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Well, Quatre huffs, here goes nothing. Which is such a funny thing to say to himself considering…what he’s wearing now (or the lack thereof) but.
But he pads his way towards the full-length mirror, anyway, which really should be back in the deep closet, but he and Trowa hadn’t finished unpacking from their last trip yet so it stays out here for now. And it takes him three slow steps and three sets of deep inhales and exhales before he finally makes it to his reflection.
And bursts out laughing. Might have thrown his back and broken his neck and maybe cracked his jaw while he was at it. This is probably not Duo’s intended effect when he sent his surprise gift over, but it’s not like Quatre can help it.
The…slip—that’s what it’s called, isn’t it? The slip is basically made all from chiffon and lace, but particularly the parts that had already been discarded, and then patched together using strips of ribbon until the result is something arguably wearable. The keyword here being ‘arguably’ because pretty much the only things holding the entire ensemble together is a simple string tied at the back of Quatre’s neck. And the parts that are supposed to cover his nipples are…
He laughs again, his pointing fingers fitted perfectly through the useless slits. “They couldn’t even be bothered to seal this up…” The rest of the slip, from his pectorals downwards, opens up to expose his belly, weighed down by frills along the edge. It’s hilarious how so much fabric work went to the parts that don’t matter at all.
Though he has to admit that when he watches himself pull the flaps from his stomach, the effect is quite nice. Literally like the curtains being drawn to present a lacy underwear that is, also, almost literally hanging by a thread around his hips. Unfortunately for it, see, Quatre has some parts down there that are just…too heavy for it.
“Oh dear me.” He can still feel the tears clinging to his eyes as he shifts his parts for a little bit more modesty. Though all of that flies out the window when he turns his back to observe the uselessness of the lacy thong in protecting his ass. It’s out there for all of the colony to see should they happen to fly by his lofty bedroom. “Heero’s into this?”
That was the conversation that started it all. In his usual roundabout way, Duo had asked how his and Trowa’s sex lives were going and while Quatre immediately felt guarded, and then worried that there was trouble in paradise between Duo and Heero, his friend reassured him that he was asking for reasons that were completely opposite. It all started when he was lending Wufei a hand to track down someone wanted by the Preventers. That someone took refuge in an adult shop and was later arrested in that same location thanks to Duo’s intervention. So grateful was the owner that Duo was rewarded with their top of the line lingerie which he then put on for some laughs with Heero who, as it turned out, responded…quite positively to his idea of a joke. So now Duo has a VIP membership to that lingerie company which also just so happened to be running a BOGO deal for their 2-year anniversary.
Quatre reckons this…‘snow virgin’ slip (that’s the name of this particular variant, written in the card it came with when he inspected the large box for instructions on how to wear it) is the get-one item Duo was offering him after pretty much overwhelming him with information on his and Heero’s new hobby. Without even giving him the opportunity to unstick his brows from his bangs when he gaped at Duo.
He sighs, turning once to the right and then the left. “I suppose it’s nice,” Quatre tells himself, adjusting the lace around his groin again, but this thing really isn’t made for the protection of certain fragile parts. “What would I do with it, though?” The door clicks open.
Quatre could barely get his curse out through his teeth when he dives for the cover of the large box and brings it up to, well, cover himself as Trowa makes his entrance, wearing a weary smile and his trusty duffel bag over his shoulder. “To—” he chokes, blanches close enough to match the color of his accursed slip. “Trowa! You’re home…you’re home?” He whirls at the clock that reads 16:13. “I…I thought you wouldn’t be back until dinner?”
“They bumped me up.” Trowa is still smiling for the most part, but the knot between his brows dips into something a bit more obvious. “I wanted to surprise you, so I didn’t bother calling from the spaceport.” He pushes the door shut. “Everything okay?” What a question.
“Yes.” And that is technically not a lie. Quatre still feels like his heart is about to rip through his flimsy slip, but he does his best to remember his smile. “I was just…surprised, I…I was thinking we could have dinner out when you arrived. Y, you must be so tired.”
“It was a long flight,” Trowa shares, nodding, approaching…that smile has disappeared behind a cautious frown. The look of someone who couldn’t quite put his finger on something… “Are you…” His brows crease deeper. “You are wearing something right now. Aren’t you?” And there it is.
“Yes!” And that is also not a lie. Though Quatre doesn’t know why he feels so proud about that. He clutches the box harder, toes curling on the carpet. “I am. Don’t worry.” ‘Don’t worry’?
