DISCLAIMERS: Sad to say it but GW and its characters are not mine, they belong to many wonderful people including Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency.
WARNINGS: This fic contains relatively graphic descriptions of sex, aka it’s a lemon, if you are not mature enough to read such material please do not read any further. Well I think that’s about all, if not, please let me know.
It Was My Choice
It was my choice. My decision alone that confined me to the lifestyle I thought I had escaped. It was my own words that damned me to this miserable existence once again. Except this repeated future was neither forged from family loyalties nor honor. It was wrought from pity for the weak and the knowledge that, had I not done what I did, a life may have been lost. I now have a better understanding of that saying, ‘For a life to live a life must be lost’, unfortunately it was not clarified whether that life lost had to actually live. (1) Apparently, in this reality, the Gods are not so kind. Although I wish not to give the impression that I am complaining; no, I am far too accustomed to such sacrifice to say otherwise. I merely wish for an outlet of some sort.
Despite the influence of my talkative companion I still find myself struggling for words, so instead of confronting my slight dilemma, I further my interpersonal confinement and turn to what I consider a more therapeutic means of expressing myself: a journal. Being a scholar, recording past events is not a foreign concept to me, although I am uncertain for how long I can continue these entries, as I don’t know how long I can continue to live like this. I suppose it would be wise to explain the cause behind my distress. Although I wish for no one to read this, perhaps a reassessment of my actions may lead me to a brighter future… I must stop this optimistic line of thinking, it has led me to too many hardships already.
I could tell the moment a confrontation with no positive outcome had arrived when Winner, Barton and Yui cornered me at the kitchen table at one of our shared safe houses late one morning. Yui seated himself directly in front of me while Winner and Barton sat to either side. I ignored their abrupt arrival, sparing them but one glance, before returning my concentration to the cup of tea situated between my hands, until Winner gave a slow sigh. This apparently signaled the beginning of our conversation as Yui immediately delivered a clipped “Chang” to obtain my attention. I raised my eyes to meet his, as expected, and the information I had so gracefully sidestepped for the past few months was now thrust out into the open. Maxwell was suicidal and seemed to be infatuated with me.
Our little discussion about this lasted for much longer than I had anticipated. Yui appeared almost pained to speak, although I suppose that is reasonable, as Maxwell was his friend; it just seemed odd to associate emotion with Yui at the time. Winner, predictably, was unashamedly teary - eyed when he spoke to add his own sentimental observations, while Barton contributed his thoughts with silent gestures, speaking only to add his affirmative when the silence grew to strained. As for myself, I fought quit adamantly to dispel their notions of what would be best for the future with arguments based in reality. If Maxwell honestly felt he could not handle the direction his life had taken, then he should do only what he felt he could manage; whether it be cowardly and dishonorable in my opinion mattered not. It would be a loss, even I could admit that, but I had been wise enough not to establish emotional ties with my fellow pilots. When this war was won I wanted nothing to do with them, nor the memories their presence would bring. I have enough ghosts haunting me; I need not add another burden.
Despite my best efforts to divert their logic, they were persistent, asking me, how could I be so selfish? Had I not entered this war for those in need of help? I countered these questions with ones pertaining to my precious sacrifices, I had not, and will not, reveal my entire past, but I would not be so naďve as to think that they had not realized that I had suffered. It seemed though, that without regurgitating my entire life’s history of misery and misfortunes, I would not receive the mercy I sought, and since I refused to do such a thing, I was at a loss. Without confessing to them my fear of entering another relationship like that of Merian’s and mine, how could I convince them to change their minds? Yes, I’d admit that now, I was afraid. How could I survive another marriage of feigned affection? And yes, it would be a marriage. I doubt I would be relieved of my duties for reason only that God Himself had not witnessed my commitment.
So, as foreshadowed by my fellow pilots’ entrance this morning, the worst was agreed. It was agreed that I was to forfeit my life’s freedom in order to save Maxwell from an untimely demise. I was to offer to him – to another man, with whom I had no intentions of forming a relationship with - myself. I was to have conversations with him, I was to comfort him, and I was to be a good loving mate to him. It made me almost physically sick to think that those who did not even share my name held such power over me. I was told it was only until this war ended. Did they think me so dense? They would not let me leave with the risk of Maxwell harming himself still present. Even if I managed to escape them, what life would it be to have to constantly worry of being shot in the back for such actions? Following logic’s path the next question would be then, why? Why had I agreed? Because I’d be damned if I’d be responsible for any more preventable deaths.
