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"Flicker Fade"Written By: Miss Murdered Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters - am just borrowing to torment for my amusement Rating: NC 17 Warnings: m/m sex, character death (Howard –
I love this guy and I kill him!), some angst, bad language Pairings: 2x3 Summary: Howard's funeral reunites
the former Gundam pilots in Hawaii. But the reunion is complicated
by the fact Trowa and Duo haven't seen each other for years and the
feelings they once had for each other have never quite faded. "Flicker Fade"
Knowing It's Wrong The hotel bar had seemed a good idea. But Trowa regretted it when he got the text message at gone midnight as he felt unsteady on his feet. He couldn't drink like he used to. Getting old, he figured. And he knew he should just ignore the message. The room number, the floor, the guy who he wasn't supposed to have feelings for but instead he was knocking on a door, the plush carpet underneath his feet and it was being opened by Duo dressed only in boxers and a t-shirt, his hair dishevelled. "I couldn't sleep." Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Figured," he said and he noted the alcohol bottle in his hand, the label black and the liquid amber. "You never did sleep good either." "You could've called Heero." "He's not as good drinking buddy. Starts lecturing me on alcohol and what it does to my liver." Trowa snorted. It was very true and he walked in, letting Duo close the door behind him. He tried not to be impressed or surprised by the room as it was plusher than his own. It was a suite with a large living room area, large glass windows and a television that rivalled a movie theatre screen. Instead of the cheap bottles in Trowa's mini-bar -Duo had full bottles and crystal glasses. It was all sleek and modern and chrome and white leather. And it had multiple rooms. "Fancy," Trowa commented as he walked in, taking a seat on the white leather couch, sinking into the buttery feeling expensive fabric. "Yeah... my assistant booked. I just said get me a room here, she went... a little spend happy," Duo explained as he approached, grabbing another crystal glass and putting it down on the black coffee table to pour Trowa a glass. He took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, it big enough that they didn't have to touch and he handed the whiskey over, Trowa taking a sip but being cautious. He knew he should stop drinking. "The Sweepers are doing well?" Trowa asked the question, taking a sip, tasting an even better quality than the bar downstairs. "I guess... I changed things when Howie gave me his baby... got more involved in rebuilds and construction, you know, less salvage... there ain't the war-time scrap anymore." Trowa made a low noise in his throat to confirm he understood. It had been years since the uprisings with old mobile suits and the oceans and space were no longer full of parts of old war machines. The Sweepers were no longer needed for their old purpose. And Duo had turned it around, changed it. Anyone who ever said that Duo was stupid, that Duo was some fool had never met the shrewd businessman, the calculating eyes, the sharp mind. Trowa knew that. He had never doubted him. "You still saving the world? Spend your time with the scum of the earth sphere and all?" "You know I am," Trowa said bluntly, his eyes narrowing. "I'm making conversation. You always sucked at that." Trowa snorted and then took another sip. "You always made enough for both of us. You never gave me chance." Duo laughed at that, a short bark of a laugh. "Guess I didn't, right?" There was a pause in the conversation and Trowa only took small sips of his drink, his eyes wandering to Duo, viewing his profile. He sighed as Trowa watched and he turned then, blue eyes on Trowa, so damn blue and he tried not to let out a small breath as there was always something about Duo Maxwell that made Trowa's heart beat too fast and sometimes he wished there wasn't. Sometimes he wished that he didn't still have those awful feelings but then Duo was his first... not the first person he'd slept with, not the first he'd kissed... he was the first he truly cared about. Loved. And that was what made his lips dry, made his throat close, made him look away. Look at the coffee table, the large screen television - anything else. "I have to do the eulogy. His widow asked me... he just found Lydia and boom!" Duo made what Trowa supposed was meant to be gesture that imitated an explosion, seeing it out of the corner of his eyes. "The old guy got cancer. It seems unfair, you know? He'd lived this life - this crazy incredible life and he meets this chick as crazy as he is when he's old and then... he's dying. Don't seem fair." Trowa turned again, saw Duo was looking towards the