“Don’t worry?” Poor Trowa is looking more and more distressed by the minute. Clearly this is not the kind of welcome he expected after coming such a long way and Quatre can sympathize. This was absolutely not the kind of surprise he wanted either. “So,” he points to Quatre’s feet, “how come you aren’t wearing any pants?” Because they’re in the deep closet. He had to hang them properly to prevent any unsightly wrinkles, after all. “And your slippers?” Those are in the closet, too. “And why are you hiding behind a…is that a box?” Trowa has always been the type to ask the right questions.
“This umm…” Unfortunately for Quatre, he doesn’t have the right answers at this moment. He grimaces, looking down at his embarrassing outfit behind the cover of his…box.
“Quatre.” Trowa is waiting for those answers. He also came from a long trip.
In the absence of any wise ideas, Quatre gives in with a sigh, shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry,” he utters before long. It’s always good to start with an apology, isn’t it? “I just…I didn’t know…I don’t know how to tell you…I don’t know how to begin.”
Trowa comes closer still, looking on with concern.
Quatre hazards a smile, but fails. “I am wearing something…it’s a gift. Just sent to me. But…it’s not what either of us would expect…” No, he knew what to expect but not Trowa, the poor guy. “I mean, it’s not something that we’re used to…” Well, Trowa has stopped walking. And he has run out of words to delay the inevitable, too.
He sighs for one last time, then throws the box to the floor.
Trowa’s bag lands with a louder thud.
Quatre jumps, blinking, round-eyed at Trowa whose jaw slowly sags in the same direction as his bag. Well, what is he to say to that? “I…I should have warned you.” He did warn him. “More, that is.” He could have definitely given him more of a warning, that’s for sure. “I’m sorry.”
Trowa takes a step forward.
Quatre stumbles backward. “For the record, I just tried it on to see what the fuss was all about—” Trowa snatches his biceps and pushes him further. “D, do you hate it? I was just about to take it off—”
Quatre’s words disappear with a cough when his back meets the wall. The rest of whatever it is he has to say dissipates in the heat of Trowa’s mouth when he crushes his lips against Quatre’s.
For Quatre’s part, he responds according to muscle memory: he grabs Trowa by his nape, extends his tongue, lifts his leg so Trowa can grab his thigh and grind their hips together. A tight mewl escapes Quatre as he thrusts in kind, forgetting that his present underwear isn’t exactly equipped to hold his bits in place.
He’s breathless by the time Trowa finally sets him free to gape at his slip, hands trembling as he hovers them along the delicate chiffon…he doesn’t hate it. In fact, Quatre couldn’t be more wrong.
“Oh my god,” Quatre gasps.
“Oh my god,” Trowa echoes.
He finally touches him through the sheer fabric, and a shiver actually runs up Quatre’s skin, arresting his breath. “How did…” Trowa begins, then stops. “I can’t believe it,” he tries again, hands scaling up the column of Quatre’s waist until they’re grasping him just underneath the pits of his arms. “I can’t believe you’d…” His words falter again.
He laughs instead, though his breath takes most of it. A lopsided grin breaks through his shock as he slips his thumbs in through those useless pockets poised strategically just over Quatre’s nipples.
When he presses down, Quatre hisses, his fruits straining between his legs, growing heavier as he watches Trowa knead circles around his teats. The shiest whimper escapes Quatre before he utters softly, “So that’s what they’re there for.”
“You didn’t know?” Trowa would have laughed if he wasn’t breathing so excitedly. “Did you really put this thing on without knowing what it’s for?”
“I do know what it—” Trowa kisses his mouth. “I told you I wanted to see the effe—” Trowa kisses him again. “I didn’t know you would—” Trowa kisses him again, and again and again.
He growls deeply, face so close to Quatre, he could smell the mint gum he must have been chewing during his flight. “I could eat you.” Trowa presses hard on his nipples and Quatre opens his mouth for a soundless moan. His heart is racing and his belly is coiled in heat. “I could eat you right up.”
“I,” Quatre gasps, daring to find the hunger in Trowa’s eyes, “I thought you were tired from the trip?” He stirs between his legs, with a tight ache that only Trowa’s nearness could ever deliver.
“It was a long trip, Quatre.” Trowa laughs from his throat. “I could use some exercise.”
“Oh.” Quatre gulps hard, and aches again. “I, I see—I can see that—” Trowa’s mouth comes for him again, so he takes this as his cue to give his poor boyfriend a break and shut up.
