Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Dancing with Shiva ❯ Dancing With Shiva ( Chapter 1 )

Dancing with Shiva 1/2 By Nix Winter

Disclaimers: I don't own Duo or Heero, or they would have gotten married in the series, in great detail, and when I'm rich, I might just hire some animators to make me that animation just for the fun of seeing them dressed up like that. Alas, I'm not rich, so even if someone did sue me, all I could do was try to get people to read my own stuff more.. nah, I'm already doing that.. so.. anyway, I write 1x2 just for the fun of it. My characters are all lurking over at www.onepinkrose.com.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" Duo asked, voice deceptively casual. He stood in the door way of Heero's office, hands in his jacket pockets. The answer was already between them, like week old cold stew.

Duo was dressed for clubbing, skin tight silver pants, black leather belts around his waist, hips, dark blue silk shirt that lay over the muscular curves of his chest, easily hid the scars on his chest, where Heero's heart literally beat within his chest. They'd been married for three years now. They'd adopted Jewel, both of them. Over the dark blue silk, he wore a shimmering baseball like jacket, organza and glittery. His hair braid lay over one shoulder, a silver holographic ribbon braided through it. He stood there, letting Heero's eyes roam over him, hoping it would excite something.. jealousy at least.

It wasn't that they didn't love each other. They both knew that they did. It wasn't that there wasn't sex. There was. Everything had been so normal, peaceful, for quite a while. Heero had taken up a taste for writing, of all things. Novels. In the last six months, he'd written four, and two of them were actually selling well.

At first Duo had been delighted. Heero had something he loved, something that made his eyes sparkle and that brought money into the family, but didn't require Heero to get shot at. Duo, himself, preferred working with the L2 Police. Not that he'd admit it, but he thought of the whole colony as his own home, and policing it, it was like he was a wolf, protecting his territory. So they both had long hours at jobs they felt passionately about. That was good. "Well?"

Heero wore a pair of cut off running pants, no more spandex. He hadn't been away from his bloody computer in a week, Duo thought. It was partially Duo's fault, he was sure. He'd been gone from home much of that time, working on a drug importing case. He didn't know how to apologize to Heero, to say he was sorry, that he missed him. Heero wasn't making it easier either, sitting there unshaved, hair tousled, those damn beautiful earth blue eyes half glazed over with a story that Duo hadn't even read. Away from the computer and the story, the case work, the phone, the sounds of the orphanage next door, Duo thought he could pull Heero close, apologize, spark that familiar fire in him, and tell him how much he loved him. Even the lip gloss on his lips felt heavy, as it sank in that Heero wouldn't come with him. "Heero?"

"I don't want to go to a night club, Duo," Heero said, running both hands through hair that could stand to be washed. Duo guessed it was mission priorities.. story first, everything else last. "I'm just reaching the climax point in the last conflict of the plot. The antagonist is about to shot the protagonist's boyfriend."

Duo thought for sure that was heartburn rising in his throat, and thoughts of apologies slipped away. He'd shot the fucking protagonist himself if it would get him Heero's attention. Knees, hands, vital organs, one at a time, Duo smirked, and that didn't have a positive affect on Heero. "Yeah, well, wouldn't want to interrupt fiction with, say real life, would we?" Duo spun on his heel and strode out, leaving Heero to watch the dark whip of his braid snap back and forth, a furious Duo cobra.

At the Club ~

The club seemed to snap with furious energy to Duo. Dancing was like fucking, like a distant cousin. It was like arguing with Heero still, fighting, as his body swayed with the music, hard music, pulsing rhythms that echoed in his body and those around him, so close, and only barely brushing against each other. Some red head had disappeared with his jacket and he danced, arms over his head, hands in light fists, sweat making the silk cling to his back, braid brushing over his back pockets, against his thighs. The lip gloss was sticky now, making his lips cling to each other ever time he closed them. Music in his blood, he was untouchable, Shiva incarnate.

Heero entered the club, without waiting in line, the same way Duo had. The owner was a personal friend. Rhyz Valen, had in fact phoned Heero to tell him that Duo was there, had already had three rum and cokes and more than a few offers. Suddenly, his novel and keyboard had seemed too lonely. He realized that, that he'd been resenting Duo being away from home so much, resented the way Duo walked through a room and eyes followed him, desired him. Duo was the star, he was just the black background in comparison. It was petty. He knew it. Duo was his star, but he, and he'd sat there for a little while, the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to dial tone, wondering about those offers Rhyz had complained about. Duo Maxwell could have anyone he wanted.

Heero wanted to be that one again, not because Duo loved him and there was this warm fuzzy bond between them, but he wanted Duo to want him because he had no choice, because passion . okay, Heero admitted, he wrote adventure stories, not romance, but he wanted Duo to want him helplessly.

