Title: A Soap Opera
Author: Kea
Email: DuoMaxwell1x2@aol.com
Archive: Dreamscape Studios Ltd (www.dreamscapestudios.net) and Darkflame. If anyone else would like this pointless excuse for Gundam boy monkey love, please ask.^____^
Pairing: 1x2; Duo POV
Rating: NC-17 for lemony goodness, PWP and crass Duo bedroom humor Feedback: Craved, worshiped, adored! (On GWML, please reply privately, as I'm on web-only. ^_^ )
Warnings: aside from sexual content that simply doesn't occur in reality and shouldn't be tried at home, even with adult supervision, none. ^^;; Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. Not even the lottery could buy it for me, so there goes that idea. No small furry creatures, $125,000 convertibles, or Gundam pilots were harmed in the creation of this fic. This is what happens when you send Kea on a business trip and she gets bored. As this is my first PWP fic, please be gentle. ^^;; Dreamscape Studios promotes a drug- and sanity-free workplace. Recycle. Vote. Look both ways before you cross the street. Make sure you are always wearing clean underwear.

This fic is dedicated to my Lani-twin. Thanks for making my trip to Houston so much fun. ^_^


I don't think there's anything quite so satisfying as a cruise in a convertible. Nevermind that it's hell on the hair, but that's what braids and ballcaps are for. The wind is like a living creature, a seductress of the best--or worst--kind. She strokes lissome fingers through your hair, rubs the fabric of your clothes against your skin until your nipples are hard as stone and erect as...well, other things. I squirmed in the passenger seat, intent on rearranging my 'other things' awakened by more than just wind, as I watched my lover drive.

Heero was behind the wheel, strong, lithe hands caressing the steering wheel like it was part of him, an extension of that sharp mind and sinful body, a tool with which to carve obedience and submission out of the highway. And Shinigami smite me if he didn't look like sex on a saltine in his simple, snug white t-shirt and khaki pants. Heero Yuy...turned poster-boy for the Gap? Who'd have thought? But riding with him is almost like flying a Gundam again--a necessary bit of adrenaline for former warriors in a peaceful world.

Not to mention how it brings back memories of doing it in the cockpit. Yeah, laugh--I did. Cock. Pit. Hoo boy. The next time we had sex, I had written 'cock pit' on my ass in magic marker with an arrow indicating the point of entry. Never let it be said that Duo Maxwell lacks appreciation for smutty humor. Simply put, my Catholicism ends where my cock begins.

Anyways, we whipped through traffic in the brand-new Mercedes convertible, top down and salty breeze having an orgy in our hair. With thoughts like that and a tight Japanese body in the driver's seat, hand curled hypnotically around the stick shift, is it any wonder I was stiffer than a heavy starched dress shirt?

He glanced over at me, heavy-lidded blue eyes sinking down to my lap and a thick eyebrow rising in undisguised interest. His zipper twitched--apparently something else rising in interest...et tu, Heero?--and he shot through six lanes of cars to the exit ramp, honking and screeching tires in his wake. "Fuck off, asshole!" some guy in a Buick yelled.

"Exactly what I had in mind..." Heero purred, lifting his hand in a mocking wave, and my skin got tight with heady anticipation. 'Yes, yes,' I thought, 'pull over and fuck me right on the side of the highway.' My groin surged painfully, the need to have him inside me like an addiction. You'd think that I could get enough, could stop wanting him for at least five minutes at a time. But he's in my blood, in my soul. I have to have him.

There aren't these endless, flowery declarations of love between us, but it's there, it's there as strongly as what makes the world go around. You may think I'm crazed, but...look at it this way. You don't wake up in the morning and shout to the heavens, 'Air, I love you!' Yet, without it, you'll die. [1]

Truthfully, I felt dangerously close to death if I didn't have that exquisite cock up my tailfeathers in a hurry. Heero downshifted, fingers making long, slow strokes up the shaft of the stick as the car slowed. I shuddered, gasped, but barely managed not to spill myself right there. Damn him if he didn't look disappointed. He whipped into a tight turn, leaving black tire marks on the pavement as he spun into the automatic car wash.

Water. My greatest sexual weakness. I can get off watching soap commercials on television if there's a shower scene. God, he's a sadist. I hunkered down in my seat, trying to look casual and unaroused to the attendant.

"We'd like the Works," Heero calmly said, passing a punch card to the boy and sounding not at all like he had a twenty-one gun salute on deck in his pants. I'm not sure how he does it; everything shows in my voice. "No, we don't need the vacuum job, but I think we'll ride through," he continued, taking his card back as I had images of Hoover-mouth himself suction-locked on my lap. 'Hurryhurryhurryhurry,' I started mentally chanting, trying to think of anything but Heero and several hundred gallons of soapy water about to come cascading down on top of this tiny car. "Yes, I'll be sure to put the top up; we're regulars here. Thanks." He popped the car into first and we shot around the corner towards the wash tunnel entrance.

"Heero,"I growled, coherency vanishing in the violent storm of lust and need and desire conquering my brain. "Now!" I threaded one hand in his hair and yanked him down towards my crotch, frantically undoing my slacks with the other one. Every brush against my sensitized flesh was agony, release tremblingly close but refusing to arrive without his presence. His firm hand slid my boxers down just enough to spring me free, all hot, damp and swollen.

