(Gundam Wing) Further, Farther, More, Please (oneshot)
Further, Farther, More, Please
A Gundam Wing fanfiction written by Masamune Reforged
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the charactes and I make no money from this fanfiction.
Rating/Warning: Mature audiences. NC-17, or hard R. Yaoi (3x2). Bondage. Graphic, nasty, kinky stuff. The kind of kink that draws blood. If the words “large penetration” give you pause, you probably want to avoid this.
Characters: Trowa, Duo
Setting/Type: In-series shipping. “Boys need to get their bodily/dark desires taken care of and in time of war only have one another to turn to.” Man, I'm still writing fics with this lame premise?
Words: 1700ish
For gw500 's prompt, "expansion"
Further, Farther, More, Please
Trowa frowned and hazarded a brief glance at his feet. Dust covered concrete worn slick and muddy with the damp, hot, swamp summer moisture; the sweat and blood and flood waters and the silt, garbage and decomposition the floods had brought seven days past, all making the basement of the half-burned out rail station a festering, sickeningly warm stink of a mess. The brown muck squelching under his shifting feet, Trowa took care not to step on what was likely the old drowned bloat of a long dead rat. Trowa frowned harder, focused his energy on the balls of his feet, and took in a deep breath.
He held it in and blinked as a stream of sweat trickled down from his brow and into his right eye.
Frowning harder, Trowa tightened his grip around the umbrella handle he grasped in both hands, focusing on the balls of his feet. He made eye contact with Duo, and forced himself to let the breath leave him slowly, calmly, steadily. Duo-naked and panting and bound by rust bronzed wire to the mechanic's table-Duo panted and panted and panted, the sharp, raspy inhalations ragged and repeated and sickeningly rhythmically timed to the pulse in Duo's equally bound cock, a rhythm Trowa forced himself to monitor and measure, but never to match.
Trowa let his breath out coolly and slowly, frowning harder as he did that now. He let his eyes take it all in. It could mean his comrade's life, or so Trowa told himself. Duo's breaths were shallow and sharp, the rise of his naked chest frantic. Pale alabaster skin stretched tight over rib and muscle and little else, heaving in and out, in and out, in and out. His stomach was taut, tense and Trowa saw where Duo's diaphragm contracted shallowly, always shallowly. But Duo didn't have a fleck of fat on him, and the visible change in his stomach as he took his shallow breaths in and out was markedly exaggerated by his skinniness, his tiny bare navel seeming to heave up and down as his stomach turned concave and flat, concave and flat. In and out. The breaths were tiny, sharp, pained things, coming faster and more painfully necessary than hyperventilation. Trowa took in another of his own deep, slow, controlled breaths and held it, listening to the sound of Duo panting. It seemed to fill the room.
Trowa held the breath too long, and the pause became too great, because now Duo was frowning. Duo who had asked for this, had calmly instructed Trowa how to tie him down, had taught him new knots for the ropes that kept his legs over his head and splayed open, for the string that kept his cock crushingly choked and hazardously swollen, Duo who had stockpiled all the lube and dildos and balms and enemas and every single other thing and had collected his hours and was now MAKING Trowa do this to him. Duo was frowning, and it was a sight to make the scowl on Trowa's face seem timid. Duo frowned and, voice raspy and hoarse from screaming and panting (and god almighty could he scream) said to Trowa the two things he said to Trowa almost all the time over the past few days, two things divided by the ragged, continued, shallow breaths.
“More.” Duo's breaths, ragged, shallow. “Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh.” And then the other word. “Farther.”
Trowa was never sure if that was the right word. Farther? Further? There were certainly two words, and to Trowa they all meant the same thing, but he knew they both couldn't be correct.
Frown. Glance at the floor. Balls of the feet. Breath in. Slow. Steady. Controlled. Watch his breath. Watch him. Hold it, hold it, hold it. Trowa frowned, if possibly, harder.
The umbrella handle was a fairly short, ridged, black piece of cylindrical plastic. Snapped off long ago at the top, the handle now only reached two feet, perhaps two and a half. The break was jagged and dug into the palm of Trowa's right hand where he gripped it, though it wouldn't pierce his skin. It was slick with sweat and Havana humidity even though Trowa had gone to great lengths to keep the lubricant and blood off of it in order to maintain solid purchase. Two feet long and a diameter of five centimeters, though the tapered, knobbed end that was deep inside of Duo's rectum was likely three centimeters or so in diameter. He had... almost a full foot inside of him already? Trowa frowned. A careless move or a moment captured by fatigue would possibly cost him his fellow Gundam pilot's life. Death from internal bleeding brought on by blunt force trauma to the anal cavity, lower intestines, or god knew what else was up in there. Trowa was somewhat glad that he had never learned much more of biology other than how to kill a man. He exhaled, slow, steady, controlled.
