Title: The Skin We Wear
Author: Becka
Pairing: 1+2, 3+2, 5+2, 4x2 implied.
Warnings: Duo-POV. Abuse. Angst. AU? Blood. Dark. Duo-torture. OOC? Violence.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing does not belong to Becka; characters are used without permission for a non-profit purpose. No infringement is intended.


Softly creaking, the scrape of wood on metal, and I can sense the exact moment the door swings open and you step inside. You don't know I'm here, but you will. He put me here for you to find.

There. The barely audible scrape of boots on floor, then complete silence. I can sense the exact moment you see me; you see me as you were meant to find me. You see what He did to me.

He was Innocence personified, and we believed Him. He was the Angel of Mercy in our midst, sent down from the heavens to ease our pain and relieve our suffering. And He did it so well until you three left me here alone with Him. Alone with Him and His smile and His touch that made me sick. So sick, in fact, that I wanted more. And then I begged Him.

You look at me now as though you've never seen me before. You look at me like I'm a stranger, though clearly, you are the strange one here. Your eyes, strange eyes they are, blue like the ocean waves as they crash and foam, and I see myself twice reflected. I can see myself so clearly, so very clearly drowning; yet on my lips I distinctly make out the curve of a smile. You look at me and dare I wonder what you see here?

For here I am, tied and bound, hand and foot. Here I am, bloodied and bruised, beguiled, defiled. Here I am, eyes red with tears and red blood likes ribbons, crimson ribbons around my wrists and ankles. Here I am. Here for you. Whored for you. Damned for you. Bored for you.

Here I am, and I love it.

On this strange parody of a bed with no sheets, because sheets are used for sleeping and, as you can see, I was used for something entirely else. On this mattress, worn with age and stained with red and white, I was used for you. Then I was left for you, skin blemished black and blue, and because He's not here, I've waited for you. Someone to come and pull my strings.

Make me dance like the marionette He wants me to be, only really alive when someone else touches me. Pull my strings and watch the limp hands jerk alive and the Raggedy-Andy body dance. Alive and free and lost in the feeling. Make me dance. Give me strings. Tie me up.

Tear me down. Tear me down until I can't move. Use your fists, use your mouth. Leave marks that are raw and painful. Leave cuts that swell red. Leave broken bones of mellow white that blend with my flesh. Leave scars that I can taste.

Leave bruises of the finest baby blue, and dandelion yellow, and watermelon seed black. Leave them for me, because now all I've got are His bruises. Bruises of denim blue, piss yellow and blood black.

I want to feel them. I want to see them. I'll beg if you tell me to. I want them so badly.

But you just stand there and stare, like the stranger you think you are to me. Behind you, a noise, and then bright emerald green joins your ocean eyes. I'll drown in you, and when I'm gone, bury me there. Right there, in his eyes.

What will it take to make you move? What will it take to urge you forward, wrap arms like steel and silk around me and squeeze until you hear a *pop*? What will it take to make you draw your swords, unsheathe your knives and _use_ them? What will it take for you to fuck me and break me and hurt me like Him? What will it take to break the control, because I can already see it wavering.

This perhaps? Tilt my face to the side and expose the dove neck, arch my spine up and strain against the chains that hold me down? Open my eyes so wide that all I see is white and let the strains of a cry, soft and needy, whimper in the back of my throat?

You step forward.

Maybe this? Let the sleek body fall back on the bed, finally letting you see that all the blood and the sin comes from me. It leaks from my body and creeps out to find someone cleaner to taint, stains the mattress and lies in wait until someone sweet and kind tries to reach me, then strikes like a snake dripping venom from sharp teeth, salty poison like cum.

You both step forward.

Almost, but not quite. Don't you see my beautiful body here? Don't you see what I'm so proud of? I wear each motley patch of skin like a badge of honor. The crisscross of scars that follows a pattern only I see, from the tender spot on my hip to the blood which peeks out from my inner thigh. The raw chafing of handcuffs and rope on my wrists and ankles, like bracelets of the finest ruby red. And around my neck, all the way around, like so, the fine print of ten fingers, five on each side, black and white. Look! Look how beautiful and precious they each are to me. And no one can take them from me because they. are. mine.

And finally, because three of you left and only two of you are here, the other catches up. Eyes of blue, like the ocean. To be drowned. Eyes of green, like the forest. To be buried. Eyes of black, like smoky skies. To await judgment.

