Done for a drabble challenge - "1x2x5 threesome slash smut", which ended up not being very smutty or threesome-like, but did, at least, contain slash. Contains disturbing themes and non-explicit sexual content, and doesn't make any sense, at /all/.
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Pieces
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/pieces of you, pieces of you
lie in me inches deep/
He's still lying on the bed where Trowa and Quatre were trying frantically to save his life, but he has to realise that some day, all that self-destructing is going to catch up to him when he's not looking. I guess this is the last time that he doesn't look. I sit next to him, on sheets dyed red in bloody splashes, and he doesn't move.
This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong, because if you watch him carefully and for a long time like I have, Heero is never still. He's always moving in some way or another, fingers over his keyboard, or cleaning his weapons, or shifting like a restless wild animal checking for possible escapes from any room he happens to be in. He's the most uncomfortable person I've ever had the misfortune of sleeping next to.
"Heero," I say, and lean in closer. His skin next to mine is cold, which is wrong too, because even in winter on Earth he was warm, like a furnace. It never mattered how frigid he pretended to be because his skin made everything a lie, his skin and his eyes, with their heat that I always thought I could drown in.
I kiss him, slipping my tongue in without any difficulty or resistance, and for once he doesn't try to dominate the kiss, taking without giving anything back. His mouth tastes like a mixture of blood and mint, and nothing like me at all.
I try to deepen the kiss. It doesn't work well with only one party doing all the work, but I try anyway, because if I can do this well enough--if I can go into him, go so close that I'm underneath his skin, that I'm part of him, maybe I can give him some of my life and--
And I'm hauled away from him by a strong hand on my collar, and I let it happen because Heero isn't holding me back.
"Stop it, Maxwell," Wufei says. When he lets go, I sag, half-staggering, back onto the bed as though I'm a puppet and my strings are cut. "You can't change anything."
"Of course I can," I say distantly. "I'm the God of Death. This is just a small setback."
"You can't change anything," he says again, more insistent this time. The look in his eyes is familiar, like a dark pool of molten metal.
"Fuck you," I say. The body behind me is cold, and the one in front of me is warm, and I'm not sure which of us is more surprised by the kiss, which is open-mouthed and long and deep. And unfamiliar, because Wufei kisses like an exchange and not a fight; I can't immolate myself in Wufei, because I will never be allowed.
Wufei finally pushes me away, more gentle than he was when pulling me up just now. "Projection," he says vaguely, and I wonder what the hell he thinks he's talking about. "Of emotion during times of high stress, either by transmuting it into another emotion, or by shifting the target of said emotion onto another party, or in some cases, both." He sounds like a psychiatry textbook. "Maxwell, I understand that you're grieving, but this is--"
"Grieving? Why the fuck would I grieve over that asshole?" I ask, and it's true. There isn't any use grieving over somebody like Heero, who lives life like he wants to die and take as much with him as possible, even (me) his friends. Between us, Heero's the most willing to sacrifice himself for what we're fighting for. Sometimes, I even think he wants to, because in the end Heero is the most selfish one out of all of us.
Somehow, I end up without a shirt and with my jeans undone, Wufei's head against my thigh. His hairtie snapped an eternity ago, and one of my hands is in his hair, and the other is gripping the bedframe so hard that I almost can't feel my fingers. He's not very good at giving blowjobs and I almost want to tell him this, but something in my chest feels tight and cramped like it wants to shatter into pieces, and a part of my mind is going /heero heero heero/ so loudly that it hurts. I may actually be saying it, but if I am, Wufei doesn't seem to mind. The hair against my fingers should be shorter than it is, and thicker and rough, not a fall of silk that slips through my hands like water.
Wufei doesn't wait for me to come before lifting his head, and I almost protest but he's pumping me with his hand, in a businesslike, no-nonsense way which is so characteristic of him that I want to laugh.
Coming is like falling apart, like that knot inside me is shattering, and I want to call that knot Heero, but it doesn't feel like it's freeing me. That voice is still calling /heero, heero, heero/ like it'll never stop, and it never may because Heero takes a part of you and doesn't give anything back to fill that empty space.
I open my eyes. Wufei's sitting back, resting his weight against his ankle, and he's wiping his hand off on my discarded shirt fastidiously.
"Heero swallows," I tell him, but when I haul him up for a kiss, he tastes like more of me than Heero ever did.
owari
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Uhh... even I did not expect this after writing it. Why is Heero dead? I don't know. Why is Duo slightly crazy? I don't know. Where did plausible interaction and characterisation go? I don't know. Why is Wufei giving Duo a blowjob on a bed with a dead body in it? DON'T ASK ME.
The request was for a threesome smutfic, but if I actually tried to write it, I'd mix up all my limbs and THEN we'd be in for an extremely embarrassing time. HEERO IS THERE IN SPIRIT. Well, Heero is there physically as well, but as far as the sex went HE WAS THERE IN SPIRIT.