“More. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh.” And then Duo paused, took a deeper, sharper, more grievously pained breath, and the words came out that Trowa hated hearing most of all. “Trowa. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Please!”
Frown, floor, feet, breath and he was pushing the plastic probe into Duo.
Duo began to scream. Sharp, shallow shouting replaced the sharp, shallow panting. Loud and heart-rendering and exactly what Trowa had been working up to for almost an hour now. At first all of Duo's shouts and screams had been identical to Trowa's ears, terrible and lustful and damning, ignored protests that only psychos as sick and sadistic as he and Duo could stand.
“It's part of the process,” Duo had told him, sitting naked in a fat metal wash bin of bubbles, scalding hot water, and the anti-bacterial washes and salves that came out of Duo's backpack right alongside the truncheons and leather fists. It'd been on the lake of a quiet, crater marked battlefield, after the first time, how many weeks and missions back Trowa couldn't recall. “Expansion isn't supposed to be easy.” Or fast, or clean, or bloodless. It wasn't without sweat and tears and shouts and protests. It kept Trowa up at night asking himself what in the world motivated Duo to the vicious, violent act, and what kind of monster he was for taking part in it.
The only answer Duo had ever provided after that was incessantly short, shallow, sharp panting and shouting; and sometimes “more” “deeper” “farther” “Trowa” and “please”. Sometimes Duo said “further” instead of “farther”.
Slow going (slow, steady, controlled) and sweat in his eyes, Trowa measured his progress by the length and tilt of Duo's screams. The umbrella handle was going in further, well past the one foot mark by now. These screams were the true ones. Trowa knew. He knew that Duo was hurting, real hurt, not just the shallow grimaces and shrieks that had become like vanilla foreplay to them when time and time and time again Duo had come to collect his hours, collect his favors, collect his services rendered. This was exactly what Duo wanted. This is what he warmed Trowa's sleeping bag at night in return for. That's how the deal went. You do me; I do you. No more than what's needed or for no longer than an hour.
It had started out simply enough. A blowjob here. A night there. The first time, Trowa had been nervous as to what Duo might ask in return. The things he'd feared couldn't shit on the ghost of the inane perversions they'd been regularly committing for months now. The war saw them paired up more frequently, longer assignments, longer stretches of down time without orders, Trowa refusing the silent invitations less and less, Duo accumulating an hour for every ten minutes or so that Trowa spent with his fists in Duo's hair, his cock sluicing in and out of Duo's gullet. Sometimes more, and sometimes less, but ten minutes for each of Duo's hours. That's how the deal went. Duo could get Trowa done in far less time than an hour, and, especially at the beginning, Trowa could spend almost a full two hours and not get Duo done.
More. Farther. Faster. Trowa had his own words, and they were not too dissimilar from the ones Duo used. And more often, too. Horrified as he was at the things Duo asked in return, Trowa ended up bringing them on more and more often. Pulling Duo into a closet here. Pushing Duo out onto the grass there. Spreading his legs open, smashing his mouth full. Ten minutes for every hour. Trowa found himself accumulating debts like a man addicted to betting on the horses that weren't even going to the derby.
He was getting him there now, though. Trowa knew that, could recognize it now. Duo was closer, closer. At least a full foot was in there now. Duo wept and thrashed against his unyielding bonds, precum beading on the tip of his stiff, bound cock. The blood from between Duo's legs was flowing freer now, a trickle when they'd started, expanding into a small stream, a puddle. More. Further. Please. Short, shallow, ragged screams and pants and shouts and Trowa's own sex beginning to bulge now, expanding to push against the front of his jeans.
Trowa felt his hand tremble, felt his nerves falter. He felt his grip go slightly, his muscles fail for just a fraction of a second. He jolted forward, a shallow, short, sharp, jagged hitch.
Duo, cock leaking precum, broke off his shout and sucked in a hiss of breath so sharp that Trowa realized he'd been holding his own breath. Trowa frowned. That wouldn't do. He needed to be controlled, steady, slow. He forced himself to breathe, to start over.
Duo only panted, short and shallow and ragged gasps, but Trowa could read the message in his eyes.
More. Farther. Please.
Trowa frowned and hazarded a brief glance at his feet.
-end “Further, Farther, More, Please”
Feedback is loved, especially since this was not beta read. Thank you for reading.
