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Yeah, another teaser/prologue. ^_^; It seems that I'm incapable of
writing a PWP, so I ended up with this teaser. This is another of my
'dark side of Duo' type of fics. *sweatdrop* So I'm a perverted sort
of person....
Okay, enough of the excuses. I'm just looking for a way for Duo to whip the hell out of someone... anyone.... And not just any clumsy sort of flogging, either. Duo's going to be a serious expert at it. Precision and control and all that. So what if he's also a closet sadist and enjoys it? He still can be a sweet, loving guy! *evil giggle*
This version of Duo was inspired by the main character Andrej Koscuisko in the Susan R. Matthews novels "An Exchange of Hostages", "Prisoner of Conscience", and "Hour of Judgment". Terrific books! If you've read any of these stories, you might guess what sort of diabolical kink I've thrown into poor Duo's personality. ^_^;
So, anyone of you want to put in votes for who gets to be the lucky victim(s)? I'm inclined to Heero, but I'm open for suggestions....
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Short Disclaimer: (Full Disclaimers at the end)
Gundam Wing is copyright of its respective creators and all
distributors of their work and used without permission.
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Trowa's face bore his usual cool, detached expression, but instead of keeping people at a distance, his aloof demeanor only seemed to fascinate the people around him. Quatre supposed that it didn't exactly help that Trowa was wearing a deceptively simple white outfit that positively shouted style and good taste -- very expensive good taste -- instead of his ordinary jeans and dark turtleneck with the only hint of color in Trowa's wardrobe being a pair of thin black suspenders.
In the middle of a nightclub filled with barely dressed bodies writhing to pounding, throbbing music, the overall effect was that of a young man in complete control of himself and his surroundings. The sense of rampant sensuality, lust, and near desperation that seemed to grip so many of the club goers seemed to leave him totally untouched.
His air of indifference and self-control seemed irresistible to numerous people, both male and female. Mostly young, Trowa's age or just a little older, they were the shy, uncertain ones -- the ones that hovered around Trowa in hopes of attracting his attention, but yet kept their distance as if afraid to displease him by appearing too forward.
A half-naked young woman, her breasts nearly falling out of the sequined ribbon that made up her halter top, staggered out of the mad crush of the dance floor. Intoxicated out of her mind, high on drugs, or very possibly both, she toppled to the floor right at Trowa's feet. After only the briefest of glances at her, he calmly shifted his feet to the right a few inches as the bouncers scooped the unconscious young woman off the floor and carried her away.
As for himself, Quatre found himself the uncomfortable recipient of hungry, predatory stares, particularly from the older women and men in the nightclub. Although he hadn't been accosted yet, he had the unhappy feeling that it was only going to be a matter of time before they pounced on him.
Quatre gazed around the crowded nightclub. It was so totally beyond anything he'd experienced, the young Arab pilot found the whole scene eerily fascinating. The club's motif -- in fact, the entire resort's motif -- was an unnerving mixture of an dark gothic sort of eroticism laced with a hefty dose of leather and bondage... in short, pure unabashed decadence.
At least that was what he was told, but it seemed that Duo's description has been quite accurate.
What the hell am I doing here!? Quatre asked himself for the hundredth time. If it wasn't for the blasted mission....
In a normal city, teenagers like himself and the other pilots would have been barred from such hard-core nightclubs, but this was no ordinary place. The resort complex called Roissy where he and the other pilots were staying liked to advertise itself as the new Sodom and Gomorrah. There were no minimum ages here and the only god was money. If you had the cash, you could get in.
So kids barely in their teens danced, drank, and drugged beside the hardened twenty-something club-crawlers who in turn jostled beside middle-aged adults. And everyone was looking for some excitement or games to play -- undoubtably sexual in nature.
The place was not called the "Meat Market" for nothing.
Quatre stiffened as a fat, graying man headed in his direction.
Oh hell....
He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone suddenly sat down beside him. The blond pilot sagged in relief when he realized that person was Heero. Dressed in snug, body-hugging black jeans and a matching black mesh tanktop, the Wing pilot drew many appreciative and hungry looks from both males and females in the club. To Quatre's delight, Heero's hostile cobalt stare seemed unnerve the older man who abruptly changed his mind and wandered off in another direction.
"Have you seen the target?" the Sandrock pilot asked as softly he could, given the ear-splitting music volume.
Heero muttered, "No."
"Are you sure he's going to be here?"
"As far as I can determine from the credit records, when he's at this resort, the Meat Market is the only nightclub he visits."
Quatre shuddered slightly. "What a name.... Couldn't we just wait outside this place and kidnap the man as he comes out?"
"Of course that's the best option. Unfortunately, Trowa and I have staked out this building for the last three days, but we still haven't been able to determine exactly how he leaves the club. All we know is that he comes in the early evening and the next day he's back in his rooms."
"Underground tunnels?"
"Possibly. Our only option is to follow him and see where he goes."
"So you think the project's hidden here, also?"