He loops his arms around his neck, rubbing his groin hard against the thick fabric of Trowa’s jeans while Trowa slips his hands down to his ass and fills his palms with both cheeks. Another moan slips from Quatre, the only sound he can make while Trowa’s tongue has his locked in a snake’s embrace.
When he hikes up his other leg around his waist, Quatre clings to his thick shoulders, though neither of them are in any rush to break their kiss until Trowa ultimately throws him to their bed. Quatre lands with a bounce, a quiet, “Oof,” pushing out of him.
Trowa follows him on his knees, with the excited jingling of his belt buckle as he slides the leather tongue free, loosens his button and drags his zipper down.
Quatre swallows hard as he crawls back to their pillows, clamping his lower lip between his teeth. His heart is thrashing against his chest.
He falls flat onto his back when Trowa swings down to trap him with his hands over his shoulders. Whatever brought this on, Quatre did miss him terribly, and this would be one of the parts that he missed.
He traces the shape of Trowa’s lips on his fingertips. “You won’t take it off?” he breathes out.
Trowa shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dare. Why should I?” He brushes one side of Quatre’s slip aside, then runs the back of his finger down the flat stretch of Quatre’s stomach, ghosting on to the obvious shape drawn against the lace of his underwear. Quatre grunts softly, his length twitching, aching for more. “I’ve got plenty of room to work with.”
Quatre smiles. “I missed you, Trowa.”
Trowa smiles back.
He kisses him again, slipping his hand through the flimsy fabric to cup his length and squeeze it. Quatre’s sigh flows into his mouth as he dances to his touch, the strings of his light underwear biting into his skin. Trowa doesn’t stay for too long, though—even when Quatre bites his lips, Trowa refuses him and slides low instead so he can circle Quatre’s right teat with his mouth and suckle it through the lace.
A tight noise escapes Quatre and his length goes rigid. He dances harder into Trowa’s palm, mouth falling open as his fingers find their way to Trowa’s crown while Trowa slips the tip of his tongue through that treacherous opening over his nipple. Quatre sings out his name—he thought the slip was only good for wearing and teasing, but he’s fast coming to realize that his knowledge of the world of lovers is far too lacking. It’s one thing to be undressed before he’s made love to, but it’s an entirely different experience to feel the soft fabric soaked with spit, cooling in the air so that Quatre shivers while Trowa laps up his left teat. The feel of his length straining against the damp lace is also new, and so is the part when Trowa’s finger hooks the string in-between his ass aside so he can tease his entrance.
Quatre hisses, hips jumping, but powerless under Trowa’s weight and the allure of his slip. If they ruin it this way, he thinks he might actually feel sad.
Trowa’s breath hikes again when he leaves Quatre in peace so he can reach for the nightstand and pull one of the drawers open. The phone just on top of it rings right then.
Quatre rolls to his belly and extends a hand towards it, but not before Trowa grabs it and brings it back to the bed. “Trowa—!” He throws an urgent look at his boyfriend over his shoulder, though his boyfriend doesn’t see him. “Trowa, it might be an urgent call from the company.”
“More urgent than this?” Trowa’s cock is hot and heavy when he slides it up and down the crack of his ass.
And Quatre hisses, thrusting his ass up as he presses his face to the bed, his breath shuddering through his clenched teeth. The phone is still ringing, but his mind is so clouded with the promise of Trowa’s girth right now.
“Trowa.” When he moans, he doesn’t know what it’s for anymore. “Trowa...!”
“On your knees.” That handsome growl rolls along his back with a shudder.
Quatre feels weak with want when he plants his knees firmly onto the bed, grasping the sheets with his hands readily. Trowa slips a hand, soaked in lube, underneath the strap of his underwear again and runs his fingers up and down through the middle of his ass. Later, he pulls the traitorous string aside.
Quatre yells, louder than the manic ringing of the phone, when he feels Trowa’s tongue lapping up his entrance, his cock pushing hard against his lace when it shifts in excitement. Even his elbows buckle as he tries not to force his ass against Trowa’s face because in spite of everything that they’re doing now, that still seems rude.
A long moan ekes out through his throat as Trowa kisses his rim, pulls on his string again so he can run his tongue along the line between his balls and wrap his mouth around each of them in turns. Quatre wants to touch himself but if he moves one hand, he knows he’s going to take a nosedive into the bed.
