Last revised: 12/17/99
Last modified: 03/15/00

This is another of my 'dark side of Duo' type of fics. <sweatdrop> So I'm a perverted sort of person....

Okay, enough of the excuses. I'm just looking for a way for Duo to whip the hell out of someone... anyone.... And not just any clumsy sort of flogging, either. Duo's going to be a serious expert at it. Precision and control and all that. So what if he's also a closet sadist and enjoys it? He still can be a sweet, loving guy! <evil chuckle>

This version of Duo was inspired by the main character Andrej Koscuisko in the Susan R. Matthews novels "An Exchange of Hostages", "Prisoner of Conscience", and "Hour of Judgment". Terrific books! If you've read any of these stories, you might guess what sort of diabolical kink I've thrown into poor Duo's personality. ^_^;

So, anyone of you want to put in votes for who gets to be the lucky victim(s)? I'm inclined to Heero, but I'm open for suggestions....

*** WARNING: alternative-reality, yaoi, semi-darkfic
*** (possibly lemon in future parts)

A Gundam Wing fanfic by Madamhydra

Short Disclaimer: (Full Disclaimers at the end)
Gundam Wing is copyright of its respective creators and all distributors of their work and used without permission.



There's a red fox torn by a huntsman's pack
That's my soul up there
There's a black winged gull with a broken back
That's my soul up there
There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

-- "King of Pain" by The Police



Trowa's face bore his usual cool, impassive expression, but instead of keeping others at a distance, his aloof demeanor only seemed to fascinate the people around him. It didn't exactly help that in place of his ordinary jeans and dark turtleneck, Trowa was wearing a deceptively simple white outfit that positively shouted style and good taste -- very expensive good taste -- with a pair of thin dark suspenders lending the only touch of color in Trowa's wardrobe. In the middle of a nightclub filled with people dressed mostly in a myrid varieties of black -- from fabrics that seemed to suck in all available light to the soft sheen of satin or leather to the mirror-like finish of glossy plastics -- mixed with occasional flash of metallics or other intense colors, the overall effect of Trowa's pristine outfit was that of a young man coolly detached from his murky, sordid surroundings. The sense of rampant sensuality, lust, and near-desperation that gripped so many of the club-goers left the brown-haired pilot quite untouched.

A half-naked young woman, her breasts nearly falling out of the sequined ribbon that made up her halter top, staggered out of the mad crush of the dance floor. Intoxicated out of her mind, high on drugs, or very possibly both, she toppled to the floor right at Trowa's feet. After only the briefest of glances at her, he placidly shifted his feet to the right a few inches as the bouncers scooped the unconscious young woman off the floor and carried her away.

Trowa's air of indifference and serenity apparently made him irresistible to people of both sexes. Mostly young, Trowa's age or just a little older, they were the shy, uncertain ones, hovering around the pilot in hopes of attracting his attention, but yet keeping their distance as if afraid of appearing too forward.

As for himself, Quatre found himself the uncomfortable recipient of hungry, predatory stares, particularly from the older women and men in the nightclub. Although he hadn't been accosted yet, he had the unhappy feeling that they were just taking their own sweet time before pouncing on him.

Quatre gazed around the crowded nightclub. Since it was so totally beyond anything he'd encountered, the young Arab pilot found the whole scene eerily fascinating. The club's motif -- in fact, the entire resort's motif -- was an unnerving, yet intoxicating mixture of dark gothic eroticism laced with a hefty dose of leather and bondage.... In Duo's words, pure unabashed decadence. The Sandrock pilot had to admit that for once, his friend had not been exaggerating.

(What am I doing here?) Quatre asked himself for the hundredth time. (If it wasn't for this blasted mission....)

In a normal city, teenagers like himself and the other pilots would have been barred from such hard-core nightclubs, but this was no ordinary place. The resort complex where he and the other pilots were staying called itself Roissy and liked to advertise itself as the new Sodom and Gomorrah. There were no minimum ages here and the only god was money. If you had the cash, you could play.