"It's not a bad hiding place. A lot of high level OZ personnel come here and with the sort of activities going on around here, it's easy to slip out of sight for hours. Perfect for secret meetings."
"This place makes my skin crawl. So many people seem to be staring at me. It's like they're mentally undressing me!"
Heero glowered, causing numerous hearts to beat faster. "They probably are."
"That's really reassuring, Heero!"
The Wing pilot shrugged. "What do you expect? Most of these people are hear to have 'fun' and in this place, that usually involves sex in one form or another. They assume that anyone else here wants the same, even if they say 'no'." Heero gave Quatre a hard look. "So watch yourself."
The Arab pilot swallowed hard and nodded somberly.
After a brief interruption as Heero roughly dumped an over-amorous young woman out of his lap and scrubbed the lipstick smear off his cheek, he snapped, "Have you seen Duo?"
"Not yet. He said he needed to check out a few more things so he might be a little late."
"That idiot," Heero said with a definite touch of annoyance.
Quatre sighed and said, "I wonder how Wufei's dealing with all
this."
----------------------
Up in the main guest building of the Roissy Resort, Zechs Merquise growled irritably, "This entire resort is a walking debauch!" as he glared out the window of his suite.
Unfortunately, Lucrezia Noin was too busy blushing to answer as she stared wide-eyed at the dresser drawer full of sex toys.
"Ah... ah... oh my god...."
She hastily slammed the drawer shut and tried to get her breathing back under control. Noin avoided looking at the over-sized bed -- complete with mirrored ceiling, full massage, and audio-video pickups for making one's own personal movies -- she fiddled with a wall latch and ended up pulling out a large rack of whips, paddles, and other neatly organized bondage paraphernalia. A cheerful note on the rack stated:
"Advanced and/or custom equipment
-- please call the Apparatus department at #75.
Special clothing, costumes, or fetish gear
-- please call the Wardrobe department at #76.
If you're unsure which department to call
-- contact the front desk.
We're here to serve your every need."
"Noin? What are you...?"
At the sound of Zechs calling her name, she jumped guiltily and bumped into the wall rack. Instinctively grabbing at the toppling gear, Noin found herself clutching a purple suede flogger as a bemused Zechs stared at her.
"Heh... heh..." she chuckled nervously.
----------------------
In the neighboring suite, Treize Khushrenada was examining the video disc collection with a wry smile.
"Fascinating. I never realized there was a XXX-rated version of 'War and Peace'."
Lady Une snorted in annoyance. "A sex resort hardly seems like your usual choice of vacation, Sir."
He sighed ruefully, "It's not. Believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, I'd be at a secluded country estate, enjoying good food, wine, and some pleasant company. My idea of rest does NOT constitute trying to cram the maximum number of sexual partners into a twenty-four hour period, nor does it encompass working my way through one of these three-inch manuals on exotic sexual techniques. My own imagination is sufficient, thank you. No, it's duty that demands my presence here."
As she watched him head out the door, Lady Une said worriedly, "Where are you going, Sir?"
"I've decided to go for a walk."
"Do you wish me to accompany you?"
"That's not necessary. I simply have a sudden urge to check out
the terrain."
----------------------
Dorothy Catalonia gave Relena Peacecraft a faintly malicious smile and said, "Are you sure you want to stay here? I hope you have some idea of what can happen to your reputation if people find out that you're staying at such a notorious place like the Roissy Resort."
Relena was doing her best to ignore any possible significance of the all the hoses, nozzles, and other apparatus in the bathroom as she applied a cool, damp towel to her burning cheeks.
"I know, but... but...."
She clamped her lips shut. The only reason she had been permitted to go on this trip was because of Dorothy's presence, but Relena was not about to tell the other girl, the daughter and granddaughter of high-ranking OZ officials, that she was here at the resort to meet a vitally important informant.
Dorothy smiled acidly, "But Heero Yuy's here?"
"Uh... yes! That's why I'm here! I want to find Heero!"
----------------------
Back at the nightclub known as the Meat Market, Wufei angrily elbowed his way through the crowd. Just as he was about to break free of the mob on the dance floor, he yelped and jumped as someone pinched his buttocks hard. He whirled around furiously, only to find that his assailant was a tall, muscular blond woman dressed in well-worn biker leathers.
In a low, husky voice, she drawled, "Hello, pretty boy," and gave him a slow, predatory smile.
"KISAMA! Keep your damn hands off of me!" Wufei snarled back.
"Ooohhh, pretty boy's got a temper. I like that." She licked her lips hungrily and stalked closer. "It makes breaking 'em in more fun."
Wufei managed to choke out an incoherent screech of outrage. He took a step back and ran into another body. He spun around only to be confronted by a tall black woman dressed in an old-fashioned dress. With her hair coiled tightly in a bun, she looked rather like a Victorian-era school mistress. She grabbed Wufei's chin hard, her long dagger-like fingernails nearly leaving scratches in the tender skin of his face.
