title: Jaded Trade
fandom: Gundam Wing
characters/pairings: Duo/Solo/Hilde, Duo/Heero, Duo/random people, Quatre, Zechs
rating: Mature
warnings: sex, prostitution, RAPE, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, drinking, language
summary: Sex for sale, lives on the line, and friendship leading to more...
notes: many, many thanks to my aisoku for help with the title.
much of the sex in this story is related to prostitution, and there is straight up rape. if sexual violence and non-consensual situations bother/trigger you, this probably isn't the story for you.
also, there's quite a bit of rather graphic and disturbing violence, particularly near the end. be warned.
many thanks to everyone who read this while it was being written and encouraged me to continue, and everyone who is reading this now!!

If it was true that loud, thumping music, bright lights, and a packed dance floor made for a good time, then Heero Yuy was having the best time he'd ever had while simultaneously suffering from a splitting headache. The small booth in the back of the darkened club was not far enough away from the tower of speakers for Heero's taste; he was pretty sure he would need a good three blocks before he had enough room. The dance floor was covered with college men, celebrating the end of finals, many through lewd displays of public indecency.

Heero quietly hated Quatre for dragging him out to this godforsaken den.

Despite the fact that Quatre's family was Islamic, the young man was already well into his cups, as Heero liked to think of it. Quatre was a nice enough guy, if a little stuck up, but he prided himself on being a 'rebel' in his family, which meant that he drank and he screwed men, leaving precious little time for studying. Heero had had the unfortunate luck of being partnered with him on a sociology project, and since Heero had done all the work, Quatre was buying all the drinks.

Quatre was also drinking all the drinks, but that was beside the point.

"Isn't this great?" Quatre flung himself over Heero's shoulders, purposefully letting his hands drag down over Heero's chest.

A vague sense of illness crept up Heero's esophagus.

"This club is the best! And yanno what, Heero? I heard you could buy private time with the dancers and stuff. Isn't that cool?" Quatre was purring drunkenly into his ear, and Heero felt hot and wet as a result.

He scanned the 'stages' quickly. The boys gyrating up there were mostly young, slim, and a little too practiced for Heero's tastes.

"Whaddya say?" Quatre leaned forward, slipping a hand around Heero's waist. "Wanna lapdance, Heero?" Quatre's hand was now on Heero's crotch, and that was clearly unacceptable.

Heero pushed Quatre back and growled, but the other man was laughing before Heero could get a proper steam going.

"Ok! Ok! Sorry, sorry," Quatre waved his arms in front of him in defeat. "Jus' friends, I know, I know. Jeez. But c'mon. Everyone's gotta blow off steam every now and again, or you burst. Can't tell me there's no one here that meets the high standards of Mr. Heero Yuy."

Defiantly, Heero glared out at the club, as if daring it to offer him something tempting. He looked over all the dancers, dismissing them all handily. He then looked over the bartenders, in their black leather vests, finding nothing suitable to his interests. His eyes continued to sweep the club viciously.

Quatre sighed, and crawled out over the table. "Fine, fine. Be that way. But I'm gonna have some fun. After all, you're only young once."

Heero watched Quatre go, a measure of contempt in his gaze. He didn't have many friends, so he supposed that Quatre counted as one, but he just didn't have anything in common with the Arabian heir. Quatre had an easy path through life, but that didn't mean he couldn't find the thorns. On the one hand, Heero did admire Quatre's good traits, but he found that he could admire them better when he spent less time with him.

It was while he was watching Quatre walk away that Heero saw him. He was one of the waiters, holding a tray half full of empty bottles as he weaved in and out of the tall tables near the dance floor. He was lithe and graceful, his body toned enough to be lean and masculine. He wore low-cut leather pants, and a tiny, black tank top that must have been a child size small; it barely covered anything at all. There was enough definition in his stomach to give the illusion of lines leading down into his pants, but not so ostentatious that it looked like he lived in the gym. His arms were strong, but lean, like the rest of him. He had a glittering smile that promised everything under the sun to everyone who fell trapped in his gaze, but he ducked out of the reach of every wandering hand that blocked his path. Even from the distance, Heero could tell he was the type whose eyes were his best trait. At least, he would have been if he hadn't had a thick rope of braided hair falling down his back.