So kids barely in their teens danced, drank, and drugged beside the hardened twenty-something club-crawlers who in turn jostled beside middle-aged and even some elderly adults on the prowl for some young and tender flesh. Everyone was looking for excitement or interesting games -- all undoubtedly sexual in nature.

The place was not called the "Meat Market" for nothing.

Quatre stiffened as a fat, graying man headed in his direction and thought, (Oh hell....)

He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone suddenly sat down beside him. The blond pilot sagged in relief when he realized that the person next to him was Heero. Dressed in snug, body-hugging black jeans and a matching black mesh tanktop, the Wing pilot drew appreciative and hungry looks from both males and females in the club. To Quatre's delight, Heero's hostile cobalt stare completely unnerved the approaching older man, who abruptly wandered off in another direction.

"Have you seen the target?" the Sandrock pilot asked as softly he could, given the ear-splitting music volume.

Heero muttered, "No."

"Are you sure he's going to be here?"

"As far as I can determine from the credit records, the Meat Market is the only nightclub in Roissy that he visits."

Quatre shuddered slightly. "Meat Market. What a name.... Couldn't we just wait outside this place and... and kidnap the man as he comes out?"

"That's the best option. Unfortunately, Trowa and I have staked out this building for the past three days, but we still don't know how he leaves the club. He comes in, but we never see him leaving."

"Underground tunnels?"

"Possibly. Our only option is to follow him and see where he goes."

"So you think the lab's hidden here, too?"

"It's not a bad hiding place. A lot of high level OZ personnel come here. With the activities going on around here, it's easy to slip out of sight for hours. Perfect for secret meetings."

"This place makes my skin crawl. So many people are staring. It's like they're mentally undressing me!"

Heero glowered, causing numerous hearts to beat faster. "They probably are."

"That's really reassuring, Heero!"

The Wing pilot shrugged. "What do you expect? Most of these people are here to have 'fun'. In this place, that usually involves sex in one form or another. They assume that anyone else here wants the same, even if they say 'no'." Heero gave Quatre a hard look. "So watch yourself."

The Arab pilot swallowed hard and nodded somberly.

After a brief interruption as Heero roughly dumped an over-amorous young woman out of his lap and scrubbed the lipstick smear off his cheek, he growled irritably, "Have you seen Duo?"

"Not yet. He said he might be a little late. Some new information came in after we left."

"That idiot," Heero said with a definite touch of annoyance.

Quatre sighed and said, "I wonder how Wufei's dealing with all this."


Up in the main guest building of the Roissy Resort, Zechs Merquise growled irritably, "This entire resort is a walking debauch!" as he glared out the window of his suite.

Unfortunately, Lucrezia Noin was too distracted to answer as she stared wide-eyed at the dresser drawer full of sex toys.

"Ah... ah... oh my god...."

She hastily slammed the drawer shut and tried to get her breathing back under control. Refusing to take a closer look at the over-sized bed, which came complete with mirrored ceiling, full massage, and audio-video pickups for making one's own personal movies, she nervously prowled around the room. A careless tug on a wall latch caused a large rack of whips, paddles, and other neatly organized bondage paraphernalia to slide into view. A cheerful note on the rack stated:

"Advanced and/or custom equipment
-- please call the Apparatus department at #75.
Special clothing, costumes, or fetish gear
-- please call the Wardrobe department at #76.
If you have any questions or unfulfilled desires
-- contact the front desk.
We're here to serve your every need."

"Noin? What are you...?"

At the sound of Zechs calling her name, she jumped guiltily and bumped into the wall rack. Instinctively grabbing at the toppling gear, Noin found herself clutching a purple suede flogger as a bemused Zechs stared at her.

"Heh... heh...," she chuckled nervously.


In the neighboring suite, Treize Khushrenada was examining the video disc collection with a wry smile.

"Fascinating. I never realized there was a XXX-rated version of 'War and Peace'."

Lady Une snorted in annoyance. "A sex resort hardly seems like your usual choice of vacation, Sir."