window, grabbing towards the bottle. "And I have so many damn stories about the old asshole but..." Duo sighed and he then laughed, a smile on his face and shaking his head, "but I guess I can't tell some of them, you know? Catching me whacking off at fifteen is not funeral appropriate, right?" "Probably not," Trowa said wryly. Duo put down the bottle, his glass now full and he nursed the glass, holding it close to his chest. "You know he didn't hate you. I didn't mean it when I said it like that...He just hated what you left behind. That I was always a mopey-ass son of a bitch." "You asked me to go," Trowa pointed. As he had. That last time. Told him it was too much or too little and it was fucking with his head. And Trowa had walked out, back to Preventer and undercover work, throwing himself into work. "You never fought to stay," Duo said quietly, his voice low and wistful. Trowa was tempted to lash out but he saw the way Duo was looking at the stupid glass of whiskey, the way he seemed like he was trying to drown in it and Trowa reached out, foolishly, and their eyes met. "Every time I got close..." Trowa started but Duo stalled the rest of his words, glad in a way as damn, Trowa didn't know how to articulate it, didn't know how to say that Duo was always the one fighting him and pushing away. "I acted like a jerk," Duo admitted. "Basically." The haze of alcohol, the sound of air conditioning all made the moment seem surreal and Trowa was going to blame too much booze and the melancholy feel in the air for the move he made, for the grabbing of Duo's jaw, for their lips pressing together. There was the sound of a glass dropping to the floor, it thudding on the plush carpeting, deadening the sound and Trowa wasn't sure if it was his own or Duo's but he didn't care. After all, it wasn't his expensive suite. It took little time for Duo to be laid back on the couch, for Trowa to be on top of him, for their bodies to be aligned perfectly, for the lips to meeting each other in an old practiced rhythm. Their hips moved, hands touched, and Trowa felt himself moan into the kiss when Duo groped his ass, thrust his hips up, did all those playful little things that he'd always done. Which had always made sex with him fun and reckless and liberating. No other guy had compared. Trowa slid his hand under the thin t-shirt, feeling familiar scars, feeling the trace memory on his fingertips of every fuck, every time they kissed and touched and slid against each other, every time it was more like making love. His cock was already hard and he could feel Duo's in answer, pressing against his own as they rut, as they brought themselves to some kind of orgasm from only kissing and touching - like they were fifteen. Duo always made Trowa feel like he was young. Made him feel like he hadn't spent so many years since the war working his ass off and stopping the world from descending into hell again. Made him forget. But then Duo was pushing at Trowa's shoulders, pushing him hard and Trowa backed off, kneeling up on the couch and looking down at Duo, his flushed face, his moist lips, his glazed eyes. "We shouldn't do this... not tonight." Trowa knew Duo was making sense - knew that it was stupid to fuck before a funeral but his raging libido resented the idea. But he only inclined his head, moved off and sat as far away from Duo as possible on the leather couch. "This was a bad idea. Sorry, Tro." Running a hand through his hair, Trowa didn't respond, only thought of every unerotic thought that he could and when he finally felt somewhat less horny, he got to his feet, narrowing his eyes at Duo who looked apologetic. "I should go," he said finally and without anything else, he walked towards the suites door, hearing Duo follow. Trowa stalled at the door, looked back and Duo was leaning against the wall, his pose casual. "I should've said... the funeral. The dress code is Hawaii shirts and board shorts." "You are kidding me," he said, rolling his eyes at the idea. "Naw.. the old coot had it in his will and all. Compulsory." "Fine." Trowa shook his head and reached for the door, letting himself out, walking down the corridor to the elevator and his own room, the alcohol and sexual frustration making him feel an exhaustion deep in his bones. He sunk into his bed, the soft cotton of the sheets and looked up at the ceiling, remembering how Duo felt, the way his lips still seemed the same, how he could still trace his scars and without any guilt, he touched his cock, bringing himself off to the memory of their make out session in Duo's suite. In climax, he whispered Duo's name in the empty room, and thought how he was going to have to buy a dumb ass shirt in the morning. All because of still being in love with the idiot with those blue eyes who always pushed him away. |