There were times though, when my reasoning failed to support me. I had said I wanted to prevent death but if he was already Death, what was there to prevent? Such thoughts became increasingly prominent as my involvement with Maxwell progressed. It was not an overwhelmingly difficult task to have a conversation with him, as long as he was inclined to speak rationally of course. It was more the fact that he seemed to crave physical attention, a problem I had no immediate solution for. I could not think of a way to say that I was not comfortable with being touched, in a manner that would not betray my true feelings. So I endured his looks of seduction and lust whenever I failed to avoid his gaze. I endured his gentle caresses when he became excited and thereby playful. I endured his firmer handling when his frustration at my lack of response became eminent. I endured his wants and his needs whenever he saw an opportunity to pounce. I would rather be labeled a poor lover then be made to participate any more.
Unfortunately my little trick to discourage Maxwell from being affectionate, by literally boring him to death, backfired, horrendously. He insisted that practice made perfect, I merely had to overcome being so shy. I grunted a pessimistic reply in return and remember, so clearly, how he sauntered over, seated himself in my lap and whispered, “I have all the time in the world, now that I have you,” before kissing me. I believe that was the first kiss I ever really indulged myself in. The emotions of such utter deceit forced me into action. How could I lie to a man who not only lived by the truth but would die by it? My very aspect betrayed every word of endearment I had ever said. It is not Maxwell I should pity for being so weak; it is I, for not only considering but dominating such a conspiracy. Where is the honor in that? There is none. Absolutely nothing honorable in manipulating another’s emotions in order to persuade him into believing he has a reason to live, to fight a battle that leaves him shaking at the mere mention of dreaming. But what was I to do? Simply abandon Maxwell to preserve my own sentimental conscience? Not when the five of us were needed so badly, not when we were making such a difference, and especially not when he began to fight with a passion that had long been lacking.
I would prevail. I had decided that I was not so weak as to depart when I was already so involved. Yet every time I gathered myself, prepared myself for a new onslaught of kindness, Maxwell insisted on testing my limits. It was so unexpected, I had thought such a subject was far too tender to touch, but I was proved wrong. We were lying in bed; he was nestled comfortably at my side, my shoulder being used as a substitute pillow and the hem of my pants being a new toy to play with, when he began to speak of what made him fear sleep. It was his dreams, that I had known, but I thought them to be mostly composed of war, not so much of his past, as were mine. I tried to tell him to stop, that addressing the topic would only spread salt on the wound, but he insisted. He told me of his street life, of Solo, and of the Maxwell church in between sobs that wracked his body closer to mine. He told me of events he had told no other, expecting me to be compassionate, to hold him as he cried and let free the demons that had plagued him for so long. And I did. I held him as he spun his tale, massaging my hand along his back, trying to be of some comfort, but all the while wishing I was not there, wishing that I was not hearing this.
I left shortly after his confession and refused to return until I was certain Maxwell would not reveal to me anymore of himself than he already had. I could not bear to hear the words of such blind love, to hear what a relief it was to finally be able to speak with someone who actually cared about what was said. I dismissed his words with a wave of my hand; stiffly muttering it was what I was here for. I will never forget the smile, filled with such gratitude, that he shared with me that day. It was that same day I managed to corner Yui and Winner in one of Winner’s safe houses after Barton and Maxwell had left for a mission, forcing them into a conversation they had been avoiding since Maxwell and I became an ‘item’. I was not so cruel as to share Maxwell’s most private secrets, but I made it very clear that he had shared confidences that I was not comfortable knowing. I was on the verge of continuing my rant when Yui abruptly stood up, glancing sharply at Winner to do the same. When he complied, Yui informed me that they were no longer involved in this operation. When I had taken Maxwell into my arms I’d unofficially taken responsibility for his well being. The other pilots would have more to do with the situation.