He sighed ruefully, "It's not. Believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, I'd be at a secluded country estate, enjoying good food, wine, and some pleasant company. My idea of rest does NOT constitute trying to cram the maximum number of sexual partners into a twenty-four hour period, nor does it encompass working my way through one of these three-inch manuals on exotic sexual techniques. My own imagination is sufficient, thank you. No, it's duty that demands my presence here."

As she watched him head out the door, Lady Une said worriedly, "Where are you going, Sir?"

"I've decided to go for a walk."

"Do you wish me to accompany you?"

"That's not necessary. I simply have a sudden urge to survey the terrain, so to speak. Please finish the security scan of our suite. I shouldn't be gone too long."

Dorothy Catalonia gave Relena Peacecraft a faintly malicious smile and said, "Are you *sure* you want to stay here? I hope you have some idea of what will happen to your reputation if people find out that you're staying at a notorious place like the Roissy Resort."

Relena was doing her best to ignore any possible significance of the all the hoses, nozzles, and other apparatus in the bathroom as she applied a cool, damp towel to her burning cheeks.

"I know, but... but...."

She clamped her lips shut. The only reason she had been permitted to go on this trip was because of Dorothy's presence, but Relena was not about to tell the other girl, who happened to be the daughter and granddaughter of high-ranking OZ officials, that she was here at the resort to meet a vitally important informant.

Dorothy smiled acidly, "But Heero Yuy's here?"

"Uh... yes! That's why I'm here! I want to find Heero!" Relena babbled hastily.


Back at the nightclub known as the Meat Market, Wufei angrily elbowed his way through the crowd. Just as he was about to break free of the mob on the dance floor, he yelped and jumped as someone pinched his buttocks hard. He whirled around furiously, only to find that his assailant was a tall, muscular blond woman dressed in well-worn biker leathers.

In a low, husky voice, she drawled, "Hello, pretty boy," and gave him a slow, predatory smile.

"Kisama! Keep your damn hands off of me!" Wufei snarled back.

"Ooohhh, pretty boy's got a temper. I *like* that." She licked her lips hungrily and stalked closer. "It makes breaking 'em in more fun."

Wufei managed to choke back an incoherent bellow of outrage. He turned to storm away from the infuriating woman and crashed into someone who had been standing directly behind him. Confronting him was a tall black woman dressed in some sort of period costume. With her hair coiled tightly in a bun, she looked rather like a Victorian-era school mistress.

The black woman grabbed Wufei's chin hard, her long dagger-like fingernails nearly leaving scratches in the tender skin of his face, and hissed dangerously, "Little boys need discipline. I think you need to be punished."

The muscle-bound biker blond marched up and complained, "Hey! I saw him first!" She grabbed a hold of Wufei's arm and yanked.

The black woman coldly eyed the other woman without relinquishing her grip on Wufei. "So what?" she purred in venomous tones.

"So what!? Ever heard of 'first come, first serve, bitch?'"

The Chinese pilot had been fighting a desperate battle to control his temper after being constantly ogled, groped, and propositioned in the most sordid ways imaginable. After all, the mission came first. But this last bit of mauling -- and by WOMEN, no less! -- was entirely too much for him. Beyond outrage at this point, Wufei was on the brink of throwing discretion to the winds as he prepared to hammer the talon-nailed female and possibly also the biker blond into the floor.

"Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid that I have a prior claim. Kindly take your hands off of him," a coolly amused voice said behind Wufei's back.

(No, it can't be....)

Wufei slowly turned his head to see Treize giving the two women a singularly dangerous little smile. The OZ general was not in his usual uniform, but he wore his civilian-style blazer and slacks with the same style and flair. Under his coolly, intimidating stare, the biker blond finally shrugged and departed, but not before giving Wufei's butt a firm swat.


The black woman released her grip on Wufei's chin and said in her icy, controlled voice, "Khushrenada, you should train your pets to better manners."