He’s almost disoriented when Trowa suddenly straightens up and his ass feels betrayed. But Trowa’s hands are rough, and nervous when they grasp his cheeks and spread them out to widen his entrance. Quatre howls when Trowa plunges through, and he might have melted into the sheets if he wasn’t more desperate to feel his girth stretching him out little by little. He’s so hard—so much harder than when he’d taken the usual route getting inside Quatre. A long, deep groan trembles from Trowa’s chest, and Quatre wishes he could see him now. His head must be hanging back, mouth falling open just so.
But he likes him like this, too—hands on his hips, fingers entwined around the strings of his underwear as Trowa ruts his way deeper into his passage. His own mouth loosens up as he feels Trowa rubbing against his sensitive walls, parts of a moan spilling through little by little by little.
The horrible ringing finally stops, but only so the automated message can play since the owner is...busy playing, too. “Hello. You’ve reached the private number of Quatre Raberba Winner. If you have a message for me, please leave it after the tone, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.” The tone sounds off, then.
“Quatre! Don’t worry, this isn’t an emergency.”
“Duo...?” Quatre gasps, and finally falls to the bed with a groan. “It’s just Duo all along...”
“Anyway, I got a notification saying that you just got the uh...surprise present I sent ya! Check it out and let me know what you think, okay? And maybe you could let me know what Trowa thinks, too.” Duo laughs. “Well, enjoy!”
“Duo?” Quatre shudders when he feels Trowa’s breath tickling his ear, the cotton of his shirt pressed up against the chiffon on his back. “He was the one who sent this to you?”
Quatre sighs. “It’s a long story. You know how Duo is.” He groans, craning his head back. “And I don’t feel comfortable discussing it with you while I have your penis inside me, Trowa.”
Trowa chuckles deeply and kisses him on his damp temple. He pulls out, then, Quatre almost flopping into the bed in his surprise before Trowa guides him to his back and brings his legs up over his strong shoulders.
When they kiss, Quatre cups his jaw and caresses his cheek. Trowa slips right in easily enough and picks up where he left off. Quatre whimpers through their lips as he closes in on his sensitive end, his toes curling as Trowa thrusts harder and deeper, fingernails biting through the fabric of his slip. When Trowa parts for breath, Quatre nips at his chin and at his throat.
When Trowa’s hips start to shudder, Quatre falls back to the pillow to watch his boyfriend soar high into bliss: half-lidded gaze turned towards the ceiling, jaw falling slack even as he pounds him relentlessly up his ass.
He jumps when Trowa strikes him deep, his cry delayed when he feels his boyfriend’s seeds spilling into his passage, feverish and urgent. Trowa’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth widening as he empties himself out with persistent thrusts.
They’re both shaking when he finishes, the sound of his cock slipping out of his soaked entrance putting a heavier blush on Quatre’s cheeks, for all that it’s music to his ears.
A stupid smile dances to life on his red face. “You…” he rasps; his voice feels temporary. “Didn’t last very long this time around…”
Trowa chuckles, matching his expression. “Please…didn’t you see yourself in the mirror?” He hooks his fingers onto Quatre’s useless underwear and tugs it down, until his rigid shaft finally topples over the lace. Quatre bites his lip, doing a little dance to entice his lover. He’s so heavy that his cock barely bounces when he does that.
Trowa giggles like a drunk. “Cute.”
Quatre does it again, a colorless bud forming on his slit. For good measure, he tosses in the softest moan he could manage at this state.
Trowa still has that inebriated air when he takes his cock and tightens his fingers around it until Quatre growls, throwing his head back. Trowa’s hand slides up and down his shaft easily with his precum. “All right, then. Since you offered so kindly.”
Quatre widens his legs on instinct as Trowa slides down to bring himself between his thighs. He gives him no precursor when he swallows up his straining head and sucks in deep.
He screeches so loud, he’s sure Duo would have heard the answer he’d been waiting for all the way in the L1 Cluster. He even howls Trowa’s name for good measure as he thrusts upwards into his mouth. Trowa latches onto his hips and presses it down to the bed as he traces the tip of his tongue along Quatre’s stitch.
“Trowa!” Quatre cries again, writhing to little ado while Trowa drinks the seeds glazed over his glans with his lips. “Like that, like that! Just like that...oh, Trowa.” He groans when Trowa swallows him up again, crushing his hips in his hands. “Trowa…Trowa…!”
