Yay, fic!
The Greatest Loss
Pair: 1x2
Warning: second-person POV, suicidal thoughts, language, death. DARK.
Note: I found this on my puter. read it, scratched my head, said, "Huh," and after much debate, decided to post it. If I remember right, I was going to end this with the first part having been a nightmare, but I never got that far, and I don't feel like writing it in. Hee! If you hate the ending (and you probably will), write a new one for me. No, really. Think of it as... a round robin of sorts! Heh!
EDIT: Actually, now that I think about it, I started this for the challenge at gw_dark ages ago about... post-war badness. Like, the pilots not being able to cope with peace, I think? *ponders* Hm. Anyway...
Summary: Nightmares are just another way of getting to the heart of the matter.
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
--Norman Cousins
Heero has a rather phallic gun to your head. Very big barrel from this perspective, probably at least ten millimeters. Bullet like that can pound a nice round softball through your forehead, and while part of you wonders why Heero wants to kill you today, the other part is already bored and yearning for the moment when Heero becomes serious and this isn't about blind threats anymore. If he'd just splatter your brains all over the deck... but Heero Yuy has no such mercy, and you know damn well the gun to your forehead is a lie, just like the rest of what stands between you.
You tilt your head and grab the gun, jab it deep into the skin of your brow. The barrel imprints a circle there, and Heero's finger twitches again.
"I'll kill you," he says, voice quaking like California fault lines. You're not entirely sure what's got him so pissed this time around (beyond the obvious), but you're pretty sure it doesn't matter.
You smirk and laugh at his face, your hand caressing his on the trigger. You're so close you could kiss him, you can smell the sweat in his palm, the fear he doesn't even know he has for you.
"No, Heero, you don't have the balls."
He doesn't like being called a coward, and for a moment, you're pretty sure he's finally going to do it--you finally pushed him too far--but then he melts back into stoicism.
"What the hell does it take for you to it?!"
You shove the gun away and slide up into his space, full sexual assault on display. Deep inside, your innards are shaking, and there's a loud buzzing in your ear from locusts and rape victims and Alliance thugs in a trash-ridden alleyway. He tries to step back, curl away from you and all your vulgarity, but you shove him back against a corner and poke the beast with a fucking cattle prod.
You hold up your hands, a mockery of surrender. "Take a shot, Heero. Go on. I won't stop you."
Heero raises his gun and presses it against your chest, and the shaking inside grows and grows until it's on the outside and you can't stop shivering. You're cold, you're hot, and your stomach is jittering in protest, bouncing against the inside of your abdomen. The whole of you is quaking, lost, you hate the way he stares at you with pity.
Kinsey Scale moves to eight point oh, and you need something to scratch the horror inside until it stops, until it bleeds, until you're so lost in orgasms you forget it's even there. But that's when you remember why he's so angry with you--you're using him to rub that ache, and Heero doesn't like being used, especially when it takes him so long to figure it out.
He doesn't want to fuck you anymore, he wants to love you, and that's when you laughed at him. Told him he was a lovesick idiot, this isn't goddamn Relena and her stupid little teddy bears. You're Duo Fucking Maxwell, and all you care about is getting off. If Heero wants fluffy puppies and two point five children, he should know to walk away.
But he doesn't, because he's Heero Yuy. Instead, he threatens to kill you, fails to put you out of your misery, and looks at you with fucking pity.
"I'll kill you," he says again, statuesque. "I'll kill you if it'll end this."
You snort at him, roll your eyes. "Your pants are lookin' kinda smokey, 'Ro."
He looks down, frowns, adorable to the extreme. "What?"
"You're a liar, Heero."
"I'll do it. I'll kill you," he says for the fifteenth time, and you don't believe him. Denial is loud and clear; after all, you're the one who shot him, not the other way around. Never a bullet in you.
You press up against the gun, barrel digging into where your heart would be if you still had one. You sneer at him, goading him on. "Stop stalling, then, moron. Do it!"
He starts shivering the same way you are. Shakes his head.
"Do it, Heero!"
Hammer clicks back. Cobalt blues glisten with fear. "Duo--"
"Shut up and fucking kill me!"
Now you're desperate and ready to scream, because you hate yourself and you want to rip him apart, snap his neck and piss on his grave. Hilter's hate for the world doesn't compare, and for a moment you wish you could become that level of greatness, a monster to survive eons, a name that will make children shudder in their sleep. If Heero doesn't kill you, you'll kill everyone else, because you can't take the pity anymore. You can't take the memory and the uselessness and all the rage that comes from having to settle for being alive beyond your fifteenth birthday.
Heero hasn't acclimated any better than you have, which is why he loves you, and you think that's the best joke there ever was. He wouldn't love you otherwise, he wouldn't care if you didn't have that one thing in common. He's everything you've ever wanted to be, and everything you hate yourself for becoming.
You fall to your knees, the sinner before the hand of God. You look up, wetness reflecting off your cheeks, and you beg him, curse him, want him, need him.
"Do it."
"I..."
"Do it, Heero. Just do it."
The gun takes aim, and it's only then it occurs to you what a selfish bastard you are.
