Fandom: Gundam Wing
Warning: slash, pwp
Author: Lily Zen
Notes: Written for the comment_fic prompt 'Duo/Wufei, there is no shame in this.'
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The heat makes people do funny things, things they maybe wouldn't normally do. It's in the 90's outside, the Fahrenheit thermometer tells them, and humid to boot. The rain beats down on the tin roof of the shack, fast-paced and staccato in rhythm, and they are both evidently having a hard time falling asleep.
Duo gives up first, rolling off of his bedroll spread out on the one-room shack's floor, and padding into the kitchen quieter than the whisper of the ceiling fan. If Wufei had been asleep, it wouldn't have even woken him up, probably. Except Wufei isn't asleep. He's got his eyes closed and his breathing is even. He's trying to reach for his center and fall into the meditative trance he perfected as a child. It eludes him.
In the miniscule kitchen, Duo is opening up cupboards. He groans out loud when he opens up the fridge, and Wufei hears him say, "Oh, hell yeah. Somebody up there must like me." It's intended to be quiet, but in the small, still building even the lightest of sounds is like a shock to the system. The jungle surrounds them, its nighttime symphony creeping into their domicile. The hum of the fridge, the motor in the fan: Wufei is hyper-aware of all of it. Naturally, he finds himself just as aware of Duo. There's a muffled bang as his companion hunts down something in a drawer and slides it shut again.
Wufei throws in the towel and gets up. He's not going to sleep any time soon—he's too hot. Maybe if he crawls in the fridge he can. It's different on the colonies. Everything is climate controlled. It's never too hot or too cold. Even the generated weather patterns are mild. When it 'rains,' it's never enough to drown, just enough to water the crops. Maybe Duo's having a difficult time adjusting to the changes on earth as well.
He walks into the kitchen and notes Duo, perched up on the counter right next to the fridge wearing nothing but his boxers. They've both stripped down to bear the heat, though Wufei still retains his navy tank. Duo's got ice cream. Wufei wonders if there's more and if not, what he has to do to convince Duo to share. He opens up the door to the fridge as habit tells him to, and groans when the cool air hits him. "Did the exact same thing," Duo says with a grin, "This heat is killing me, man."
Wufei nods as he inspects the contents of the fridge, then closes the door in favor of the freezer.
"Hey, aren't your people like from here or whatever? Shouldn't you be fine in this crap?" the other pilot goes on.
To his surprise, Wufei does something he hasn't in a long time: he laughs. It's not a full-bodied laugh or anything like that, but it's still more than he's done since his colony blew up and his entire clan died. "I'm Chinese," he finally responds as he closes the door, "That's mostly mountains, unless you live on the coast. That does not prepare you for Malaysian jungle heat." Then Wufei shrugs his shoulders. "Besides, I'm just like you, colony born and bred. This is all new to me." Leaning against the cooler plastic of the fridge with his arms crossed, Wufei finds himself suppressing a shiver as he eyes up the container in Duo's hands.
"Oh yeah?" Duo says and swirls his spoon through the container. It's Neapolitan, Wufei notes as the spoon rises up to Duo's mouth. The young man makes an obscene noise as it disappears in his mouth, and subconsciously Wufei takes a step forward. "I forget that sometimes," Duo finally concludes and he withdraws the spoon with a sucking sound. Then he smirks a little—there's ice cream stranded at the corner of his mouth—and asks cheekily, "Want something, Wufei?"
His sloe eyes flick down to the container in Duo's lap, and he drags them back up slowly, forcibly, trailing over the skin of Duo's chest like an invisible hand and up to his face. He sees Duo's nipples tighten suddenly as he suppresses a shudder. "Yes," Wufei tells him, then with a tip of his head, "Ice cream."
Nodding, Duo obligingly drags his spoon through the container again. "Last clean spoon," he sing-songs when Wufei raises an eyebrow at the pro-offered utensil. When it's clear that Duo's not going to actually give him the spoon, he shrugs mentally. Duo is playing some kind of game where he gets to see how far Wufei will let him go. He likes to push boundaries, Wufei's discovered. That's okay because right now all he wants is some ice cream, something to cool him down a little. He'll play the game to get it.
He thinks he sees surprise in Duo's eyes when he loosens his arms and steps away from the fridge until he's almost pressed against the other boy's knees. Still, he feels the most tentative brush of Duo's legs against his boxers. The fabric shifts ever so slightly, tickling his own skin. Wufei opens his mouth like an expectant baby bird and stands there, waiting.