He gasps, inhaling sharp like the swift cut of a knife. He's confused, is he? He wants to know why I'm here, and so do you. Why I'm smiling like a cat who's been bad and lapped all the cream. Cream or not, there's only one thing I want to drink. So I whimper. I writhe, wanton. I bite back the groans because three boys who remind me of Him are here, and I want to be punished. I want to hurt. I want to be beautiful.

In an instant, finally unfrozen from whatever force that held you, you dart forward, tearing at the restraints which hold me. And in the moment you succeed, I act. Free of the chains, I wrap wiry, bloody arms around _you_ and plead, "Hurt me, hit me, fuck me, kill me." My mantra, over and over again because it's all I want.

You try to pull away from me, eyes widened in pain, and you in turn beg me, "Oh god, Duo... please don't... please, Duo, why...?"

No, you can't give me what I want. I struggle away from you, stumbling on feet that refuse to support me. The boy with the green eyes catches me as I lurch and I cling to him like a lifeline. "Please," I breathe, bringing our mouths so close together that I can taste each hitched breath he takes, "please, hurt me. Hit me, hurt me, kill me, fuck me." Again, and again, and again, and he to tries to reach me with words.

"Duo, please... this is wrong..."

This is wrong, and I want it. But he won't give it to me, I can see. The horror in his eyes, beautiful eyes, is clear to me. One more try before I beg the blonde angel to return and do what He did before. One more boy, with onyx eyes.

I push away again, spin, and launch towards the last boy. He, too, catches me, and I pause for one greedy moment, savoring the hard body against mine. I just need for someone to "hurt me. Hurt me, hurt me, kill me, hurt me." And the jet eyes widen and the diamonds trickle down his face. I lap up the tears with my tongue, and I feel him murmur against my skin.

"You're worth more... more then this, Maxwell..."

"He's wrong, you know..." a sweet voice says. Each of you turn, but I know that voice anywhere. Him. Him Him Him Him Him Him Him. Part of me rejoices. Part of me cries out. He'll hurt me. He'll hit me and beat me and fuck me and kill me, just like I want. Just like He always does.

"Quatre...?" you query, clearly confused. I'm not confused. I know what I want.

Yanking and pulling and pushing and begging, I crawl towards Him. Angel, help me. Save me from drowning. Angel, help me. Give me what I deserve.

My arms find His shoulders, His hands on my waist and I wait for Him to do something. It's always what He wants. A pause, then His mouth on mine with bruising strength. I melt.


His hands slip down to my backside, settling at the base of my spine, and then He pulls. He pulls me hard against Him until I swear my spine will snap and all the while His mouth trails hot and cold kisses down my neck, leaving dark marks in its wake. Denim blue. Piss yellow. Blood black.

A cry of denial behind me and a pair of angry hands yank me away. Being pulled in different directions, and it hurts, and it's _good_. I land, then, hard on my side and stare at the ground for a moment.

"Trowa? That's really not necessary, you know. He's perfectly happy, aren't you, pet?"

Pet. He calls me all sorts of names. From A to Z and back again. Abnormal. Befouled. Coward. Dirty. Evil. Fucked up. Gruesome. Hideous. Ill. Jester. Killer. Loser. Mine. No one. Pet. Queer. Revolting. Sinner. Tainted. Ugly. Vicious. Whore... and he hadn't gotten to x, y, or z today, so I could only begin to guess.

"Quatre, how can you treat him like this when he's...?"

"Because I'm the one who made him, and I _like_ him this way, Fei."

I inch forward a little to lay my head at His feet. He laughs and brings one dirty, filthy shoe down on my loose hair. I close my eyes and wish He'd hurt me more, over and over again I plead, "Hit me, hurt me, fuck me, kill me." Over and over again until I don't know if I'm saying it aloud or screaming it in my head.

I'm pulled up from the floor, and your eyes meet mine. Soothingly you smooth that tangled hair over my raw scalp, starring at my face. You brush warm fingers across my lips and murmurs a heartbroken, "Duo...?" I stare back into your familiar, haunted eyes and smile and I see something brighten there. A whimper, mine, "Please... I need... hurt..."

And abruptly the light in those eyes dies as you cradle me against your chest. Rocking back and forth like a small child, and He laughs, loud and true. And I don't know why, but for all my blood and bruises, all the chafes and marks, I have to smile again. His laughter always hurts me worst of all.