possum (playpossum) wrote,

Fic (GW 1x5: Running)

Title: Running
Author: playpossum
Fandom: GW
Pairing: 1x5
Summary: Wufei runs, but he can't hide.

There was a thick haze of cigarette smoke, and raucous cheering from the stage where three barmaids flirted with a heavy-jowled, gray-bearded old man stripping and singing loudly off-key. Through the crowd of writhing bodies, he was hauled bodily forward; the grip around his wrist was bruising, and that said a lot, considering he was Chang Wufei. Someone's elbow slammed painfully hard into his cheek in a parody of a dance, sending momentary white sparks to his vision. If he hadn't been somewhat high on the alcohol, or if this had been the past, he surmised that he would probably have stopped, turned around, and knocked the culprit's lights out.

Scratch that, though. He probably wouldn't have been here in the first place if this had been the past.

Just barely visible in the flash of the wildly spinning disco lights and through the sea of people, he caught a glimpse of Heero's side-profile, grim and glaring.

Dragged unrelentingly, with the laughter and the low buzz of chatter and various limbs getting in his way en route to wherever Heero was taking him, Wufei almost felt like succumbing to hysterical laughter himself. This was ridiculously out of place, and it was so funny that he should be imagining things like this now, of all times—

The door swung shut behind him, and the noise abruptly stopped. He'd been pulled into a musty alleyway. A cool wind blew suddenly across his hot cheeks, and he blinked in surprise, both at the sudden quiet, and at the sudden expanse of clear, dark, sparkling sky arching over his head.

“I've been looking for you.” A familiar voice, older, harsher, blunt, and strangely soothing for all the words grated. “All these years.” And now I find you stoned silly in a shady bar at 3 AM on a Saturday night? was the unspoken end of the sentence.

“Shut up,” Wufei managed to say, though his tongue was beginning to feel strangely thick. “What are you doing here?”

There was a long, pregnant silence. It was the kind of silence that Wufei had always wished he could cut through with a thrust and slice of his sword or two, simply because of how bad it rankled. Silences like these stank, pressed mercilessly upon his chest like a weight, and made breathing just that little bit more difficult.

“...What have you been doing?” Heero finally seemed to realize he was still gripping Wufei's wrist; he let go and stepped back. Wufei noted vaguely that the other man's eyes were not-so surreptitiously glancing him up and down. Expressionless as always, cold as always. Heero had to be mocking him, seeing him like this, dressed up like a prostitute and looking about as damned good as if he'd really been one.

“All this time? I've been around.” Laughing myself to sleep. Waking up lonely. He shrugged carelessly, and turned to go. It was too crazy, having Heero appear out of the blue like this. Actually, he wasn't even sure if it was Heero. It'd been so many years since they'd seen each other last, since they'd parted ways—you mean, when you left, Chang? a nasty little voice in his head filled in.

This man...Wufei had no idea what had even prompted him to think this man was Heero. This man was everything and nothing like Heero. Oh, he was still gorgeous, even if the flash of those stunning blue eyes had been burning and accusing, and he was still strong; those vise-like fingers had definitely left marks on Wufei's wrist where he'd been grabbed. Even at this moment, that piercing gaze was probably burning a hole in the back of his head.

Maybe if he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, then he would wake up and this entire episode would have been a dream. Because there was simply no way that Heero could be here, and consequently no way that this man could be Heero. So what if his heart felt as though he was putting it slowly and agonizingly through a shredder at the thought?

A hand clamped down like steel on his shoulder, whirling him around so roughly that he lost his balance. Strong arms gathered him before he could fall, and then he was ripped forward, brutally kissed.

For a long moment, Wufei thought his heart had stopped beating.

With all his strength, he forced his hands up between that hard, heavy body molded tightly against his, shoving ungracefully, succeeding only in budging Heero a scant inch. Warm breath ghosted across his eyes, misted, and he had to blink rapidly to clear his sight.

“Look—” he knew the brandy was making his words tumble out in an embarrassing babble, and, really, tomorrow he would probably be horrified if he even remembered this much, but... “I don't do this. I don't want this. You don't want this.”

He would have tried to explain more—rather uncharacteristic of him, really—but then that hot, breathless, crushing kiss was back, and this time, Wufei felt his resistance waver and collapse like a construction of dry sand in the face of a desert storm. The beginnings of a cold drizzle pattered down on his nose, fell onto his eyelashes.

Stop, he wanted to say, but his hands had crept up again and were clutching at Heero's shoulders like a lifeline. To his dismay, he found himself fiercely kissing back, even as part of him wailed and rebelled and beat upon the other part of his consciousness that flailed, torn between not knowing what else to do, hoping against hope for the impossible, and feeling deliriously, unbearably relieved and furious at the same time.

I've never not hurt someone who wanted to be with me.

You should go. Forget you ever knew me.

You'll hate me when it's over.

He only realized he'd choked the words aloud when Heero's thigh forced itself between his legs, melding him to the wall, and Heero's hand curved around the back of his neck, tugging his hair gently, pulling his head back and exposing his neck to an avalanche of burning butterfly kisses. Heero's fingertips were tracing unintelligible promises on his brow, Heero's hands were sliding over his shoulders and down his chest, and it was raining hard enough now to obscure Wufei's senses. His long black hair was slicking uncomfortably heavy and wet to his cheek and neck, and he felt like he was suffocating, reaching out blindly, only now finally realizing with a rush of icy despair that he had to knock himself awake, had to snap out of this nightmare that he'd longed for in the deepest and darkest depths of his heart, before it became real.

But Heero was still there, refusing to disappear. Whispering softly in his ear, cursing quietly in between nips and kisses and sweetly useless words, Hurt me, then. Hurt me for as long as we stay together like this. I don't care.

Wufei closed his eyes tightly, clenching so hard on Heero's arms that his knuckles turned white.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'd run again. From tomorrow, he'd make sure Heero never found him again.

But tonight...he'd give himself tonight. Let himself remember the heat of Heero's arms, just for tonight.
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