Title: I'm an Idiot for You
By Keelywolfe (keelywolfe@aol.com)
Author's webpage: http://www.ravenswing.com/~keelywolfe/
Rating: R or Lime
Pairing: 2x1, or Duo/Heero
Archive: You want it, you got it.
Series title: Being Duo Maxwell

Feedback: Please, do. <g>

Summary: Sequel to 'Making It Better,' this story is set just after Episode 5, which you may recall had Duo and Heero battling it out, although it ended a bit different than Duo had planned on...

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing, it's characters, settings, Gundams, etc, do not belong to me, we all know that. Even more so, neither does Iggy Pop, or his songs 'Sister Midnight' and 'I Wanna Be Your Dog'.

WARNINGS: For language, mostly. In my mind, Duo is a foul-mouthed little brat and I'm afraid it's reflected here.

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From the moment I'd first landed, almost literally, on Howard's doorstep, the guys here have been pretty good to me. After we got over the initial 'stranger in a strange world' syndrome, (hey, this was my first time on earth, you know?) they pretty much treated me like a kid brother, and I'm cool with that. It's kinda hard on a guy's pride to live in constant fear of someone who is ten years younger and twenty centimeters shorter than you, and unlike -some- people, I don't like to watch the normal folk scatter when I walk by.

Kid brother or not though, they all learned pretty quick not to fuck with me when I'm mad, and not one of them said a word when I swung down from the cockpit and walked past them. Couldn't pull anything over on these guys, they knew something went wrong on this little trip.

How did they know that I was mad? Oh, that's not hard to tell at all. It doesn't take much to show that I'm in a bad mood.

I'm quiet.

As I've said before, I have a tendency to babble on about just anything most of the time, but once I get mad, really and truly mad, I'm dead quiet. I seethe in silence because if I start talking, it'll turn pretty damn quickly into screaming and, well...let's just say it's better if I keep it shut.

Wait, did I say that I was mad? Oh, no, I wasn't mad. I was completely, all out, jumped up Jesus pissed off.

I stormed silently down the hallway to the shabby little closet that I called a room, slamming the door behind me with vicious satisfaction. If I couldn't say anything than the inanimate objects around me were going to say it for me.

Slapping at my battered stereo, I managed by some miracle to hit the power button before I threw myself onto the bed.

A low bass growled out of the machine. Perfect for my mood.

"...calling sister midnight i'm an idiot for you..."

I had fucked up. Big time. My first major confrontation in this damn war and my adversary had had to save -my- ass. Gee, Duo, way to prove your skills as a pilot. Next time, you should just phone ahead to Mr. Wonderful that you've got a mission so he can baby-sit for you.

Fuck, I was pissed.

And I was hot. Snarling a few choice words about Howard and his ancestry, I stripped out of my clothes and flopped back onto my bed, naked as a jaybird and still hotter than hell. Living in a metal room that wasn't too far from the engine didn't make for much air conditioning, I'll tell you that right now.

Nah, I can't blame the poor, innocent room. I've been hot since I settled myself into the pilot's seat today. It's a rush, you know? The moment you wrap your hands around the controls, you go into that zone and it's nothing but you and the blood pounding in your ears. It's a thrill, the best amusement park ride in existence and even knowing that someday I am probably going to end up a greasy smear on the pavement of some OZ base doesn't diminish it.

Or at least nothing had until today when I got a nice slap on the ass by the superhero.

Worse still, the bastard had laughed at me. Laughed! At me! No one laughs at Duo Maxwell. Not for free.

Perhaps you think I'm going to do something bad to soldier boy. Perish the very thought. I'm not really the violent type, myself.

All right, what did I just say about people laughing at me?

Anyway, I'm not going to do anything violent to the spandex wonder. No, no. But let me tell you, he is going to learn the true meaning of the word tenacious. Every time he turns around he's going to bump into me, and that is a fact. Until I get my own back, I'm going to be as close to him as if I were sewn to his ass.

Speaking of his ass...

The rush wasn't the only thing that was making me hot. My CD player had moved on without me, the singer crooning to me and anyone else who could hear that he wanted to...

"...now i wanna be your dog..."

Be somebody's dog. Brave guy. Damned if I'd ever do that. Free spirited guy that I am, I don't do well on a leash. But I certainly wouldn't object to being the holder of said leash, like I had been very briefly a few nights ago.

I was alone now, sprawled out naked on rumpled sheets that still smelled like sex. Sounds gross? It's not. What it did was make me hard enough to pound nails and I'm not just saying that. Mr. Winkie had stood up and taken notice the very moment I saw his Gundam, and by the time I heard his voice, I was as hard as the proverbial rock. Another reason it was good no one had talked to me on my way to my room. I had been having a difficult enough time walking, much less stopping for chat.

I slid the flat of my palm down across my stomach, taking myself in hand. Not gently, either, I was in no mood for that. I stroked myself hard, thinking about him, about all the things I'd done to him, for him. How hot he'd been, how tight, how fucking good it had been. Maybe just a little too good.

This was getting to be a bad habit. I'd done this same thing just a couple nights before, laying on Deathscythe and looking up at the moon, thinking about him. Wondering what he saw, if he ever bothered to look at the sky while he flew through it, going from mission to mission. Wondering what he did when he wasn't on a mission.

I'd bet good money that he'd never jerked off thinking about me.

I suppose I'm weaker than he is in that. But, really, there's just something about doing it to someone like him, stronger than me, better than me in just about every way that counts. I'm not stupid; I can see what he is, thanks much. But I'm the one who had him on his knees, not the other way around.

Is it bad of me to feel that way? Hell, yes. Do I care? Not one damn bit. I've never been the most moral guy in the solar system and there is nothing in the damn universe that is quite as good as a virgin. One moment of purity stolen away in a rush of sweat and lust, and they are never quite as tight again the second time around. Only that first time do they ever feel so good. Once.

I came to the remembered heat of perfection. But you just knew he'd be the perfect fuck, didn't you. Yeah, he had it all going for him all right, but -I- had been the one to pop his cherry. And you never forget your first, even if you wanted to. In one sweaty moment I had gifted him with a lifetime supply of half-remembered wet dreams, about me.

So there's my immortality.

Still breathing heavily, and add 'sticky' to hot and pissed on my list of complaints for the day, I rolled off the bed and made my way to the tiny cubicle off to the side that was supposed to be my bathroom. It was so small you could sit on the toilet while you showered, but where I come from just bathing is something usually reserved for the rich and famous, so I'm not about to complain. And the water was nice and cool.

As I was soaping up, I thought about him again. Obsess much? Not me. But just before he'd taken off, and he'd been laughing at me, the bastard, he called to me that he'd returned the favor.

Returned the favor. I considered that while I unraveled my hair from the braid. Better to wash it now while I had the time because who knew what would happen tomorrow.

He'd returned the favor. So, what, he thinks we're even now? Bullshit. He'd rolled me over on bottom more than once now and that didn't make us even in my book. And I wasn't looking for a physical fight, not anymore. That always landed me on my ass with this guy. I was taking the high ground next time.

I couldn't help laughing to myself as I ducked under the spray again, rinsing away the soap. Duo Maxwell isn't the type who runs away from a challenge, and this guy was the best one I'd come across yet.

"I'm coming for you, soldier boy," I murmured aloud, grabbing a towel and beginning the tedious process of taking care of my hair. Yeah, I was coming for him; Death himself couldn't stop me now, I was coming for him.

We'll see who ends up fucked.

-finis-