It's buoyant, and happy, and exhilarating...an euphoric feeling he knows - but it's also calm and carefree unlike any battle he's ever been in; and Duo revels in it, untroubled and happy for the first time in a very long time. He watches the flowers of light -- not explosions, not beam cannons, not bombs -- bloom in the sky above; tries to remember that feeling, to absorb it in his body and mind because precious things like that are rare, and don't last. And if Heero were here, they could remember it together -

God help me.

He has to close his eyes, heart beating suddenly so hard it hurts.

How long? How fucking long will this go on?

Enough of that. He ought to go back, not watch some stupid light show. Right. And Merquise can go to hell.

He starts at the thought, eyes flying open in stunned realization. He's out of his mind. Utterly and completely mad. Forgetting his enemy is close by...

If it were the war, he would be dead by now.

Then again, if it were the war, said enemy wouldn't have appeared out of the blue just to give him a blowjob.

As it is, the prince is no longer crouching but standing, tall and towering -- dangerous - still between Duo's legs. He's too close for comfort, and it suddenly makes Duo feel absurdly defenseless.

Merquise is not watching the soon-to-be-over fireworks but Duo instead. The thought that the arrogant bastard has been doing that since the light show started makes him distinctly uncomfortable.

As does his present position.

Flushing with embarrassment, he belatedly realizes exactly what Merquise is seeing -- Duo's body, sprawled indecently on the bench, ridiculously formal clothes in partial disarray, fly undone, and...yes, exposed, if the cool air he can feel there is anything to go by.

And while there has been ...something... in the prince's _expression just now, currently his features are unreadable, as cold and closed off as always. His stance however gives off an air of haughty disapproval, and the look he's giving Duo is...annoyed?...angry? ...As if all this is somehow Duo's fault.

Whatever `all this' is.

Maybe he's mad he didn't get any. Heh.

Duo has no intention to reciprocate anything. It's not like he had wanted to be sucked off. The bastard hadn't even asked, so no debt owed there.

With a glare he urges the prince to step back, and when he doesn't, Duo moves to sit up anyway, hands dropping to close his fly at the same time.

"Don't."

Low and commanding; there is no mistaking that cool tone. It sends Duo's pulse racing.

Order or not, Duo is so surprised to hear the silent son of a bitch actually say something, his fingers hesitate in their task.

In the next moment it doesn't really matter, as Merquise presses him back to the bench yet again, palm on his chest. What now?

His annoyance quickly transmutes into shock when the elegant hands move to his waist -- to his still undone pants -- and unceremoniously start tugging the material, underwear and all, down.

...Wha...? Nonononono. No fucking way. They are not doing this here, he is not going to be fucked out in the open -- he might not have discovered his kinks yet but he's absolutely sure exhibitionism is not one of them, and the possibility of being discovered during sex, by Preventer security detail no less, fills him with nothing but dread... dammit, that's beside the point!... They are done. His careless words yesterday had been a one-time offer, not a standing invitation. And if the royal bastard is horny he can go fuck himself, or go find himself a stable boy, or do whatever other depravity aristocrats tend to indulge in when the mood strikes...

But Duo cannot close his legs -- there's a hard body between them -- and instead makes a grab for his pants, or at least underwear, but is not fast enough as they are almost over his hips now. The son of a bitch has the upper hand, as it were, and with a sharp tug Duo can feel the material slide down from under him all the way to his ankles, ridiculously easy.

He is shivering - the night air is cool after all -- but does not protest further when the prince proceeds to take off his right shoe. Just that one.

It will be enough.

Duo swallows convulsively.

He's not given the time to contemplate what's wrong with him to allow all this -- being manhandled like that -- as he is manhandled further. Familiarly strong arms take hold of his hips and flip him  over, his upper body twisting quite on its own to follow his legs. His already hardening cock -- why now? - briefly touches the marble before Merquise lifts him by the waist until Duo's hands and knees gather instinctively beneath him. Then he's deposited in this new -- convenient - position.

The situation is beyond surreal.

The prince fully intends to do this. Right here. Right now. On a bench, in a park. How can this be happening? Why?

The game ended yesterday, didn't it? What's this then?

And why is he going on with it?

He is instantly distracted from his thoughts as clothed hands come to rest on his ass. A finger -- coarse and dry - brushes his entrance, and the sensation makes him hang his head, his braid a dark rope dangling in his side vision.

The fucking bastard. He still has those formal gloves on.

The next command is not more than a quiet breath.

"Spread."

And just like that, Duo does; knees sliding away until they reach the edges of the surface, erection -- swelling - swaying with the movement, nerve endings catching fire. When did he become so good at taking orders?

Apparently he is that pathetic.

He knows he should be afraid -- had been, yesterday, and that's when he had thought himself in control. Not anymore. If Merquise wants to hurt him, he will.

Judging by that last _expression Duo caught earlier, he probably does.

So what the hell anyway.

Pain like that he can deal with.

And it's already out of his hands now.

For a moment there is no contact between him and the man behind him. Duo stares it away, keeping his eyes on the pale marble before him. It's not like he can see much more even if he wanted to. The fireworks are over. Once again only starlight breaks the darkness.

It's a pity, that he can't see the stars, the way he is now.

