Dancing on the Blade
by the Writer

[This fic is witten from Duo's POV]

He thrusts into me, and it hurts like hell, but I don't mind the pain. It's real, close, something that's mine, something he can give me. I don't have much in this world that's real, so I take what I can get.

"Duo..." My name is a snarl torn from his throat. He pins my arms, dragging them up over my head, and I whimper slightly. He's so damn strong; he could kill me as easily as fuck me. Maybe that's part of the attraction-- I always did like living on the edge. Balancing on Death's blade, not sure whether or not I cared about which way I fell. Living or dying, it hurts either way. I'm still trying to decide which one hurts more.

His thrusts become even harder as he practically nails me to the headboard. The bed creaks loudly, rhythmically, screaming in protest at the abuse. I'm screaming too, though not out loud-- only a soft, low whine manages to escape from between my clenched teeth.

God, it hurts. But not enough. Not enough to take away the other pain, the pain of life. Of having to live 'cause you're too damn scared to die.

I raise my head slightly, teeth snapping at his neck. He hisses in pain; good, maybe he'll get angry. Maybe he'll just get pissed and kill me, and I won't have to be scared anymore. He leans down, lips brushing mine, and I snap at him again. But he captures my lips and presses down firmly, his tongue stealing in to ravish my mouth even as he continues to ravish my body. I feel him inside me-- now a mixture of pleasure and pain-- and I moan into his mouth, unable to contain it.

He draws back slightly, cobalt eyes narrowed, his expression lustful and almost cruel. "Do you like this, Duo?" he asks, voice emotionless even though his eyes burn with desire. "Do you like it when I fuck you this way?"

I make some noise, and even I can't tell if the sound is assent or denial. He scowls, ceasing his motions, and I whimper in protest.

"Tell me to fuck you, Duo. Beg me. I want to hear you plead."

My mouth is dry; my voice cracks slightly. "Please," I whisper, eager for him to continue.

His scowl deepens; evidently this isn't good enough. His eyes promise suffering. I want him to hurt me. I don't want to hurt anymore. He moves as if to leave me, and I break.

"Please, Heero!" I cry, mindless of the desperation in my voice. At more rational moments my own need disgusts me in its intensity, in its shamelessness, but right now I don't care. If he leaves me now I will die a bit, another piece of my soul broken and left in glass-sharp shards where I can step on them.

"'Please'?" he snarls, mockingly. "What makes you think you're worth it, Duo?"

I'm not. I know I'm not, but I beg anyway. "Please, please fuck me, Heero. Hurt me, anything, just please!"

He smiles; this is what he's been waiting to hear, my acknowledgment that I want him to hurt me, need him to hurt me. Only the pain he gives me can make me whole again. Only the agony can save me from my own Hell. I'll do whatever it takes, and take whatever he does.

"Good," he purrs, and then with a violent motion he's deep inside of me again. I gasp as he reaches down to stroke me, a counterpoint to the pain. I want more, and a part of me is ashamed of it, but I've carried a lot of shame in my life. A little more won't make much difference.

"Harder," I hear myself say.

He's only too happy to comply. I realize that he's bruising me, and that I probably won't be able to walk for a day or two. I don't care. I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to draw him even closer. Hell, any closer and he'll come out the other side. He bites my ear, breath hot against my skin, one hand still stroking me off as he violates me with practiced savagery.

Finally it's too much. I scream his name as I come, the world almost blacking out around me with the orgasm's intensity. My climax is a trigger for his own, and he fills me with his hot essence as his back arches, almost driving me through the headboard in his throes.

I let out a shuddering breath. The pleasure slowly fades, to be replaced with a dull, hollow ache, just like always. He pulls out of me and rises from the bed, heading for the shower and leaving me bruised, cold, and alone on the bed. He doesn't even glance at me.

I hurt. Inside, outside, everywhere I hurt. I think I hate you, Heero Yuy.

Please, come back and fuck me.

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