----------------------
Pieces
----------------------
/pieces of you, pieces of you
lie in me inches deep/
He's still lying on the bed where Trowa and Quatre were trying frantically to save his life, but he has to realise that some day, all that self-destructing is going to catch up to him when he's not looking. I guess this is the last time that he doesn't look. I sit next to him, on sheets dyed red in bloody splashes, and he doesn't move.
This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong, because if you watch him carefully and for a long time like I have, Heero is never still. He's always moving in some way or another, fingers over his keyboard, or cleaning his weapons, or shifting like a restless wild animal checking for possible escapes from any room he happens to be in. He's the most uncomfortable person I've ever had the misfortune of sleeping next to.
"Heero," I say, and lean in closer. His skin next to mine is cold, which is wrong too, because even in winter on Earth he was warm, like a furnace. It never mattered how frigid he pretended to be because his skin made everything a lie, his skin and his eyes, with their heat that I always thought I could drown in.
I kiss him, slipping my tongue in without any difficulty or resistance, and for once he doesn't try to dominate the kiss, taking without giving anything back. His mouth tastes like a mixture of blood and mint, and nothing like me at all.
I try to deepen the kiss. It doesn't work well with only one party doing all the work, but I try anyway, because if I can do this well enough--if I can go into him, go so close that I'm underneath his skin, that I'm part of him, maybe I can give him some of my life and--
And I'm hauled away from him by a strong hand on my collar, and I let it happen because Heero isn't holding me back.
"Stop it, Maxwell," Wufei says. When he lets go, I sag, half-staggering, back onto the bed as though I'm a puppet and my strings are cut. "You can't change anything."
"Of course I can," I say distantly. "I'm the God of Death. This is just a small setback."
"You can't change anything," he says again, more insistent this time. The look in his eyes is familiar, like a dark pool of molten metal.
"Fuck you," I say. The body behind me is cold, and the one in front of me is warm, and I'm not sure which of us is more surprised by the kiss, which is open-mouthed and long and deep. And unfamiliar, because Wufei kisses like an exchange and not a fight; I can't immolate myself in Wufei, because I will never be allowed.
Wufei finally pushes me away, more gentle than he was when pulling me up just now. "Projection," he says vaguely, and I wonder what the hell he thinks he's talking about. "Of emotion during times of high stress, either by transmuting it into another emotion, or by shifting the target of said emotion onto another party, or in some cases, both." He sounds like a psychiatry textbook. "Maxwell, I understand that you're grieving, but this is--"
"Grieving? Why the fuck would I grieve over that asshole?" I ask, and it's true. There isn't any use grieving over somebody like Heero, who lives life like he wants to die and take as much with him as possible, even (me) his friends. Between us, Heero's the most willing to sacrifice himself for what we're fighting for. Sometimes, I even think he wants to, because in the end Heero is the most selfish one out of all of us.
Somehow, I end up without a shirt and with my jeans undone, Wufei's head against my thigh. His hairtie snapped an eternity ago, and one of my hands is in his hair, and the other is gripping the bedframe so hard that I almost can't feel my fingers. He's not very good at giving blowjobs and I almost want to tell him this, but something in my chest feels tight and cramped like it wants to shatter into pieces, and a part of my mind is going /heero heero heero/ so loudly that it hurts. I may actually be saying it, but if I am, Wufei doesn't seem to mind. The hair against my fingers should be shorter than it is, and thicker and rough, not a fall of silk that slips through my hands like water.
Wufei doesn't wait for me to come before lifting his head, and I almost protest but he's pumping me with his hand, in a businesslike, no-nonsense way which is so characteristic of him that I want to laugh.
Coming is like falling apart, like that knot inside me is shattering, and I want to call that knot Heero, but it doesn't feel like it's freeing me. That voice is still calling /heero, heero, heero/ like it'll never stop, and it never may because Heero takes a part of you and doesn't give anything back to fill that empty space.
I open my eyes. Wufei's sitting back, resting his weight against his ankle, and he's wiping his hand off on my discarded shirt fastidiously.
"Heero swallows," I tell him, but when I haul him up for a kiss, he tastes like more of me than Heero ever did.
owari
------------------
Uhh... even I did not expect this after writing it. Why is Heero dead? I don't know. Why is Duo slightly crazy? I don't know. Where did plausible interaction and characterisation go? I don't know. Why is Wufei giving Duo a blowjob on a bed with a dead body in it? DON'T ASK ME.
The request was for a threesome smutfic, but if I actually tried to write it, I'd mix up all my limbs and THEN we'd be in for an extremely embarrassing time. HEERO IS THERE IN SPIRIT. Well, Heero is there physically as well, but as far as the sex went HE WAS THERE IN SPIRIT.