My immediate reaction was a desire to slaughter something, but when the urge was suppressed I thought perhaps I could use this turn of events to my advantage. Since I planned to have no contact with the other pilots when this war ended, I began to think, what did it really matter what impression I left behind? I realized I would blemish what was thought of my people but with only myself to blame for Maxwell’s future hardships, he would have an increasingly better chance of survival should his friends be by his side, none the wiser. I believe my own reputation to be a suitable sacrifice for all the good Maxwell’s appearance in this war has made. Unfortunately his emotional stability may be left slightly less intact. These arguments are what I justified myself with, what I repeated to myself when the guilt threatened to confess all that I hid, although I wished that during the war there would be at least one memory I would not want to repress. It seemed though, that was not to be.
I had returned from an extremely tiring mission to find that the safe house would only be supporting Maxwell and I that night. I had thought nothing of it, as I had shared confinements with only him as a companion before. I would simply admit to being exhausted and then retire to bed; that little ruse had worked before. Apparently, I was not to get away with it that night. Maxwell forced me to eat dinner, an elaborate display he set up in front of the fireplace. “Romantic”, he had called it. I complied, resisting the urge to rush the meal. I even remained to share the wine Maxwell had brought out. I restrained myself from drinking too much, as I refused to lose control. I did not like where this situation was heading, I had to escape it. Just as I was about to verbalize my retreat he interrupted me by asking, once more, didn’t I enjoy touching him? We had had this conversation before, where he would attempt to convince me to release whatever was holding me back and sleep with him. I despised the thought of pleasuring him simply using my hands; I would never go as far as to use my mouth or any other parts of my body. I tried to get this reasoning across to him clearly, but I suddenly felt very drowsy. How much had I drunk? I would never forgive Maxwell for what he did to me that night.
It was not until that next morning that I could properly think, although the flashes of remembrance that danced across my mind brought no comfort. It surprised me how clearly last night was engraved upon my memory; I suppose though, that the moments one wishes to forget the most are the hardest to do so. I lay there, with Maxwell once more cuddled up to my side, reliving last night behind closed eyelids.
I remember beginning to leave, but being gently led back down to rest on the heavy woolen blankets that served as a rug. I had neither the strength nor the correct line of thought to persuade him to get off of me, to stop kissing me, to stop his shallow thrusting into my hips. He continued his slow torture until he felt the reaction he desired, before gently removing my clothing and his as he shifted slowly down my bared body, placing the faintest of kisses in his wake. I threw my arms across my eyes to shield myself from the vision I desperately wished was simply but a nightmare, only to hear the sighs of approval as my pants were suddenly ripped down from my hips.
I struggled with my arms to hold myself up as I felt his hands, hot where they rested on my inner thighs. I opened my mouth to emit some form of disapproval, when all further brain activity ceased as a soft tongue came in contact with my erect member. My eyes focused solely on Maxwell as he traced intricate circles on my swollen head, licking his way down, swallowing as much as he could, while one of his hands cupped and squeezed my balls. I moaned; the first sound of confirmation that I enjoyed what he was doing, as he slid his hot, moist mouth in an increasingly quicker rhythm over my shaft, his tongue squirming languorously on the underside as he continued to suck. My hands found themselves a stronghold in the unruly mane of Maxwell’s soft chestnut - hued hair as my hips, with an intent of their own, bucked in time to his skillful pattern.
I came shortly after; emptying my seed in his awaiting mouth as he eagerly swallowed my offerings. Not even such potent wine could dull the sensations that coursed through my veins now. I felt him slowly slide up my body to rest himself on my chest, his own stiff arousal trapped between our bodies. Combined with the alcohol and the aftershocks of my orgasm I had no resistance left, as he began to lightly nibble on the tender flesh of my neck and shoulders. Maxwell gradually kissed and nipped a path up my neck, leisurely moved across my jaw, to finally press his lips against my panting mouth. His tongue swiftly darted in, battling with my own, as the residual taste of myself mingled with the unique taste of him. He pulled back only when air became a necessity for but a moment before returning, his hips beginning to rock forwards in a vigorous rhythm, coaxing my softer member to stiffen once more.