"Little boys need discipline. I think you need to be punished," the school mistress hissed dangerously.
The muscle-bound blond snarled, "Hey! I saw him first!" She grabbed a hold of Wufei's arm and yanked.
The black woman coldly eyed the other woman without relinquishing her grip on Wufei. "So what?" she purred in venomous tones.
"So what!? Ever heard of 'first come, first serve, bitch?'"
The Chinese pilot had been fighting a desperate battle to control his temper the entire night. He had been forced to put up with being ogled, groped, and invited to sex orgies of various sizes. After all, the mission came first, but this last bit of mauling -- and by WOMEN, no less! -- was entirely too much for him. Beyond outrage at this point, Wufei was on the brink of throwing discretion to the winds as he prepared to hammer the talon-nailed female and possibly also the biker blond into the ground.
"Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid that I have a prior claim. Kindly take your hands off of him," a coolly amused voice said behind Wufei's back.
No, it can't be....
Wufei slowly turned his head to see Treize giving the two women a singularly dangerous little smile. The OZ general was out of uniform, but he wore his civilian clothes with the same style and flair. Under his coolly, intimidating stare, the biker blond finally shrugged and departed, but not before giving Wufei's butt a firm swat.
"KI-SA-MI!!!"
The black woman released her grip on Wufei's chin and said in her icy, controlled voice, "Khushrenada, you should train your pets to better manners."
"Lady Devereaux, I don't presume to tell you how to run your husband or other aspects of your personal life. Return the courtesy of not attempting to tell me how to run mine."
When the woman's lips curled back in an expression that was more of a snarl than a smile, Wufei found himself recoiling when he saw that her teeth had been filed to sharp points.
Treize gave her a faint nod of acknowledgement, then firmly escorted Wufei away. Once the female was out of sight, Wufei tried to shrug off Treize's grip, but failed.
"Let go of me!"
The OZ general smiled faintly. "I don't think that's wise. Who knows what sort of trouble you'll get into if I leave you alone in this sex-crazed horde?"
"Talk about someone being sex-crazed..." Wufei muttered under his breath.
"Did you say something?" Treize said in a decidedly amused voice.
The Chinese pilot settled for a good glare. Wufei caught a glimpse of Quatre's worried face through the crowd and gave him a slight, but definite shake of his head to warn the Arab pilot not to interfere.
Without looking in Quatre's direction, Treize murmured, "Warning off your friends?"
Wufei gave the ginger-haired man beside him a wary glance, before he could reply, he noticed a commotion in the crowd. Someone appeared to be headed in his general direction, but unlike his own struggle to make his way through the mob, the club goers were actually moving aside for whoever it was. And when the last few people melted out of the mysterious person's path, Wufei's jaw nearly hit the floor. Even Treize took a sharp breath as they both caught sight of Duo Maxwell.
The clothing worn by the teenagers in the nightclub tended to be snug and extremely revealing -- and the more skin exposed, the better. And while Wufei absolutely refused to degrade himself by wearing such tawdry outfits, Wufei had fully expected the braided pilot to jump at the opportunity to dress much like Heero, with his torn, skintight jeans and see-through tanktop. But it seemed that Duo had opted for an entirely different sort of garb.
The Deathscythe pilot wore an opaque poet's shirt of dark blood crimson, with loose, billowy sleeves and broad cuffs that were tightly laced around the wrist and tucked into a body-hugging pair of leather pants, which were in turn tucked into an sleek pair of black ankle boots. Over the shirt, he wore a matching black leather vest, laced shut and bare of any decoration. Instead of a low, gaping neckline to expose the chest, there was a cascade of fine crimson lace. And just above that lace, around his throat, Duo wore a stark, silver-studded black leather collar. Black fingerless gloves covered his hands while black and scarlet cords snaked through his hair braid.
But it wasn't just the clothes -- the strangely erotic combination of hard and soft textures, the contrast of sleek black leather with silken fabric and lace -- there was something different in Duo's eyes. Because even though his outward appearance was more blatantly sensual and alluring than Wufei could ever remember, those wide blue-violet eyes had a subtly calculating gleam that Wufei had never seen before. Nothing about Duo's appearance was an accident. The almost overpowering sense of control was totally unlike the impulsive Duo Maxwell he knew.
This person was dangerous. The drunken and drugged fools crowded the dance floor sensed it. Even that harridan Lady Devereaux was giving Duo a respectful look. But it was the sort of danger that tempted and seduced, the sort that drew one in regardless of the possible consequences.
Good god! Is Duo actually carrying... a riding crop!?
Even as Wufei goggled in amazement, Treize murmured under his breath, "Things are definitely getting interesting. Wufei, you know such fascinating people."
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All rights and privileges to Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing are
trademarks and property of Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and
associated parties. The characters of these works are used WITHOUT
permission for the purpose of entertainment only. This work of
fiction is not meant for sale or profit.
Original portion of the fiction included here is considered to be
the sole property and copyrighted to the author.
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