Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/469565.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gundam_Wing
  Relationship:
      Quatre_Raberba_Winner/Heero_Yuy
  Character:
      Quatre_Raberba_Winner, Trowa_Barton, Heero_Yuy
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-26 Words: 2444
****** Evaporation ******
by mmmdraco
Summary
     Zero System! Quatre finds a place to put his anger.
Notes
     I don't own the characters, I mean no harm, I have no money... Stuff
     like that. Yeah.
//He's gone, and you killed him.// My mantra, the thought consumed my every
move. Trowa was dead by my tainted hand.
I had no business being in a suit if I couldn't control myself, did I? But, I
was there, regardless. And now my one love was gone and I was left with some
form of substitute lying at my feet, unconscious. Heero... I can't find it in
me to say I wish you were gone and Trowa was here, but you are my last choice
of company. You probably don't drink tea. You can't play the flute. You live
from mission to mission. But, no one can change you. But, if I close my eyes
tight enough and stretch your body in my mind and pretend your hair is just
mussed beyond belief, I can hold Trowa in my arms as long as you are
unconscious.
The ZERO system has impaired me, and I don't dispute that. However, it has
given me the ability to discern and know the truth about everything. Damn you,
Heero. If you hadn't been there, Trowa never would have felt compelled to save
you.
But as I shut my eyes and pull you that tiny bit closer, I can forget for a
moment and pretend this surprisingly smooth skin belongs to my love, the one
who should be in my arms, not you, Heero Yuy. Trowa isn't dead. He's here. Just
in a new body for me to explore. Don't move, Heero. I have to memorize every
inch.
And yet, you wake. That voice, it isn't his, and it never shall be. And eyes
open, and as yours of deep cobalt blue stare back at mine, my heart settles to
my stomach as I realize who it is that I hold.
My hand raises up and before I am aware of what I'm doing, I'm hurting you as
much as I can and making you bleed for what you've done. It's because of you
that Trowa is gone, and since you can't take his place, I can only make you
suffer as much as I am. It seems that hurting you as you are waking makes you
submissive. Is this what your trainers did to you? Beat you in the mornings so
they could have their lost little puppy dog trying to find his way until they
threw you to your bed to sleep again, but this time with more information and
instinct tucked within? Perhaps this is for the best. This way if I try and
kill you, you won't try and kill me instead.
You look confused, Heero. Yes, there is no other word to describe what I see on
your face now. And still, you haven't moved to stop me. Not that I would.
And I find my hands pulling at your clothing, pushing it away from pleasure
zones that I only plan to tease you with. My mission objective is to make you
suffer. To bastardize one of your own favorite phrases, Heero; mission
accepted.
Smile, Heero, don't mask it. I realize what you think is coming, and I desire
to see that smile fade from your face as you discover that what you had in mind
is not my intent at all.
For all the world and it's surrounding colonies, I would not change my course
of action. You seem to see kindness as some sort of hampering quality. It seems
only fitting that I forget kindness in my dealings with you. But enough of what
things seem. You look at me with questioning eyes and I feel the time is right
to give you your answers... sans kindness.
Blood comes so easily from you, Heero. But where are you bleeding? Have I hit
you that hard already? Tell me, do you realize that you are cut? I doubt it.
The perfect soldier does not realize pain. Self- destruction doesn't faze you.
It was Trowa who saved you then, too, Heero.
He has done so much for both of us. But where I pressed kisses across his skin,
you ignored him. I won't tolerate that from you. I'm through with toleration
and pacifism and kindness. Now is the time to raise my hand in anger and strike
all that I can. Power is intimidating, but it is a rush I don't normally let
myself feel. With you, I can forget my usual ways. You are an unusual man in a
boy's body. Do you even realize how visually appealing you are? The curve of
your buttocks alone should draw a crowd. You show it off, yes, but only to
other soldiers in the heat of the moment. Are you a fag like I am? Do you like
decidedly masculine eyes taking you in and undressing you, caressing you,
thinking of how you would look pinned beneath them, writhing and begging for
your pleasure? Then, perhaps you'll like what I'm about to do.
Your eyes shoot open as my thin, pale hands rip off those tight shorts. Were
you not expecting it, Heero? Don't expect anything. Didn't your trainer teach
you anything but how not to feel and how to do so while killing? Those cold
eyes are melting into blue puddles that reflect the hurt I'd always felt in the
heat of battle. Now let's see how hot I have to get you to make your evaporate.
Your skin, Heero. So smooth, so inviting. I can feel the heat rising from your
flesh as my fingers stroke your thighs. I see you tremble.
Perhaps you think I'm doing this for your benefit. There is no benefit in this
act. It's based on pain. Even as I raise those strong legs of yours and
position myself, you don't seem to *get it*. This is a revenge fuck. I'll admit
you're a little bit pretty, but I'm not attracted to you. Besides, I'm
prettier.
And that's the thing, Heero. I'll always be prettier. I'll always be more
compassionate. And I'll always be better at this than you. Yes, widen those
blue eyes, look shocked. You thought this would stop as soon as you wanted it
to, didn't you?
But it won't. And even as I force myself inside you and hear you breathing in
through clenched teeth, I know that realization is starting to hit, but you
still feel helpless and you will continue to. Because, I know that weakness
hurts you. Wufei may have an obsession with it, but it's all for show. We all
have our little acts and we all have what truly affects us. Perhaps my act was
kindness. But, perhaps the curtains have closed on that show, and I'm now in
rehearsal for my next show. Lucky you. I get to be the actor, you get to be the
stage.
You're almost begging me to leave now, but you can't quite go through with it.