As Maxwell gently pulled away, I opened my eyes to him for the first time since I had collapsed from my orgasm, to gaze upon his character. The fire reflected the normally overlooked gold and red strands in his auburn hair, as his eyes, darkened with lust to an almost unrecognizable shade of violet, shone with an inner warmth. As the fire’s shadows danced across his smooth, flawless skin, it gave the appearance of being more bronze than ivory. The contrasting patches of light and dark accentuated his delicate features into something resembling heavenly. His weight resting on mine gave way to the feel of unadulterated strength, of tensed muscles coiled tightly in anticipation. Abruptly he sat up on my chest, before shifting lower again, rubbing his length in a sensual caress as he moved. Once more he reached my member, giving it a few quick jerks until he was satisfied by both what he saw and heard, before coating it in saliva again.
I had not expected this repeated pleasure but I was not going to complain either, I merely lay there, subject to whatever Maxwell wished to bestow upon me. My eyes had shut of their own accord so I had not seen what he was doing, had not anticipated he would go so far. At least that is what I tell myself, as I cannot clearly remember what, if anything, I was thinking. I remember the feel of cool air being blown against my over sensitive flesh, making me shiver, until I felt the head of my erection being pressed against another delicious opening promising unimaginable heat beyond. I snapped my eyes open the moment Maxwell impaled himself upon me, both our cries mixing as our joining became final, as he pushed down, accommodating every last bit of flesh until none remained unsheathed. I had never felt so weak; had never desired with all of my being, until then, for just an ounce more strength.
He waited not a moment before rising up and forcing himself down, that tight velvet embrace stroking my shaft with a heat any fire would desire. My hands held firm on his thighs as he increased his pace from that maddening teasing to a quicker, harder rhythm, as I voiced my pleasure with alternating cries and moans. Without my consent, my body reveled in what was happening, screamed in absolute ecstasy as that impossibly tight grip tightened further. The haze of dream - associated perfection that had clouded reality suddenly dispersed as I felt my hands being guided to Maxwell’s own member. The realization of what was truly transpiring became all too clear as I forced my hands to squeeze and fondle what was hard evidence of my own mistakes. He came with a cry not long after I began touching him, squirting his milky essence to cover my hands and drip onto my chest. I soon followed with a cry of my own as his silky walls enclosed around me further, releasing my seed deep within him. Maxwell slowly pulled off of me, gave to me a final chaste kiss before nestling down against my side for sleep. I remember being violently ill later that morning.
As in his last confession of emotion, I remained distant. When the time to confront him arrived, I easily slipped behind my mask of anger and indifference. Maxwell was practically in tears as he tried to gain my forgiveness. I nearly had him on his knees, begging. That morning that I woke to find myself coated in the evidence of our union, I became filled with an overwhelming sense of self-loathing and hatred I had not felt since I last spoke to Merian. How could he do that to me? I had told him I was not comfortable with such actions and he forced me into the most intimate embrace known to man. How hypocritical of me, after all that I’ve done, after all that I’ve said and not said, to become upset with his one error and ask, how could he? Although this would be proper punishment, I suppose, the emotional distress I could put him through would most likely thrust him back into his suicidal tendencies, so why not give to him what he wants? The answer would be that sharing false smiles and emotions is simple enough, but sharing my body makes my involvement too personal. I truly am weak.
Our relationship eventually went back to a state of well being, with no further commitment than that of what it used to. After I finally forgave Maxwell I made him swear to me not to mention that night again. He swore he wouldn’t. I cannot help but wonder though, if he still thinks about it. I suppose he would, as he wanted it to happen for so long. Or he may rather ignore the memory, as it may bring back too many other unpleasant memories as well, ones of how badly I reacted. I cringe to think of that night, of how Maxwell must have felt when he awoke and understood I did not welcome his touch. The recollection is far too similar to my own of my first night with Merian. I will never forget what it feels like to be rejected by someone who’s supposed to love you. Several nights of staring awake at the ceiling, after reliving countless instances where I was forced away by her, led me to the conclusion that I would not do that to Maxwell. When I leave him, when this war ends, he will react badly no matter how it occurs, so instead of giving him nothing but grief for his emotions, I will indulge myself in them. I may not be attracted to him, nor carry the same depth of compassion for him as he does for me, but I will suffer through his love. After all, it was my choice.
End.
(1) Quote from unknown source.