Kiss Me, Jack Frost





The thick haze of smoke assaulted Heero's nostrils and stung his eyes as surely as did the flashing neon lights blazing in random epileptic patterns from the ceiling.  His body vibrated with the power and volume of the loud, raucous techno music blaring from speakers that were taller than he was.  A sweaty, vinyl-clad, androgynous body bumped roughly into him and mumbled something vaguely apologetic.  Heero scanned the milling, frenzied crowd, searching for the telltale swing of a flying braid. 


Why the hell am I here? he demanded of himself for at least the twentieth time since he'd left the safehouse.  Why do I care what Duo does, or where he goes, or who he's with?


The answer, welling up from somewhere deep inside where he'd imprisoned it in the hopes of starving it to death, left a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the chemicals in the air.


He'd rather kill himself than admit to it, but he was jealous.






"Duo," Heero demanded, without even the effort of turning from his computer screen to face the boy, "Where do you think you're going?"


"Out," Duo snapped, slamming the closet door and tossing his clothes onto the bed.  Heero resisted the impulse to turn around when he heard the rustle of cloth against skin, mixed with the frustrated footfalls of his angry partner-in-crime.


"No," he said flatly.


All movement behind him stopped.  "What do you mean, no?" Duo asked coldly, in the voice he normally reserved for his moments as the God of Death.


Heero suppressed a shiver.  He was not as immune to the anger in that voice as he would like to believe--nor, if truth be known, to the entire spectrum of Duo's mercurial mood swings.  "We leave at six in the morning," he answered, his voice carefully neutral.  "I won't have you putting the mission at risk.  Stay here and rest."


Duo snorted incredulously, and a burst of warm air tickled the hairs on the back of Heero's neck.  "You won't have--well fuck me gently with a chainsaw!"  The bedsprings creaked as the Deathscythe pilot threw himself onto it.  "Heero, have I ever fucked up one of your missions?  No.  Do I actually get any rest when you stay up typing and muttering at the goddamn computer all night?  No.  Do I feel the LEAST BIT COMPELLED to meekly sit here and follow your orders?  NO.  But I do want some fresh air, possibly something to drink, and a night out among people who do not think of me as The Annoying Idiot That Won't Shut Up.  Understand?"


"I'm telling you," Heero repeated, "to stay here and rest."


The bedsprings creaked again as Duo stood up.  "And I'm telling you," he said coldly, "to go fuck yourself."


The door slammed hard behind him, and Heero was left alone.




Duo gave the front door a satisfying kick on his way out.  Goddamn it, Heero!  Even when I'm trying to leave you alone, you're an asshole!  What else is left for me to try?  He blinked by the tears that stung his violet eyes.  I won't cry.  I won't.  I'm not a crybaby, and Heero Fucking Yuy isn't worth it.  And you know the worst part?  If he'd just--all he had to say--'Duo, I'd like it if you stayed here tonight.'  Or, 'I want you to stay here, Duo.'  And I would have.  Fuck.  I really am pathetic.


Duo turned his face up to the sky.  Snowflakes fluttered peacefully from the heavens, oblivious to the turbulence of his tangled heart, melted on his cheeks and clung to his eyelashes.


He hated being in love with Heero Yuy.  But he couldn't stop.


From a purely logical standpoint, he figured it made him certifiably insane.  Who in their right mind would fall for a suicidal, obsessive-compulsive, sociopathic terrorist?  To date, Heero had sabotaged his beloved Deathscythe, belittled him, threatened him, and knocked him unconscious.  What a promising relationship.


He didn't kill you, though, Duo's inner voice reminded him.  He patched you up instead.


Yeah, Heero had his moments.  And Duo, sad as he knew it was, lived for them.


And those intense blue eyes.  And that body....  His already-snug leather pants were getting tighter just thinking about it.  He envisioned their lovemaking the way he did every night in his self-indulgent dreams--Heero, finally overcome with lust, would force him down, assault his mouth and his body with the same intense dedication normally reserved for exploding enemy bases.  Only it would be Duo, this time, who Heero made explode.... The truth?  The God of Death was secretly intoxicated by the promise of danger in his partner's cobalt eyes.  He was aroused by the idea of submitting to  a lover who could, and possibly would, kill him as easily as fuck him.


And more willingly, he reminded himself with a growl.


But he'd tried everything he could think of to get Heero's attention, and all it got him was more grief.  He was tired and hurting and turned on and frustrated, and he just didn't want to deal with it anymore.  He wanted to spend a night free from from himself.




Heero's fingers, resting on his keyboard, hadn't moved in minutes.  Scowling, he clicked off the computer.  A glance at the flashing LED of a portable alarm clock told him it was already after midnight.


After midnight, and still no sign of Duo.