He chuckled, something that sounded distinctly like "Impatient baka," before that warm, cavernous mouth sucked me in. His teeth grazed the ridge of my head, and I thrust up instinctively, hips rising off the seat in urgent demand. That sinful, languorous tongue slathered slick worship on my feverish skin as he inched me deeper into the shelter of his oral embrace. The car bumped slightly as the track caught the wheels to draw us in, sheathing me fully in his mouth. I groaned, gripping the inside door handle, the flood swelling and cresting inside me when he started to move. Up, down, suck, tease, up, down, nibble, squeeze...he went down on me like a professional, meeting my frantic rhythm stroke for stroke, blowing cool air across my skin before swallowing me whole once more. Strangled cries fought for voice in my throat, finding purchase in a groan that came from the tips of my toes as my body exploded.

Heero drank what I offered, swirling his tongue around my tip like a disappointed child trying to get the last of his milkshake from the straw. His eyes speared up at me through disheveled, wind-blown bangs, and I was already hard again. He curled back towards the driver's seat, his presence still everywhere inside the tiny car. "We're only just getting in the wash; care for another ride?"

As if he had to ask.

My hands moved almost faster than the eye, dropping his fly and setting loose his freeballing glory. He was at perfect attention, stiff and thick and solid. I toed off my shoes and kicked my pants into a heap in the floorboards, eagerly crawling over the small, low console to perch on his lap.

The best we could do for lubricant was a small tube of apple-scented hand lotion in the ashtray. Heero coated himself in the pale pink slickness and massaged the cream around my entrance, fingers hurrying up inside me to prepare the way. I felt tight as they penetrated me, readying for the welcome invasion to come.

Yeah, yeah, another double entendre; I seemed to be full of them today.

I reached back behind me, narrowly avoiding the windshield wiper controls, as strong hands gripped my hips and lowered me onto that blessed impalement. I came in contact with something that depressed as my other hand crashed onto the console, desperately searching for anything to grip. Heero guided it back towards his shoulder; the mechanical swoosh of the carwash outside beat a primal rhythm as I flexed my thighs and slid up on his slickened hardness, thrusting myself back down with a grunt. My eyes closed and my back arched, my braid mating with the steering wheel as I felt something cool, wet and frothy splash on my face.

I cracked one eye open, treated to a view of a spinning, flailing brush descending towards the now-topless Mercedes. Shit shit shit shit shit! I'd hit the controls for the convertible. 'Heero!' I tried to shout over the deafening roar, but his eyes were screwed shut (and yet another innuendo! Talk about being on the ball, or should that be balls...?) as his breath came in small, fierce pants. He thrust again, colliding with that pleasure-point deep inside me, and I saw stars, soap, and high-pressure water. He hit it again and again and I moaned, forgetting why I'd been calling him in the first place.

Like an angry hurricane, the floods descended on the car and us, whipping with a terrifying frenzy. I huddled down over him, avoiding the brushes threatening to part my head from my shoulders. The water's chill prolonged our coupling as we fought for friction, for heat, but its sensual magic kept the fires kindled.

Instead of remaining outside, it surrounded us in a liquid embrace, cascading wetness from above as Heero fed me fire from below. I felt completion rising, rising as his hand found me and guided me fully into this soapy, soggy dance. Stroke, thrust, splash--I lost awareness that I was in a waterlogged convertible, that the car wash had large windows to the waiting room. All I knew, all I needed, was Heero.

My spine snapped back like a bowstring; I was so close it was painful. He reached out a hand, shoving my dripping shirt up to my neck, and fastened a hot, hungry mouth on one of my achingly firm nipples to help me arrive. As his teeth closed on the sensitized flesh, rolling it with his tongue, I climaxed in exhausting, jerky spurts, feeling my inner walls clamp down on him like a vise. His hand knotted in my braid and he stopped suckling as release crashed upon him; it seemed forever in the seconds it took him to spill completely.

The moment I felt him stop moving in me, hot, dry air assaulted us...the dryers at the end of the wash. Not like they would do much good...we were half-naked, soaked to the skin, and the car looked more like a leaky canoe than a Mercedes. Not quite ready to part from him, I sank back onto Heero's lap, still feeling him inside me, possessing me, and wrapped my arms around his neck, huddling close.

Giggling snapped my floating, contented soul back into my body, and over Heero's shoulder I caught two college-aged girls peering at us with fascinated expressions. [2] Behind them was a prune-faced woman who looked as though she'd swallowed a very sour lemon. She grabbed her two small children by the hands and huffed out of there in a hurry.

In her dust, the attendant who'd taken our card earlier looked a faint shade of grey, as though he expected us to launch our lust-crazed bods out of the car and gang-rape him. Not to mention the sheer panic of how to tell his boss a convertible had gone through the wash with the top down. And because I just don't give a damn after a good, wet fucking, I smiled at him with just a hint of tongue showing and winked.

To this day I've never seen a man move that fast...the other way.

Stifling a laugh, I glanced down at the mess that fifteen minutes ago had been a Mercedes and frowned, something occurring to me for the first time.

"Anou, Heero...? I don't think the salesman at the dealership will want the car back now..."




[1]Paraphrased from the boundless talent that is Margaret Weiss, in the "Star of the Guardians" series. (I think it's from the second book.)

[2] Yaoi fangirls, they're everywhere!!! ^________^