A Gundam Wing fanfiction written by Masamune Reforged
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the charactes and I make no money from this fanfiction.
Rating/Warning: Mature audiences. NC-17, or hard R. Yaoi (3x2). Bondage. Graphic, nasty, kinky stuff. The kind of kink that draws blood. If the words “large penetration” give you pause, you probably want to avoid this.
Characters: Trowa, Duo
Setting/Type: In-series shipping. “Boys need to get their bodily/dark desires taken care of and in time of war only have one another to turn to.” Man, I'm still writing fics with this lame premise?
Words: 1700ish
For gw500 's prompt, "expansion"
Further, Farther, More, Please
Trowa frowned and hazarded a brief glance at his feet. Dust covered concrete worn slick and muddy with the damp, hot, swamp summer moisture; the sweat and blood and flood waters and the silt, garbage and decomposition the floods had brought seven days past, all making the basement of the half-burned out rail station a festering, sickeningly warm stink of a mess. The brown muck squelching under his shifting feet, Trowa took care not to step on what was likely the old drowned bloat of a long dead rat. Trowa frowned harder, focused his energy on the balls of his feet, and took in a deep breath.
He held it in and blinked as a stream of sweat trickled down from his brow and into his right eye.
Frowning harder, Trowa tightened his grip around the umbrella handle he grasped in both hands, focusing on the balls of his feet. He made eye contact with Duo, and forced himself to let the breath leave him slowly, calmly, steadily. Duo-naked and panting and bound by rust bronzed wire to the mechanic's table-Duo panted and panted and panted, the sharp, raspy inhalations ragged and repeated and sickeningly rhythmically timed to the pulse in Duo's equally bound cock, a rhythm Trowa forced himself to monitor and measure, but never to match.
Trowa let his breath out coolly and slowly, frowning harder as he did that now. He let his eyes take it all in. It could mean his comrade's life, or so Trowa told himself. Duo's breaths were shallow and sharp, the rise of his naked chest frantic. Pale alabaster skin stretched tight over rib and muscle and little else, heaving in and out, in and out, in and out. His stomach was taut, tense and Trowa saw where Duo's diaphragm contracted shallowly, always shallowly. But Duo didn't have a fleck of fat on him, and the visible change in his stomach as he took his shallow breaths in and out was markedly exaggerated by his skinniness, his tiny bare navel seeming to heave up and down as his stomach turned concave and flat, concave and flat. In and out. The breaths were tiny, sharp, pained things, coming faster and more painfully necessary than hyperventilation. Trowa took in another of his own deep, slow, controlled breaths and held it, listening to the sound of Duo panting. It seemed to fill the room.
Trowa held the breath too long, and the pause became too great, because now Duo was frowning. Duo who had asked for this, had calmly instructed Trowa how to tie him down, had taught him new knots for the ropes that kept his legs over his head and splayed open, for the string that kept his cock crushingly choked and hazardously swollen, Duo who had stockpiled all the lube and dildos and balms and enemas and every single other thing and had collected his hours and was now MAKING Trowa do this to him. Duo was frowning, and it was a sight to make the scowl on Trowa's face seem timid. Duo frowned and, voice raspy and hoarse from screaming and panting (and god almighty could he scream) said to Trowa the two things he said to Trowa almost all the time over the past few days, two things divided by the ragged, continued, shallow breaths.
“More.” Duo's breaths, ragged, shallow. “Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh.” And then the other word. “Farther.”
Trowa was never sure if that was the right word. Farther? Further? There were certainly two words, and to Trowa they all meant the same thing, but he knew they both couldn't be correct.
Frown. Glance at the floor. Balls of the feet. Breath in. Slow. Steady. Controlled. Watch his breath. Watch him. Hold it, hold it, hold it. Trowa frowned, if possibly, harder.
The umbrella handle was a fairly short, ridged, black piece of cylindrical plastic. Snapped off long ago at the top, the handle now only reached two feet, perhaps two and a half. The break was jagged and dug into the palm of Trowa's right hand where he gripped it, though it wouldn't pierce his skin. It was slick with sweat and Havana humidity even though Trowa had gone to great lengths to keep the lubricant and blood off of it in order to maintain solid purchase. Two feet long and a diameter of five centimeters, though the tapered, knobbed end that was deep inside of Duo's rectum was likely three centimeters or so in diameter. He had... almost a full foot inside of him already? Trowa frowned. A careless move or a moment captured by fatigue would possibly cost him his fellow Gundam pilot's life. Death from internal bleeding brought on by blunt force trauma to the anal cavity, lower intestines, or god knew what else was up in there. Trowa was somewhat glad that he had never learned much more of biology other than how to kill a man. He exhaled, slow, steady, controlled.