Duo's got an ironic smirk on his face, but his hand trembles ever so slightly as he spoon-feeds Wufei. He's not as confident as he seems about this. It's a dangerous game, Wufei agrees inwardly. He lets the cool treat melt on his tongue and swallows it down, watching intently as Duo feeds himself a bite as well. He puts his hands on the counter on either side of Duo's hips and opens his mouth expectantly once again. The move puts him in full contact with the other pilot, but he doesn't care. In fact, if he's honest with himself it sends a thrill sizzling through him. They're close enough to kiss or to kill, and Wufei finds himself wondering who will snap first and what they'll do.
Another spoonful and Wufei finds himself upping the ante as he makes a low sound somewhere deep in his throat. Duo's pupils expand as his interest sharpens. They repeat the procedure once again, and that time Wufei lowers his eyelids and lets his tongue trail over his lower lip, catching any remaining stickiness.
"Fuck," Duo says, low and slow, and breaks first. He reaches out and cups Wufei's jaw in one hand. The spoon slips unnoticed into the ice cream container. Blue eyes search his for indications of doubt, hesitation, but find none. Wufei is serious and driven, yes, but he's not dead. He's still just a teenage boy with all that package entails. Lips brush his, and Wufei surges forward, eager for more right away. Duo tastes like sweet, creamy confection. Wufei likes it.
When they break apart, Duo's breathless and wide-eyed with wonder. "Holy crap," he breathes, and Wufei almost sniggers. "I had no idea you were so…so…man, you're so intense. I mean, I kind of thought maybe because of how you are in battle, but that's a little presumptuous, isn't it? Wufei, you're like—" Here Duo's words are cut off by a gasp as Wufei gently tilts his face and leans up to lick the chocolate stain from the corner of his lips. "Shit," he exhales shakily, and suddenly Duo is done being passive. The melting ice cream skids on the countertop as Duo flings it aside and surges off, forcing Wufei to back up quickly or collapse in a tangle of limbs. But Duo doesn't stop there as his feet touch the floor; no, he gets his arms around Wufei, a hand on his shoulder and one on his waist, maneuvering them in a parody of dancing until Wufei's back is pressed up against the refrigerator.
He feels himself smiling as Duo dips his head, and then the time for smiles is washed away with heat, moisture, and clinging lips. His hands cling to Duo, one wrapping around his long braid in the back, and the other sliding over the bare skin of his abdomen to curve around his back.
Duo makes a move with his hips, an aborted thrust, and Wufei responds by jumping up, trusting that Duo will read his intention and respond accordingly. He does, catching Wufei up with an arm looped under his thighs, and the smaller Asian man wraps his legs around Duo's waist. The first flex of hips actually catches Wufei off-guard with how strongly it affects him, and he breaks the kiss to gasp and cry out, and his head thumps against the freezer door. His body responds automatically, meeting the movement with one of his own.
It's frantic and too good to last, their overheated bodies thrusting and rubbing in glorious tandem, the friction of their undergarments still between them. There's no time though to remove them, just this sense of urgency, the need to come. Wufei thinks about it for a split-second, contemplates slowing down and taking their time. His clutching hands slide down Duo's slick back and slip underneath his boxers, pushing the fabric—black with cartoon characters on them—down as far as he can manage. His nails bite into the uppermost curve of the meat there, and Duo grunts, hips grinding against him hard while he nips Wufei's lip in retaliation.
Sadly, it's over far too soon as Wufei tightens up all over. His back arches against the fridge as he comes with a low moan and hot puffs of air as he feels Duo's rhythm grow jerky. It's Duo who comes biting his lip, as silent as he can possibly be save for a smothered grunt as his body has its ecstasy. Slowly, they collapse to the floor, recovering their breath. Duo nuzzles his hair, and Wufei realizes that somewhere along the way he's lost his holder. The shiny black strands are loose and sticking to his face.
Strangely, Wufei cannot bring himself to be annoyed. He's hot and sticky too, but they match the Malaysian jungle night now. As they lay there on the tile floor, Duo breathes quietly, "You ever want to do that again, you let me know, alright?" Wufei laughs, a deep, amused guffaw that echoes in the small house. "Deal," he gets out between peals of laughter.
There's no awkwardness between them even though they have just shared something incredibly intimate, and no promises of something deeper. They are both hyper-aware that they are soldiers and this is war, and that this hot Malaysian night may be all they can ever have. Wufei is satiated and thinks to himself that if he dies tomorrow, at least he would have spent his last day doing something that gave him happiness. There's no shame in that, and no room for it anyway—not in this humid house, nor in war at all.