Heero fires.
Pair: 1x2
Warning: second-person POV, suicidal thoughts, language, death. DARK.
Note: I found this on my puter. read it, scratched my head, said, "Huh," and after much debate, decided to post it. If I remember right, I was going to end this with the first part having been a nightmare, but I never got that far, and I don't feel like writing it in. Hee! If you hate the ending (and you probably will), write a new one for me. No, really. Think of it as... a round robin of sorts! Heh!
EDIT: Actually, now that I think about it, I started this for the challenge at gw_dark ages ago about... post-war badness. Like, the pilots not being able to cope with peace, I think? *ponders* Hm. Anyway...
Summary: Nightmares are just another way of getting to the heart of the matter.
Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
--Norman Cousins
Heero has a rather phallic gun to your head. Very big barrel from this perspective, probably at least ten millimeters. Bullet like that can pound a nice round softball through your forehead, and while part of you wonders why Heero wants to kill you today, the other part is already bored and yearning for the moment when Heero becomes serious and this isn't about blind threats anymore. If he'd just splatter your brains all over the deck... but Heero Yuy has no such mercy, and you know damn well the gun to your forehead is a lie, just like the rest of what stands between you.
You tilt your head and grab the gun, jab it deep into the skin of your brow. The barrel imprints a circle there, and Heero's finger twitches again.
"I'll kill you," he says, voice quaking like California fault lines. You're not entirely sure what's got him so pissed this time around (beyond the obvious), but you're pretty sure it doesn't matter.
You smirk and laugh at his face, your hand caressing his on the trigger. You're so close you could kiss him, you can smell the sweat in his palm, the fear he doesn't even know he has for you.
"No, Heero, you don't have the balls."
He doesn't like being called a coward, and for a moment, you're pretty sure he's finally going to do it--you finally pushed him too far--but then he melts back into stoicism.
"What the hell does it take for you to it?!"
You shove the gun away and slide up into his space, full sexual assault on display. Deep inside, your innards are shaking, and there's a loud buzzing in your ear from locusts and rape victims and Alliance thugs in a trash-ridden alleyway. He tries to step back, curl away from you and all your vulgarity, but you shove him back against a corner and poke the beast with a fucking cattle prod.
You hold up your hands, a mockery of surrender. "Take a shot, Heero. Go on. I won't stop you."
Heero raises his gun and presses it against your chest, and the shaking inside grows and grows until it's on the outside and you can't stop shivering. You're cold, you're hot, and your stomach is jittering in protest, bouncing against the inside of your abdomen. The whole of you is quaking, lost, you hate the way he stares at you with pity.
Kinsey Scale moves to eight point oh, and you need something to scratch the horror inside until it stops, until it bleeds, until you're so lost in orgasms you forget it's even there. But that's when you remember why he's so angry with you--you're using him to rub that ache, and Heero doesn't like being used, especially when it takes him so long to figure it out.
He doesn't want to fuck you anymore, he wants to love you, and that's when you laughed at him. Told him he was a lovesick idiot, this isn't goddamn Relena and her stupid little teddy bears. You're Duo Fucking Maxwell, and all you care about is getting off. If Heero wants fluffy puppies and two point five children, he should know to walk away.
But he doesn't, because he's Heero Yuy. Instead, he threatens to kill you, fails to put you out of your misery, and looks at you with fucking pity.
"I'll kill you," he says again, statuesque. "I'll kill you if it'll end this."
You snort at him, roll your eyes. "Your pants are lookin' kinda smokey, 'Ro."
He looks down, frowns, adorable to the extreme. "What?"
"You're a liar, Heero."
"I'll do it. I'll kill you," he says for the fifteenth time, and you don't believe him. Denial is loud and clear; after all, you're the one who shot him, not the other way around. Never a bullet in you.
You press up against the gun, barrel digging into where your heart would be if you still had one. You sneer at him, goading him on. "Stop stalling, then, moron. Do it!"
He starts shivering the same way you are. Shakes his head.
"Do it, Heero!"
Hammer clicks back. Cobalt blues glisten with fear. "Duo--"
"Shut up and fucking kill me!"
Now you're desperate and ready to scream, because you hate yourself and you want to rip him apart, snap his neck and piss on his grave. Hilter's hate for the world doesn't compare, and for a moment you wish you could become that level of greatness, a monster to survive eons, a name that will make children shudder in their sleep. If Heero doesn't kill you, you'll kill everyone else, because you can't take the pity anymore. You can't take the memory and the uselessness and all the rage that comes from having to settle for being alive beyond your fifteenth birthday.
Heero hasn't acclimated any better than you have, which is why he loves you, and you think that's the best joke there ever was. He wouldn't love you otherwise, he wouldn't care if you didn't have that one thing in common. He's everything you've ever wanted to be, and everything you hate yourself for becoming.
You fall to your knees, the sinner before the hand of God. You look up, wetness reflecting off your cheeks, and you beg him, curse him, want him, need him.
"Do it."
"I..."
"Do it, Heero. Just do it."
The gun takes aim, and it's only then it occurs to you what a selfish bastard you are.
Heero fires.