And so here he was, standing on the opening balcony of The Wire, looking down onto the lowest, roughest dance floor. Duo was there, where he'd expected to find him, three others dancing with him, entirely too close, but it was almost a game to Duo, Heero thought, to dance just close enough and not touch. From where he stood, he had no trouble seeing the violet of Duo's eyes, nor narrowing of them, the tight set to his open mouth, almost a sneer, but oh so sexual. Duo was a predator, stealthy and sweet like a flower that drew the victim in. Heero rested his elbows on the railing, and just watched. Duo was Shiva, Thanatos, Shinigami, death and life, primal power, and still so very human. Watching him, Heero thought maybe he could make romance novels. How many were there were a mortal fell in love with a God anyway?

He'd dressed for this. He wore the black leather pants that they'd danced in on their honeymoon, when Duo was still recovering from his transplanted heart. His shirt was black silk, but strapped to his body with soft leather that criss-crossed his waist, shoulders, collared him, twinned down his arms. It was a shirt he'd bought for Duo, as a gift, but never gotten around to giving him. On him it built an air of dominance, of possessiveness. He wore no make up, had simply washed his hair, shaved, put on some of the spicy oil that Duo loved the scent of. As he walked down the curving stairs into the dance floor, the crowd opened for him, happy partying people just moving. Heero existed on a different level. He was on a mission and they didn't register on the radar, even if the aura of purpose and raw energy coming from him registered quite well on theirs. Maybe he'd become better known than he'd expected, than he even took notice of, but the lower dance's buzz lowered to a hum as he strode into the dancing throng. People parted there too, like some chaos theory driven fractal, he found himself with a clear path to Duo, empty of people, especially the three that had been dancing with his husband. A new song started, Don't Fear The Reaper, of all things.

He had what he wanted, Duo's attention, and as if he were the only man in reality, Heero started to dance for him. A Spanish dance, graceful, fast, deep thrusting, obviously sexual, a mortal seducing the reaper.

Duo easily took the softer role, braid swaying as he licked the gloss away from his lips, making slow figure eights with his hips. His shirt had come untucked and now fluttered against his thighs as he danced, waiting for Heero to reach him, violet eyes hooded with desire, more than a little drunk, all the others on the dance floor had stopped existing for him as Heero approached.

A circle had formed, of dancers moving slowly, distracted completely by the man in black who stopped in front of the man with the long hair, swaying to the music as he leaned back, dancing heels tapping, arms over his head, leather tight over his desire. It was an ancient dance, old as Earth itself, and the violet eyed one turned sideways, holding out a hand, palm up, as if to reject the advance of his suitor. The dancing around them pretty much stopped and Don't Fear the Reaper turned into a Spanish tango, old and exotic, dripping with primal passion of men from long ago.

Heero caught Duo's wrist and Duo leaned over, away, as if his arm were a tether, other arm and braid swaying towards the ground, then he looked over his shoulder, gave Heero a very slight smirk, and Heero realized just how drunk Duo was. His stomach dropped away at the wicked smolder in those violet eyes, but he knew, he'd keep up with whatever dance Duo could imagine. He gave the arm a small jerk, and Duo spun into him, holding Heero's arm around him, his fingers caressing the back of Heero's neck as his whole body danced against. Heero matched him, hooking one leg around Duo's, swaying, thrusting against his back. "Duo!"

Duo spun back out then, jerked his hand away, backed away, wrists crossed over his head, lip held between his teeth, hips rocking with the beat. Heero took three quick steps, caught Duo by the waist, stepped one foot behind him and tripped him, even as he caught his head with his hand. The effect was a dip that laid Duo's braid in a pool on the polished black and white floor. Holding Duo possessively, Heero leaned close and took Duo's lips, softly kissing, stealing those neglected lips into his mouth, suckling softly, then slipping his tongue in, but the moment his tongue touched Duo's, Duo went limp and rolled out of his arms.

Heero had written a scene like this once, but he hadn't thought anyone had read it. Just a fantasy, but in his story, it ended with the characters having sex on the dance floor. He'd do that with Duo, who had obviously read the story, if that's what he wanted. He'd have sex with Duo anywhere.

High above lowest dance floor Rhyz Valen sat with his blond sleeping lover on his lap and listened to the near hysterical ranting of his evening manager. "I don't care. Close the dance floor, just get everyone except them off and put up the screen.. Say it has to go down for maintenance. I don't care what you tell them."

"But the press! That novelist and his cop friend." The manager flustered.

Rhyz leaned his head back, smirked. "There are more important things sometimes."