His momentary reverie is broken when a gloved hand steadies his hip, while fingers -- two, naked now, cool and slick -- first touch,then push into him. Duo manages to stay quiet, just barely, because it hurts -- if anything, the touch is less not-careful now than it was yesterday but he is sore -- and his eyes begin to tear up. When the fingers start moving, all he can do is grit his teeth. He doesn't believe the prince is hurting him on purpose, not really -- the bastard wouldn't have bothered with preliminaries otherwise -but there is no room for him to spread his legs any further, and relaxing his muscles with that stinging soreness proves quite unfeasible. He can only hope it somehow gets better, though now that seems impossible.

When the fingers are removed, Duo can't help a gasp of relief -- all the sweeter, in light of what is about to replace them. He can see it in his mind's eye and shudders remembering the size -- he can already feel the blunt tip -- dammit, can't the son of a bitch give him a fucking second -- but there is no waiting, no asking, no hesitation this time - the whole thing just enters him in one swift thrust - and there is no suppressing the sobs now. He's burying them in his shoulder, biting, until he's able to breathe at least a bit less noisily.

Now the bastard stills, though Duo is fairly certain it's not for his sake.

Nonetheless, he is grateful for the not-quite respite -- at least he can catch his breath -- but he's still impaled, and quivering,and the impossible feeling of being stretched and filled over his limit, though now familiar, is still as too fucking much as it was yesterday. And the tip, pressed there - promising oblivion - hot, leaking heat, taking over, making its way through his body, hijacking his mind off pain, real or imagined... Duo can see it now, how it will get better. Soon.

Soon comes in a heartbeat. The prince drives into him -- and all coherent thought out of him -- as the real fucking starts.

Somehow, the bench proves to be just the right height to allow him to do this standing. The clean, long, powerful thrusts hold such force Duo would undoubtedly topple over the edge if not for Merquise's unyielding grip on his waist -- clothed fingers digging into his left side, cool flesh ones into his right, while some disjointed part of Duo's mind catalogues the dissimilar sensations. The hands clasping his middle under the loosely hanging shirt are moving him forward and back, forward and back, in a counter-rhythm against the prince's hips, and although this hold is his only -- external - contact between Duo and the man fucking him, it still feels wonderful. He's losing any sense of time and grip on reality, fast, with every choked breath and every thrust shaking, rocking, wrecking his body - for that one moment he is owned - possessed, taken -- needed? -- willed by another -- moved by another - he's not his own, not himself; there's nothing else, no one else, no games, just this, just this, this ...pleasure...and it's quite odd that he can feel wetness trailing down his face -  

It's not like anyone will see.

...but then a hand -- the gloved one -- grasps his cock, stroking, and it's suddenly so agonizingly intense, Duo's arms give out, elbows hitting the marble hard, nose escaping the same prosaic fate by a mere accident, although he manages to smack his forehead on the surface somewhat. It's certainly a jolt -- but he currently doesn't care, cannot care as the new angle gives the fucking a whole new tangible meaning, and all of a sudden, staying silent is no longer an option. He's biting again - his wrist now - would probably bite the marble if he could - but it's all useless, as gasps -- sobs? -half-moans escape him unchecked. He has already surrendered -himself, his body -- what more is his pride? It doesn't matter anymore. He's been such a fool to think it ever did... But a thrust, and a squeeze, and sudden liquid warmth -- pulsing, inside -blank his mind into a second orgasm that night, and for some countless moments the world consists only of frantic breaths, loud heartbeat and darkness.

When he can hear again, it's the quiet whisper of a zipper being pulled up, and he wishes the darkness had stayed longer.

There's a short, barely audible, rustle of clothes being straightened behind him, and Duo knows what he'll see if he turns around -- the prince of Sanq, impossibly unflustered and proper, not a moon-bleached hair out of place. Cold. Perfect.

So he doesn't.

And there is neither uncertainty, nor hesitation in Merquise's steps when he leaves without a word.

Duo wishes he could be angry.

As the crunch-crunch of feet on gravel recedes and deceptively approaches in turns -- disappearing - he drops down completely, stretching on his belly, tired, unmindful of the mess he'd made, dimly taking notice of aching elbows and sore knees -- marble is a damn hard surface to be fucked on, that's for sure. His forehead is throbbing too, now that he's paying attention, and he can only hope his teeth hadn't done much damage where he'd sunk them carelessly into his arm. His pants are still attached to his left foot, bunched at the ankle really, where the shoe prevents them from slipping completely off, but Duo can't muster enough concern to care what shape they're in after being half-dragged in the dust beside the bench.

The thought of Preventers discovering him here like that -- bare-assed under the moonlight, drying semen on his thighs - somehow also fails to produce the expected worry anymore. As does his non-problem with Heero. He's numb -- the marble is cold -- and Heero, caring for Heero, suddenly seems so far away right now, some other lifetime, in light of his more recent, and still quite palpable, problem with Zechs Merquise.

And it doesn't feel like a game anymore.

Duo cannot think anything about that now.

And he still has to go back. Really, this time. It's not like he has to see anyone tonight -- it's probably too late for that anyway so he can slip into his room and make excuses come morning - when something in his peripheral vision catches his attention. The movement of his head makes it twitch in turn and he can see it now -his braid -- coiled like some useless piece of rope, discarded and unraveling in the dust.

+

When he finally makes his way to the palace, it's almost morning.

Because he had not just smashed his toes against a wall, he had chopped them right off.

And it hurts too damn much.

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