"Lady Devereaux, I don't presume to tell you how to run your husband or other aspects of your personal life. Return the courtesy of not attempting to tell me how to run mine."

When the woman's lips curled back in an expression that was more of a snarl than a smile, Wufei found himself recoiling when he saw that her teeth had been filed to sharp points.

Treize gave her a faint nod of acknowledgment, then firmly escorted Wufei away. Once the vicious female was out of sight, Wufei tried to shrug off Treize's grip, but failed.

"Let go of me!"

The OZ general smiled faintly. "I don't think that's wise. Who knows what sort of trouble you'll get into if I abandon you to this sex-crazed horde?"

"Talk about someone being sex-crazed...," Wufei muttered under his breath.

"Did you say something?" Treize said in a decidedly amused voice.

The Chinese pilot settled for a good glare. Wufei caught a glimpse of Quatre's worried face through the crowd and gave him a slight, but definite shake of his head to tell the Arab pilot not to interfere.

Without looking in Quatre's direction, Treize murmured, "Warning off your friends?"

Wufei gave the ginger-haired man beside him a wary glance, but before he could reply, he noticed a commotion in the crowd. Someone had just entered the club and was causing quite a stir. Unlike his own struggle to make his way through the mob, the club-goers were actually moving aside for the newcomer. When the last few people melted out of the mysterious person's path, Wufei's jaw nearly hit the floor. Even Treize took a sharp breath as they both caught sight of the new arrival -- Duo Maxwell.

The clothing worn by the teenagers in the nightclub tended to be snug and extremely revealing -- and the more skin exposed, the better. While Wufei absolutely refused to degrade himself by wearing such tawdry outfits, he had fully expected Duo to jump at the opportunity to dress in the most provocative and outrageous manner possible, similar to the torn skintight jeans and see-through tanktop that Heero wore. But to his surprise, his fellow Gundam pilot had opted for an entirely different style of clothes.

The Deathscythe pilot wore an opaque poet's shirt of dark blood crimson silk, complete with loose, billowy sleeves and long cuffs tightly laced around the wrists. Instead of the typical plunging neckline to expose the chest, there was a surprisingly tasteful fall of scarlet lace at his throat. Just above that lace, Duo wore a plain, thin black collar around his throat. Over the shirt, he wore a black leather vest, laced shut and bare of any decoration, which perfectly matched his similarly stark body-hugging black leather pants. Black fingerless gloves covered his hands while black and scarlet cords snaked through his hip-length chestnut brown braid. On his feet, he wore a pair of sleek black ankle boots, devoid of the gaudy glittery chains or buckles that many of the nightclub's clientele favored.

But it wasn't just the clothes -- the surprisingly elegant and strangely erotic combination of contrasting hard and soft textures in the sleek black leather and silken fabric -- that startled Wufei so much. There was something different in Duo's eyes. Those wide blue-violet eyes had a cool, subtly calculating gleam that Wufei had never seen before. The almost overpowering sense of control the Chinese pilot detected in the other teenager was totally unlike the impulsive Duo Maxwell he knew.

His instincts told him that this person in black and crimson was dangerous. The drunken and drugged fools crowded the dance floor sensed it. Even that harridan Lady Devereaux displayed a wary sort of respect. But it was the sort of danger that tempted and seduced, the sort that lured a person closer regardless of the possible consequences.

(Good god! Is Duo... is he actually carrying a riding crop!?)

As the pony-tailed teenager goggled in amazement, Treize murmured under his breath, "Things are definitely getting interesting. Wufei, you know such *fascinating* people."

Keeper and Mistress of Duo's Dark Side
Co-Keeper of Duo's Scythe & Bat Wings
Duo no Seishi ~~~ Saitoh no Koibito
-------------------------------------------- /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/:E

The Full Disclaimer
All rights and privileges to Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing are trademarks and property of Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties. The characters of these works are used WITHOUT permission for the purpose of entertainment only. This work of fiction is not meant for sale or profit.
Original portion of the fiction included here is considered to be the sole property and copyrighted to the author.