Without the perpetual distraction of his computer or the incessant chatter of a certain braided pilot, Heero was abandoned with his thoughts--an unpleasant experience at best.  He prepared everything he might need for the morning's mission, brushed his teeth twice, paced around the perimetre of the house, and finally threw himself on top of the battered, creaking bed.  That was even worse.  In the dark, his mind was assaulted with images of Duo, as Heero imagined he might be at that moment--his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, fluid movements made jerky by a nightclub's flashing strobes, his lithe, sensual body pressed flush against the forms of other dancers.  It was that last image that pulled Heero out of bed with a strangled moan.  The disturbing mental pictures of other, less worthy mortals in bold contact with his Duo. 


A short search through the phone book found the address of one "Elysium" nightclub that had been hastily circled in pencil, and he ripped out the page. Tugging on his jeans, zipping his winter coat up to his chin, he stomped out into the snow.




In general, Jay Parker liked his job.  It had its ups and downs, but so did any job, and this way--as doorman for the best Goth club anywhere in the city--he got to hear good music, spend all evening watching some very attractive black-clad  bodies, and meet a host of interesting people. 


He smiled at the young man stalking up to the door.  "Sorry, man," he said, apologetic.  "Can't let you inside in jeans, they've got a dress code."  He was a good-looking boy, too--unruly dark hair, the bluest eyes Jay had seen in this lifetime, and a wiry, compact body that suggested a good deal of hidden strength.


"What?" he said abruptly, looking at Jay as if he'd only just seen him.


"Dress code," the slender doorman repeated, indicating a group of teenagers in mesh and leather just vanishing in the door.


The boy watched them, and turned back to him.  "I'm looking for someone," he said, his voice cold.  Jay made the mistake of looking into those frozen blue eyes, and swallowed.  Is my outfit really worth your life? those eyes asked him, because I will kill you.


Jay sighed and waved him in.  "Forget it.  Go in.  Just don't cause any trouble."  He wasn't sure what prompted him to add that last bit, but he did.


The boy nodded.  "Thank you." 


"Don't mention it," said Jay, propping his chin on his hands, but the boy was already gone.




All of which brought Heero to the moment at hand--wending his way through an undulating crowd of writhing bodies, ducking under the waitresses' upheld trays, sliding between flailing dancers til he reached the floor, scanning the milling mob for a long chestnut braid.  A fog of smoke rolled through the air, a stinging mixture of sulfur and tobacco and pot, obfuscating the dancers in an ethereal haze.  Heero reached the edge of the dance floor, glaring sharply at a drunken teenage girl who tried to haul him into the mix with her.  She was too high to be affected, and she shrugged and smiled at him before vanishing into the mass of bodies.


The corner of his eye caught the flash of a swinging braid, and he spun.  Duo.  His heart clenched til it hurt, his jeans grew uncomfortably tighter, and jealous fury rose in his throat like bile as he stared at the living embodiment of the vision that had brought him here.  Bathed in the neon eroticism of cheap decour and strobe lights, glitter painted onto his skin and bleeding into the sheen of his sweat, Duo swayed in rhythm with the music.  Wisps of chestnut escaped the confines of his braid and flowed around him as if they, too, were dancing.  A black mesh shirt teased him with tantalising glimpses of the lean, muscled chest beneath it, and black leather pants must have been poured on.  Lust welled up within Heero, convulsing in his chest and his groin, a desperate desire that could be sated only by possession of this entrancing, intoxicating boy.




Duo threw himself into dancing, lost himself in the beat and pulse of the music and the raucous movements of the crowd around him.  The faint buzz of the one rum-and-Coke he'd had to drink coursed through his blood in alcoholic bliss, sensuality permeated the drug-fogged  air and infused in him the euphoric thrill of absolute forgetfulness.  Already he'd turned down more than one invitation to someone's home.  But the morning's mission would come all too early, and much as his body longed for release, he knew he was too fixated to really want anyone but Heero.  He knew the sad truth of his situation--that he would wander back to the safehouse, buzzed and frustrated, stare at Heero for a few minutes, then crawl into bed and jerk off while fantasising about his blue-eyed partner.  It was an old story.  Duo knew it well.


But right now, before the pathetic reality of his life returned to haunt him, he immersed himself in the scent and sway of the dance floor.


Abruptly his reverie was broken, his head jerked to one side from a sharp tug on his braid.  Prepared to knock the shit out of somebody, Duo spun, his fist cocked--and found he was staring directly into the depths of those same cobalt eyes.


"He-Heero?"  Shock made him stutter, rendered him incapable of more speech than that single word.  Fury blazed in Heero's deep blue eyes, fury and--lust?  He had to be imagining that, it just wasn't possible.  He followed me.  The thought occurred with astonishing suddenness, and with it a new flood of anger that returned his capacity for speech.  "What the fuck are you doing here?"