Heero emphatically did not believe in love at first sight, but he was prepared to cop to deep, passionate lust.

Suddenly, the pulse of the music was nothing compared to the pounding of his heart. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt thick and awkward, and he couldn't tear his eyes off of the waiter if his very life had hung in the balance.

The beauty swayed with the rhythm while he cleared away the refuse, grinning and nodding at customers as he wove his way through. He stopped off at the bar, dumping the tray of empties and loading up on fresh bottles. He made his way back in, again ducking and weaving to avoid harassment, but when he stopped to make change, he couldn't avoid getting grabbed a couple of times in the ass.

Loathing, pure and deadly, filled Heero's heart as he gazed at the drunk college boy stupid enough to touch his beauty.

Beauty was fast, though, and hard to pin down, and while he gave away smiles and laughs, he rejected offers to sell off more. Heero watched with palpitated anticipation as his beauty made his way to the upper tier of tables, coming closer and closer to him with each step.

He drummed his fingers on the table, his head swimming. He had to think fast. He'd be talking to his beauty in just a few seconds.

Efficiently, Beauty swept away all the empty bottles, glasses, and pitchers from their table. He grinned at Heero. "You drinkin', or are you the driver?"

Heero blinked. He had known that Beauty's eyes were impressive, but in the dark, shifting light of the club, they actually look like they sparkled violet. Heero was having trouble pushing the words past his throat.

Beauty winked at him. "Good man. Let me bring you a pop, 'kay?"

Heero nodded, completely stupid under Beauty's gaze.

He watched Beauty go back to the bar, drop off the empties again, and load up. His heart jumped when he saw him pour out the pop himself. His head felt light, and he licked his lips. He rubbed his hands over his jeans, throwing his shoulders back to showcase his muscles a bit better.

Beauty barely stopped at his table for second, dropping off the pop with a wink and a "On the house, babe," and then he was on his way.

Heero was unprepared for what being smitten would do to him.

Over the winter break, Heero spent as much time at the club as he could. He was beginning to recognize the regulars, and he had preferences amongst the djs. The bouncer at the door nodded to him and gave his id only a cursory look.

It seemed like the only person in the club who didn't know him by sight was his Beauty.

He sat at various tables, watching the waiter flit from table to bar until he knew the ins and outs of Beauty's job better than Beauty did. He liked the ripped jeans that Beauty wore on weeknights, and he'd barely been able to repress the urge to touch himself when he saw his Beauty in hot pants and thigh-high boots. That had been some sort of theme night, to celebrate the New Year.

Heero had lost track of the dates.

He came alone, and stayed alone the whole time, and he left alone, after the lights had flooded the club, and chased away the lingering shadows that concealed all the cracks and filth and granted the meager establishment a measure of mystique. He stood across the street and smoked a cigarette, and waited nearly forty-five minutes for Beauty to come out the side door, wearing an old parka with a corduroy patch on the shoulder, and baggy jeans.

Heero wanted to follow him home, to see him in his natural environment, but some sense of place kept him rooted, and he merely watched Beauty walk away, until he couldn't make out the shape of his braid anymore.

During the day, he did nothing at all. He lounged about in bed for decadent periods of time, and played video games when restlessness refused to let him lie a minute more. He had no family to go home to, and no real friends to make him feel lonely for being alone. He half thought of getting a jump start on the next semester's classes, but the general apathy that came in the wake of the tension of finals took the life from that thought.

He didn't know how to talk to his Beauty. He wished that he could earn those glaring smiles, or casually chat for a minute or two as Beauty rested his tray down on his table, but Heero hadn't been raised for that type of thing. His rearing had given him a strong sense that if he wanted something, he should have it, right then and there, and to his shame, he did harbor fantasies of paying for Beauty's time, but he distrusted his upbringing enough to keep him from trying to figure out how those negotiations took place.

Quatre came back on the 2nd, and demanded attention. He had fled his cozy home to return to school early because his father was 'so overbearing!' Heero sat in a booth in chain restaurant and listened to Quatre whine about being loved by his father. He chewed dispassionately on french fries while studiously not imagining Quatre's face being blown apart by a bullet at close range.

They went out to the club. Quatre was drunk within minutes of stepping inside the door, since, of course, he hadn't been able to drink at home.