“More. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh.” And then Duo paused, took a deeper, sharper, more grievously pained breath, and the words came out that Trowa hated hearing most of all. “Trowa. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Please!”
Frown, floor, feet, breath and he was pushing the plastic probe into Duo.
Duo began to scream. Sharp, shallow shouting replaced the sharp, shallow panting. Loud and heart-rendering and exactly what Trowa had been working up to for almost an hour now. At first all of Duo's shouts and screams had been identical to Trowa's ears, terrible and lustful and damning, ignored protests that only psychos as sick and sadistic as he and Duo could stand.
“It's part of the process,” Duo had told him, sitting naked in a fat metal wash bin of bubbles, scalding hot water, and the anti-bacterial washes and salves that came out of Duo's backpack right alongside the truncheons and leather fists. It'd been on the lake of a quiet, crater marked battlefield, after the first time, how many weeks and missions back Trowa couldn't recall. “Expansion isn't supposed to be easy.” Or fast, or clean, or bloodless. It wasn't without sweat and tears and shouts and protests. It kept Trowa up at night asking himself what in the world motivated Duo to the vicious, violent act, and what kind of monster he was for taking part in it.
The only answer Duo had ever provided after that was incessantly short, shallow, sharp panting and shouting; and sometimes “more” “deeper” “farther” “Trowa” and “please”. Sometimes Duo said “further” instead of “farther”.
Slow going (slow, steady, controlled) and sweat in his eyes, Trowa measured his progress by the length and tilt of Duo's screams. The umbrella handle was going in further, well past the one foot mark by now. These screams were the true ones. Trowa knew. He knew that Duo was hurting, real hurt, not just the shallow grimaces and shrieks that had become like vanilla foreplay to them when time and time and time again Duo had come to collect his hours, collect his favors, collect his services rendered. This was exactly what Duo wanted. This is what he warmed Trowa's sleeping bag at night in return for. That's how the deal went. You do me; I do you. No more than what's needed or for no longer than an hour.
It had started out simply enough. A blowjob here. A night there. The first time, Trowa had been nervous as to what Duo might ask in return. The things he'd feared couldn't shit on the ghost of the inane perversions they'd been regularly committing for months now. The war saw them paired up more frequently, longer assignments, longer stretches of down time without orders, Trowa refusing the silent invitations less and less, Duo accumulating an hour for every ten minutes or so that Trowa spent with his fists in Duo's hair, his cock sluicing in and out of Duo's gullet. Sometimes more, and sometimes less, but ten minutes for each of Duo's hours. That's how the deal went. Duo could get Trowa done in far less time than an hour, and, especially at the beginning, Trowa could spend almost a full two hours and not get Duo done.
More. Farther. Faster. Trowa had his own words, and they were not too dissimilar from the ones Duo used. And more often, too. Horrified as he was at the things Duo asked in return, Trowa ended up bringing them on more and more often. Pulling Duo into a closet here. Pushing Duo out onto the grass there. Spreading his legs open, smashing his mouth full. Ten minutes for every hour. Trowa found himself accumulating debts like a man addicted to betting on the horses that weren't even going to the derby.
He was getting him there now, though. Trowa knew that, could recognize it now. Duo was closer, closer. At least a full foot was in there now. Duo wept and thrashed against his unyielding bonds, precum beading on the tip of his stiff, bound cock. The blood from between Duo's legs was flowing freer now, a trickle when they'd started, expanding into a small stream, a puddle. More. Further. Please. Short, shallow, ragged screams and pants and shouts and Trowa's own sex beginning to bulge now, expanding to push against the front of his jeans.
Trowa felt his hand tremble, felt his nerves falter. He felt his grip go slightly, his muscles fail for just a fraction of a second. He jolted forward, a shallow, short, sharp, jagged hitch.
Duo, cock leaking precum, broke off his shout and sucked in a hiss of breath so sharp that Trowa realized he'd been holding his own breath. Trowa frowned. That wouldn't do. He needed to be controlled, steady, slow. He forced himself to breathe, to start over.
Duo only panted, short and shallow and ragged gasps, but Trowa could read the message in his eyes.
More. Farther. Please.
Trowa frowned and hazarded a brief glance at his feet.
-end “Further, Farther, More, Please”
Feedback is loved, especially since this was not beta read. Thank you for reading.