Dream On

(1/2)

by Jenn Blackett

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. That particular anime belongs to Sotsu, Sunrise, and Bandai. I am not making any money off this particular venture, so please do not sue me!

Warnings: Yaoi/Non-Yaoi themes, SEX, LEMON, unrequited love, language.

Pairings: 2x1, H+2

She couldn't remember when it really all started. Maybe it was the day she first met him, or maybe she really always knew somehow that she was meant to have strong feelings for the dark Gundam pilot that showed up in the nightly news. First her feelings had been hatred, anger, maybe some fear. Righteous indignation for her colony's citizenry, that they had to be attacked by a Gundam pilot who disappeared into the blackness of space as soon as he had committed his death strike.

Hirde Schbeiker had never really expected to feel differently.

She was wrong on that account, wasn't she?

The accounts were legendary by now in her mind and she didn't really have to go over how she gave it all up, her right to a promotion, her right to her secure life as an officer of OZ, *everything* for a flirtatious, wicked smile and a pair of entrancing cobalt eyes that spoke volumes of things she never even could dare to understand. Not that she had wanted to. Duo Maxwell had confused her enough on first meeting. He was a variety of contrasts, a dual nature as could be so easily revealed by his name.

At first glance, all you could see was that braid, that long, shiny, silky whip-like coil sliding back and forth across an ass she'd love to hit--not that Hirde ever really knew herself for a kinky girl, but Duo inspires that sort of feeling in one's self. It goes on for a meter, a variety of hues from the darkest secrets of his soul to the lightest aura of his smile. Then you noticed the body, and it really is *the body*. She couldn't remember how many times she'd wished to be caught up in those strong arms of his, pressed back to his toned chest, and rake her nails down his flat stomach.

If the body didn't tempt the sinner in your soul enough, then it was the face.... There were a variety of ways he could look at you, and Hirde has cataloged them all for easy reference of moods and identification of further actions. Happy (and we're talking the real happy, not that fake happy he hides his secrets behind): cobalt eyes flashing as his lips quirk up in a smile, revealing pearly white teeth, and just a hint of a dimple on one side of his mouth. Sad: a quiet, thin drawn line to his mouth, tense as if in grimace, eyes darker then an ocean, being hidden by long, uncut bangs like a visor. There were more of course, but the one she knows the most--calls to mind the most--was the look that meant sex. Meant raw, positive fucking.

That was the way he looked at.... *him*.

She hadn't meant to find out, although the frequent visits from the Perfect Soldier, when Duo would just drop everything as if nothing else matter then some "catching up time with my buddy". Hirde hadn't minded, she actually didn't want to find out, some safety mechanism in the back of her mind crying to just leave it alone, just stay daydreaming about Duo and the possible day when he'll wake up to see how much she loves him. Hadn't meant to love him actually....

What does that old philosopher say? "'Tis better to have loved and lost then not to have loved at all"?

Someone should shoot the bastard. Over and over.

It happened quite innocently, actually. She'd been on one of her mindless little dates with some slacker who wouldn't have a chance in hell with her if she wasn't just dating as a mechanism to get Duo jealous. Duo had merrily waved her off--not the reaction she was looking for, of course--and her sour mood at that factor had colored the evening so much that even the waiter got depressed just looking at her. Thinking to spare her date the nervous/hopeful/not-a-snow-ball's-chance-in-hell's wondering if he was going to get laid tonight, Hirde faked a pretty damn convincing cough--if she does say so herself--and high-tailed it out of there.

She walked the hour home, thinking in her mind little, never-going-to-happen scenarios where Duo would look up from the couch and declare his ever-lasting-love to her, throw her over his shoulder, and make mad-cap passionate love to her (in all her fantasies, Duo never makes sweet, slow, baby love to her, that's just not Duo). Yet, when she arrived at the doorstep to 48 Terrace Avenue, she got to hear the thing that no woman ever wants to hear.

Her dream guy declaring his love to another guy. No, you heard right. Not a girl, that is familiar territory, that's sane, something she could deal with in a good ol' cat fight to the death. This personage that had gained Duo's smoky-eyed expression and whispered words of affection was none other then a cold hunk of ice she had often imagined would melt if left too near an open flame like Duo is....

You heard it right, folks. The one.... the only....

Heero Yuy.

She hated him right then and there.

Her evening bag had fallen to the stoop, forgotten as her eyes widened softly, watching through the open doorway the lovers wrapped up in themselves on the couch, the same damn couch Hirde had left Duo smiling and waving cheerfully. Her mind sort of took the introspection that a shock victim takes, the ability to see, hear, taste, smell, feel everything but not be able to move or block out the imagery. The smell of sex, something fragrant and of a definite oil variety laced through the air, tickling her nose though she couldn't seem to sneeze. Hirde watched as Duo's hand, slick with the shiny substance glided down Heero's muscled back, tracing the counters with feather light kisses, nipping and biting, a slow smirk tugging his wicked lips. Cobalt eyes glittered from behind his dark bangs, ones she had always likened to some wild, fallen child of Lucifer, committing the very sinful acts she wished she could feel him performing on her right this moment. Her eyes glanced down, almost by default as his deft hands snaked between Heero's legs, one hand curling around a thick, rigid cock, the other pushing two slick fingers into his tight ass. He was beautiful.... seductive.... dark.... powerful.... everything she ever imagined him to be.

And where was Heero in all this mess?

Her eyes flicked back to the uke of this pair, wondering vaguely in a funny way where one can't help but think of baka things in the middle of a crisis that that seemed odd. Heero the uke, Duo the seme? Where the hell.... But that's what he was being right now, his face no longer expressionless or even glaring. His teeth were clenched, jaw ticking carefully in an almost timely rhythm tuned to the pumps Duo was giving his cock, a soft grunt sounding despite his efforts to keep quiet. He was... oddly fascinating in a strange way as well. His hair was darker then Duo's myriad of hues, not that she ever really tried noticing before, too wrapped up in Duo to care for anyone else. Right now it stood out in slightly damp spikes about his face, maybe some moistened with the oil, others by sweat, his bangs he never bothered to do much with veiling his eyes. Everything else she could see, from his tightened lips, his angular features streaking with sweat and flushed somewhat with lust, but his eyes.... For some reason, she desperately wanted to see his eyes....

That's when she was broken from her state, when Duo's eyes focused on her own and he abruptly stilled, eyes going a little wide in a comic fashion she really, really wanted to find funny at the moment, but couldn't. All she heard him say was, "Oh, God.... Hirde...."

Then she ran.