"It's late.  You're coming home," Heero said simply, darkly, turning away and dragging Duo after him by the hair.  Duo bit back a yelp as he was hauled off the dance floor, stumbling to a clumsy halt once they had staggered past the throng. 


"Heero, let go of me.  What the hell's the matter with you?" he demanded, approaching a certain level of danger in his tone as well. 


"It's late," Heero repeated coldly.  A shadow fell across them, cutting through the smoke and haze, and Duo looked up at the solid form of one of the Elysium's bouncers.


"Need a hand there?" the tall man asked Duo--pleasantly enough, despite the flash of warning in his eyes.


"We're fine," Heero snapped, rising ire darkening his eyes.  The bouncer looked at Duo, as if to say, 'you sure'?  Duo sighed.  Heero, in his present state, would probably be happy to kill everybody here.  It wasn't worth it. 


"Yeah," he nodded.  "We'll work it out when we get home."  The bouncer gave him a worried look but nodded and faded back into the milling crowd.  Heero turned toward the door again, still tugging Duo after him.


"Heero, I'm coming with you, now let go of the hair."  Heero, startled by the ice in Duo's voice, stopped abruptly and turned to him.  Duo yanked his braid free of his partner's grip. 


"Duo, I--"


"Shut up."  Silence fell--as far as they knew it encompassed the entire club, never mind the music still blaring from the speakers only a few feet away.  Never, to either of their knowledge, had Duo been the one speaking those words to Heero.  "We'll talk when we get back, Heero.  I am so pissed right now.  I want at least that long to fantasise about killing you."


Heero shot him a deadly glare and spun on his heel to stalk out of the club.  Duo sensed all the curious eyes on them as he followed angrily after.




The walk back to the safehouse was silent, tense, and long.  The snow crunched under their feet and swirled around them to cloak them in an eerie white haze.  Heero walked hunched forward, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, staring straight ahead with venom in his gaze.  Duo, true to his word, was plotting Heero's imminent demise, though he never managed to get past the part where he tied his partner down.  Torture, at that point, became erotic persuasion instead of a means to death.  Heero would fight back, and maybe even win--who was he kidding?  Of course Heero would win.  From there, Duo's sexually frustrated mind left behind the idea of murdering Heero and he would have to start all over again.


They reached the safehouse and stomped inside wordlessly, kicking the snow off their boots in the doorway.   Heero marched to the bedroom immediately, shedding his coat and beginning to peel off his clothes.  Duo followed him and paused, leaning in the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.


"Well, we're here.  So what's got your Spandex in a twist, Heero?" he asked flatly.


Heero looked up at him, briefly.  "I told you, we have an early mission.  It was getting late."  He was down to his jeans, but for once Duo was too angry to stare at the well-formed half-bare body before him. 


"Uh-uh.  You are SO not getting away with that."  Duo's voice dropped, darkened, the wrath of Shinigami evident and rising.  "If you're going to follow me out at night and drag me back here by my hair, you damn well better have a better explanation than that!   Goddammit, Heero, what the fuck is wrong with you?"


"All right," Heero answered fiercely, advancing on Duo predatorily.  "I don't like seeing you out there with all those people--the way they look at you, and touch you--"  Deadly blue met intense violet, pinning Duo to the wall with the force of his gaze.  "I don't like it.  You're mine."


Duo gaped.  His mouth dropped open, his eyes wide, staring at Heero in shock and disbelief. 


Then the God of Death punched Heero hard in the jaw.


Heero's head snapped back with the force of the blow and he stumbled backward.  Oh, shit--  Duo had no time to complete the thought before Heero retaliated, seizing his arms and shoving him roughly against the wall.  He crushed his mouth against Duo's in a savage kiss, bruising his lips and raising welts on his arms beneath his shirt.  Duo's still-rising rage only served to fuel his lust, his traitorous body arching against Heero's in eager, urgent surrender.  He's kissing me.  He said I was his!  Yes, and I'm still pissed off at hi--ohgodohgod.   Duo's brain catapulted toward euphoria as Heero spun him harshly and pressed him back against the wall, his fingers pulling at the hem of his black mesh shirt, yanking it upward to bare his back.  He could feel the hard length of Heero's denim-clad erection flush against his buttocks, his own arousal answering, straining in its tight leather confines.  An electrifying shiver raced along his spine as Heero paused in his efforts to bite down lightly at the nape of his neck, eliciting a low moan as Duo writhed against him.  Heero gave the shirt a final yank and it slid over his head, his arms still caught in the fishnet sleeves.  He felt the fabric pulled tight as his arms were forced behind his back, and the rush of blood from his head to his groin dizzied him til he could barely stand.  Oh God.  He's tying me up with my own shirt.  The thought was barely coherent, his brain reduced to the same rhythm of whimpers that left his lips. 