Heero envied Quatre. It was what kept him from ever being really angry with him. Quatre had a wonderful family, and he had great taste in clothes, and he was smart, and he made friends easily, and he was a great dancer, and he knew everything there was to know about politics, and could debate any issue under the sun from any angle... Quatre was social and sweet, and so Heero forgave him for never doing his homework and sleeping around with everything that moved. He and Quatre were only friends by accident, really, but Quatre went out of his way to include Heero in things, and so Heero got to watch as Quatre sparkled.

If Heero had Quatre's skilled tongue, he could talk to his Beauty, and maybe even get to know him. Instead, he sat in the shadows, immovable despite Quatre's best efforts, and he watched while Quatre danced.

There weren't many students around just yet, since the break was going to last another week, so the pickings were slim, and Quatre was at the top of the pack. Everyone was looking Quatre over, and everyone wanted to be near him, so Quatre had his choice of everything, but he kept choosing to come back to Heero again and again.

He wanted Heero to have 'fun.' It was irritating to have a drunken luminary judging him, so while Quatre threw himself all over Heero, Heero let his eyes wander, to find what he had come here to see.

Beauty was laughing. He was standing at the bar, his back to the bar, his hands griping the railing around the bar. He was wearing a soft denim shirt with its sleeves ripped off that looked like it would be quite fitted if its buttons were done. As he laughed, the shirt opened up, sliding over his chest, revealing a cross-shaped scar over his heart.

The white marks of the scar were wide, but fairly smooth and straight. It was the wideness of it that startled Heero, the straightness of the lines.

It had been carved into his flesh.

Heero's heart was pumping hard, his face hot, and his hands in fists in his lap. He no longer saw anything but the clean expanse of Beauty's chest.

"I get it!" Quatre laughed into his ear. "You don't want to have fun... you want to have him. He works here, doesn't he? Mm, he's hot... Hey, Heero, you wanna have a lapdance? If you let me watch, I'll pay for it."

It was hard to think. His perceptions were off, and he couldn't get his bearings. He tore his eyes away from Beauty to look at Quatre, but he couldn't gage his own reaction. It was too hot in the club; he needed a drink.

Quatre had a feral gleam in his eyes. His whole body language spoke of something primal, and Heero wondered if maybe Quatre wasn't more dangerous than he looked. His eyes became sharp and pointed, and he grabbed Heero's collar and took off, fully expecting Heero to follow.

Heero was still off his game, because he went along, like an obedient child to his mother's call.

Quatre made a beeline to an innocuous table off in the corner, where a thin, gaunt man with oily-black hair sat smoking. The man nodded to Quatre amicably, not even bothering to speak.

Quatre leaned over the table provocatively. "Hey. My friend wants a private dance with the waiter with the long braid."

The man glanced at Heero, amused. "He does, does he? Sorry, chum, no can do. Duo doesn't dance with the customers."

Quatre's brows angled together. "What? Look, if I have to pay extra..."

The man spread out the fingers of his hands, and waved them over each other slowly. "Whoa, whoa, sorry, sorry. Look, Q, I'd like to help you out, you know this, but Duo don't do trade. He just shuttles drinks. I gotta stick by the boss' contract. This is an up-and-up place, yanno?"

"Well!" Quatre straightened, sputtering. "What's the point of parading him around, teasing everyone if he's not on the market? We want to do business, here, Lulio!"

"I know, I know, get in line, all right, man? Duo puts a for rent sign on his ass, I'm moving out to Boca and retirin', ya hear? But it's a no go." Lulio shrugged, and leaned back in his chair, taking a long, deep pull on his cigarette.

Heero walked away. He walked past the bar, not even looking to see if anyone was there. He walked past the front desk, and Leon the bouncer, and into the cold January air. He walked past the reddish-black bricks of the club, the only club that existed in Heero's universe, and he leaned against the cool glass of the closed up shop next door. There was a mannequin in the window wearing blue metallic pants and a white furry panama with a pink feather stuck in the brim.

Quatre followed him, fuming, but Heero wasn't listening to Quatre or looking in the window. He could only feel his chest aching as his heart pounded, and his lungs heaved.

His Beauty had a name. Duo.

Part One • Part TwoPart ThreePart FourPart FivePart SixPart SevenPart EightPart NinePart TenEpilogue