Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Coupe de foudre Arc ❯ Symptoms of Withdrawal ( Chapter 2 )

SYMPOMS OF WITHDRAWAL

Warning: yaoi, Trowa POV, sequel to "A Couple of Cravings"

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise, Shotsu Agency, Bandai, and other corporations, and has been used without permission, purely for entertainment purposes. Song "The Beast " belongs to Concrete Blonde from the CD "Bloodletting".

The prey of the Beast screamed

Bloody murder

The line is so fine between

Hoping and hurting

Former believers they beg for release

As love looking down on them

Smiles and picks his teeth

Trapped in between heaven and hell

He knows all the secrets

And don't want to tell

There's nowhere to run and there's

Nowhere to hide

Love knows you all too well

He will find you

It's not often we work together. His missions are usually solo or with his exuberant partner. Mine tend to be solo as well, usually infiltrations or a quick kill. But this time he needed back up while downloading another one of his designer viruses into Romefeller's banking system, and Duo was off on a mission of his own, liberating equipment from an OZ base to use as convenient replacement parts for us.

It had gone well. Like clockwork, nothing less than perfection, though I believe he has learned to hate that word. Another one of his lover's subtle influences showing through. We were spending the night in a cheap pension somewhere in Paris, waiting for word of our new safehouse where the five of us would meet up again. I was waiting for my turn in the minuscule shower, looking out the window watching a chilling autumn drizzle turn everything to a uniform shade of grey. April in Paris is not romantic. It is damn cold. And wet. And for some reason made me think of damp bangs plastered to an alabaster forehead, water beads caught and trickling through a thick rope of hair.

Love is the ghost haunting your head

Love is the killer you thought

Was your friend

Love is the creature who lives

In the dark

Sneaks up, will stick you

And painfully pick you apart

Love is a poet, love sings the songs

Pointing his finger you follow along

Voices are calling

The monster wants out of you

Paws you and claws you, you try not to fall

The door to the bathroom opened, and my roommate walked out in a cloud of warm steam. Towelling himself off with efficient strokes, he cocked his head toward the shower and I nodded. Most of our communication is done with gestures, and that suites both of us just fine. I grabbed my toilet kit. As I passed him, he turned and began pulling on his boxers in preparation for bed. His back was fully exposed and my eyes were caught and held by matching pairs of blunt red furrows running parallel across his ribs. They looked deep and painful. I could also see dark indentations where teeth had hungrily punctured the skin along his shoulders and neck.

Something deep inside me shivered in subversive delight as all moisture left my mouth and my body filled with a deep and unrestrained longing. I must have sighed or groaned or something. Made some kind of noise, because he spun around sharply and sent me a withering look.

"He runs, he hides. He claws, he bites." My feeble attempt at humour. I wanted him to know that I'd noticed. Hoped he might, maybe, make a remark. The ones I grew up with in the mercenary corps were always talking about, bragging about or complaining about their experiences. Maybe he would share, tell me a word or two, anything....

He just said "You going in?" in that atonal voice of his.

Love is the leech, sucking you up

Love is a vampire, drunk on your blood

Love is the beast that will

Tear out your heart

Hungrily lick it and

Painfully pick it apart

I am torn between jacking the water temperature up to as high as it will go, driving the chill from my body or making it so cold it will draw the heat of my thoughts, my insanity, my addiction from my brain. It is all too easy to visualize those long slender fingers of his raking that tan, compact torso. Leaving those marks ploughed in a fury of lust. His sensuous mouth open in ecstasy, then sharp white teeth clamping hard with passion's bite.

I turn the shower knob hard to the right and feel cold stinging needles of water hit my skin, distracting me from my carnal dementia. I cannot go there, I cannot go there. I, god, how I want his hot mouth on mine, those marks to be mine, that pain - that love - to be mine. I am panting, sobbing almost with a need that drives me to my knees and holds me there paralyzed as images of him, hair thrown wildly, violet eyes ablaze as he thrusts deeply into me....me....never me.

This is madness. The warmth of my seed trickles down my thigh to join the water swirling slowly around the drain. I stretch shakily for the tap and turn it off, my skin a necrotic rubber cold.

La mort.

La petite mort.

L'ange de mort. *

Love is the ghost haunting your head

Love is the killer you thought

Was your friend

Love is the creature who lives

In the dark

Sneaks up, will stick you

And painfully pick you apart

* Translation:

Death.

"little death" french for orgasm.

The Angel of Death.

Author's Note: I really didn't want to write this. "A Couple of Cravings" was my attempt to discipline myself to a one story format and not a story arc. And I have chapters that need to be added to my three ongoing series. However, I had not counted on being attacked by a "muse", having never had one before. Damn thing would not leave me alone and I had this half-written in my head when I heard the song and the rest wrote itself. Personally, I don't feel it is the same calibre as the first one, maybe that's why some sequels should never be attempted. Comments and criticism are welcome.