"Mine," Heero hissed, yielding to the blind, unthinking desire to claim possession of this beautiful creature.  The self-control he worked so hard to maintain had collapsed to its foundations, and with singleminded intensity he pursued ownership of his violet-eyed partner.  He could taste the lust of submission flooding Duo's body, and he fed on it, his teeth leaving marks in the smooth, soft skin, his hands roughly traversing the half-naked form.  One hand snaked around Duo's waist, drawing nails down his glitter-painted chest, eliciting a whine of pleasure as the boy arced into him.  Lower, then; he fumbled momentarily with the fastenings of those shining leather pants til he could slip his fingers inside and cup Duo's already-weeping hardness in his hand.  Duo gasped and thrust into his palm, and Heero coaxed from him a few more urgent moans before abandoning the straining member, sliding his hands over Duo's legs, catching the waistband of his pants to peel them downward, revealing inch after inch of his smooth, pale skin.  Tugging them completely off and kicking them away with a grunt of frustration, Heero was finally rewarded with the vision that was Duo, hard and sweat-sheened and gloriously nude, pressed against the wall, the remains of his shirt catching his hands behind his back.  Pausing only long enough to rid himself of his jeans, he dove to attack Duo with mouth and hands once again.


Duo felt Heero push against him again, nipping at his shoulders, both of them now rid of the barrier of clothing, and the rush of sensual want lit off firecrackers along every inch of his skin.  He heard the snap of a rubber band, and then his long hair spilled out loose over his back.  He moaned, his flushed cheek resting against the smooth cool wall, as Heero slid a finger inside him, robbing him of breath and thought.  Another finger, and the moist ecstasy of Heero's kisses on his back, and the world swam in front of Duo's eyes.  "Please--oh God, Heero--" he whimpered, unsure what he was pleading for save release, some fulfillment of the promise heralded by this intoxicating teasing.  And Heero answered--hauling him back from the wall, nudging his legs apart, bending him just a little forward.  He swayed, his balance compromised, tugging at the restraints that bound his arms. 


"Heero--I can't--"  He gasped, and was rewarded by the feel of Heero's strong arms encircling his chest, pulling him close against the other boy's body.


"It's all right, I've got you," Heero promised huskily, holding his partner close as he drove into him.  Duo moaned in helpless rapture, reveling in the sensual vulnerability of his position, in the sweet musky scent of sex and Heero, in the sweaty slide of their bodies against each other and pulse of Heero's thrusts.  Heero, immersed in the experience that was Duo, pounded urgently into him, the rhythm of his movements in time with the litany repeated in his mind:  My Duo!  Mine!  Mine!  Mine!  He pressed his face into Duo's thick hair, breathing in the honey-clover scent of new shampoo, buried his desire in Duo's radiant body, claimed him with a fierce possession that drove everything else from his mind.  Still holding Duo against him, he freed one hand to slide lower, wrapping his fingers around his partner's sobbing shaft and pumping him in syncopated time to his own desperate thrusts.  A strangled cry caught in Duo's throat and he choked out Heero's name, his whole body quivering as he spilled his seed into his lover's hand. His muscles clenched around Heero and another cry echoed his own, the sounds of ecstasy mingling in the air as Heero emptied himself into Duo, marking his violet-eyed lover as his own.  There they remained, breathless and panting, until their racing hearts calmed and Duo rested limply in Heero's arms. 


Impulsively, Heero planted a kiss in Duo's hair before he gathered him up, carrying him to the bed and depositing him atop the blanket.  Duo, dazed and glassy-eyed but smiling like an erotic angel, blinked up at him.


"Say, Heero, you're gonna untie me now, right?" he asked, flexing his bound arms.  "I think I'm gonna need to be able to move my arms in the morning."


"Of course," said Heero, more relaxed than he could recall ever being before.  He fumbled unsuccessfully with the knot, and finally settled for destroying what remained of the shirt by ripping it from Duo's wrists.  He stretched out next to Duo and pulled the blanket over them, then wrapped his arms around the other boy again and pulled him close.


"My Duo," Heero declared sleepily, in a  tone that boded imminent and painful death for anyone foolish enough to challenge his claim.


Duo, disbelief still dominating the part of his brain not clouded by afterglow, chuckled.  "Yeah, Heero.  All yours," he promised, a thrill of delight surging through him as he said the words.  He sighed blissfully as Heero's fingers combed gently through his hair, wanting nothing more in the world than to drift to sleep this way and never have to get up again. 


Unfortunately--" wanna let me up?"  His hair was tangled, his body sticky and damp.  "I should go get cleaned up...."  Instead of letting go, Heero's arms tightened around him, and one leg draped possessively over his side.  Duo sighed and gave up, nuzzling into the protective embrace.  He'd just get up early and take a shower before the mission.  Whatever had gotten into Heero tonight was too good to waste.  Curling against the warm, sated body around him, Duo fell asleep to the soft brush of snowflakes against the window outside.