You're still hoping that this isn't it and that I plan to be gentle now. I have
too much power and you are far too weak in far too many ways for me to even
consider that. And I thrust without thinking, putting more force behind the
motions than I believe you'd ever consider I could place. But, Heero, I want
you to cry out. Simple seething doesn't make me happy. I want to hear your
screams and *feel* you bleed.
Perfect soldiers don't cry, Heero. I can feel you struggling not to, and that's
enough to bring a small sadistic smile to my face. Now my task is simply to
break you. I won't stop until I am satisfied, and I will be satisfied when I
hear you scream.
I realize that I'm only using my hands to support myself. In your current
condition, I need only use one hand for support since I don't really have to
worry about you running away. The other hand can be used to break you even
further. So, I shall use it as such. My nails trail across your skin, willing
it to turn a deep pink, sometimes breaking past that barrier and revealing a
more satisfying shade of crimson. And now I can't help but taste the blood I'm
causing to spill. //Mmm...// Heero, you are delicious. No wonder you usually
guard yourself so well. At every papercut, do you suckle the wound, tasting
your own essence and enjoying it? Are you one of those sick little boys who
peels off the healing layers of his wounds, breaking himself again, to enjoy
that oozing life that wells up and spills out? I think perhaps you are. That
would explain your fascination with this war. Well, Heero, where you drink your
own blood, I savor my tears. And I'd like to partake in a sip of yours. Cry for
me, Heero. Cry blood if you must, but I will see you cry and I will not stop
until your tears and blood have left you dry and then I will leave you too.
Leaving you seems the only appropriate thing left. I could kill you, Heero.
Bleed you dry and leave you lying here on this cold ground. But I won't do
that. I won't let myself be that weak. It would be so easy to watch you
struggle into eternal oblivion, but I can exercise so much more control to
leave you hurt, bleeding, and guilty.
You're wincing at every move I make now. How long have I been going? Ten
minutes? Twenty? However long it's been, I'll keep going until I get what I
want. I'm not seeking pleasure, nor do I find my acts pleasurable. I'm doing
this for Trowa.
Do you know what he wanted, Heero? He wanted your approval. He wanted you to
look at him as an equal, not just another pilot that you were superior to. And
it took his death; his literally giving his life to save yours, for you to
understand that. He loved you, Heero, in a way I cannot comprehend.
But, I love him. I can't bring myself to say loved just yet. I know he's gone,
I know it's your fault, but while I'm exacting revenge, I can't deal with the
exact details of any of it. ZERO has shown me how to live in a way that even
Allah never could. But, perhaps, in a way, the ZERO system is based on you.
ZERO has screwed me over and now I'm finding revenge for two ordeals in one
act.
Damn it, Heero, stop being so resilient and cry, scream, beg me to stop. Until
you do, I will not.
And my hands are moving again, one grabs your arm and twists it up behind your
back, making you arch as I support myself on your agony. The other hand
delivers blows to your pretty face. I swear that I just felt your nose break.
But I can't see a big difference. Perhaps I'll just aim for it again and again
and again until I feel you tremble. Not in release, but in pure, unadulterated
anguish that fills you completely and pours from you. Let me taste your tears,
Heero. Let me taste your pain.
A whimper? I don't believe it. Your stoic silence has finally broken. No, it's
not good enough, but it's a start. There will be more, Heero, because I *will*
have my way.
A louder cry. That's nice, Heero. But, still not good enough. Must I make it
your mission to cry? Do I have to tell you that your objective is to scream
before you'll actually do it? Scream. Once. Cry. Twice. That's all you need to
do. Scream and cry until you might as well be dead. I'll drink your tears and
leave you dry as though I am the sun come to force your circulation through the
cycle of life.
I can push harder, you know. I haven't yet broken a sweat, Heero. Would that
make you anguish? Would it draw that primal scream from your gut that I will
make you release?
And before I can even stop to think, I find my hands around your throat. I'm
strangling you and still all you can do is gurgle as you try to breathe.
Gurgling does nothing for me. Scream! Do it, you little bastard! Make my ears
bleed from the sound. And suddenly, you do as I ask. A scream erupts from your
throat and a wavering crystalline orb drips from each of the hollowed recesses
of your reddened eyes. I lean down and taste those magnificent drops. Just as I
thought. Nectar from the gods.
And that, Heero, is what I have desired since the beginning. You are broken,
and you have been broken by the person in your life who you saw as the weakest.
My duty is complete, and now I am able to leave you.
To bastardize another phrase of yours, mission accomplished.
But as I drag myself to my feet and dress myself, finding my nether regions
cloaked in blood, I feel whatever snapped inside me before begin to heal and I
see what I have truly done. I have broken the one who I thought was the
strongest and I did it out of selfish need.
Heero, stop screaming. I'm through, finished, leaving. Allah, look at me. What
would Trowa say? This is his angel?
Heero... I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. And I find myself falling to my knees
and wrapping my arms around you. What does it say about you that you don't even
flinch now that I'm touching you again? Does that make you strong? Weak? I'm
lost in my own swirling thoughts, trying to find some semblance to reason in
the jumbled mass of conflicting words. I pull you closer still and wipe away
the tears that you still let fall. Please, Heero... Stop crying. Stop
screaming.
And now my torture has arrived. What has become of me? Who I used to be? Look
at you, Heero. No, you are not truly broken. Instead, that has happened to me.
Once weak, always weak. Once strong, always strong. But, the strong are strong
*because* of the weak. So, Heero, let me help you... though I've hurt you. Open
your parched lips, Heero. I was the sun's rays hitting you, making you
evaporate. It's a cycle. Let me give you water so that the cycle may stay
strong.
Drink, Heero. Let me fulfill your body with what I've mercilessly taken.
Oh, Allah... Trowa... Heero... Forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself. Let me
evaporate and join the stars in their endless futile shine, or do I not even
deserve that?
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