Quatre looks utterly exhausted, the poor thing. Splayed on top of Trowa, drooling on his chest, purring lightly against his skin. Trowa should maybe feel bad, but…
But here he is, admiring the view of his boyfriend in his white slip as he cards his fingers endlessly through his golden locks, thick with sweat and oil. He’s thinking about the things they could still get up to when he wakes up. The night is still young—20:34, the clock tells him—and for someone who was just fresh out of a 10-hour spaceflight, Trowa sure is in a particularly good mood tonight. For reasons that are fairly obvious.
The phone rings again—never having been one to cooperate with the mood, Trowa reckons. But he snaps up the receiver before his boyfriend can stir and pins it between ear and shoulder. “Hello.”
“Trowa!” It’s Duo. “It’s Duo.” So he says.
Trowa smirks, stroking Quatre’s bangs when the man scratches his nose with a paw-shaped fist. “Just the man I’ve been waiting to hear from.”
“Who? Me?” Duo sounds flattered when he laughs. “Got something good to say to me? Gotta remind you, though, you and I are both exclusively dating other people at the mo’.”
Trowa chuckles. “Thanks for the reminder.” Duo probably won’t get the joke, but it’s just funny to hear him say that after what he put Quatre through just because he happened to put on something different today. “And thanks for the gift, too.”
“Gift? What gift? The only gift I sent lately was for Quatre—”
If Trowa didn’t know Duo any better, he might have thought that the man had fallen off his seat, judging from the bang and clutter at the other side of the line. Though knowing Duo, he might as well have.
It’s perfect timing for Quatre to wake up, glaring at him amid bleary eyes. Who is it? he asks in silence.
Duo, Trowa answers the same way.
“Okay, okay. You and I—we’re war buddies, right?”
“Sure.” Trowa brightens up instantly when Quatre pushes himself up, bringing them face to face. He leans in for a kiss, so Trowa purses his lips readily.
“Right!” Quatre kisses him once, twice, lingering at the third one before he crawls lower to bring his lips to his jaw, his throat, his clavicle, his chest. “We’re both Gundam pilots, too—former Gundam pilots. And there was that thing you did with Deathscythe, too!! You remember that?” Duo isn’t likely to let him forget, though. It’s something he likes to bring up now and again if he needs something from Trowa.
“Mhm,” is all he says, laying a hand over Quatre’s nape, kneading lightly as Quatre wraps his lips over his left nipple to suckle lazily.
“So you owe me this much!” is the point Duo wants to make. “So. Now that that’s out of the way, tell me something, will ya?” He pauses briefly.
Trowa pushes Quatre’s slip from his ass so he can brush his hand along its shape. It’s a shame his skimpy underwear didn’t survive their roughhousing.
“When I called Quatre earlier…were you and Quatre…busy making babies?”
Trowa chokes at Duo’s choice of words, earning an odd look from Quatre. He smiles and shakes his head, brushing his fingers on Quatre’s cheek. But he does sport a healthy blush on his cheeks. “We…” Even at gunpoint, Trowa would be hard-pressed to confess the things he and Quatre got up to earlier. “Yes…in a manner of speaking.”
Fickle like a cat, Quatre trades his nipple for his thumb, wrapping his tongue around it and enclosing it in his mouth.
Duo’s hoot rings high and sharp across the distance, followed by what can only be called as ‘mad cackling’. “I knew it. I knew it!” There’s an echo in his voice, like he went off somewhere else and had neglected to bring Trowa on the phone with him. Far enough that his, “Hey, Heero!” had pretty much disappeared in the distance. If it weren’t for his usual intensity, that is. “You’re never gonna believe this…”
It’s some two minutes before Duo picks up the phone again, at which point Quatre has brought himself to his shoulder to cuddle. Trowa’s arm rests happily along the curve of his waist, his hand caressing the soft chiffon over his belly. “Heero says good job,” Duo reports.
Trowa chuckles. “Thank you.”
“Well! I probably should leave you two alone now. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of…you and your babies now, would I?” Duo snorts at his own joke. “You two have fun now! And any time you need some new merch…” The rest can be left unsaid.
“Goodnight, Duo.”
“Say hi to Quatre for me, okay?” Finally, Duo hangs up.
Trowa puts the receiver back onto the phone over his shoulder. “Duo says hi.”
“Okay.” Quatre sits up suddenly. “So. Tell me one thing, Trowa.”
“Hm?” Trowa straightens up his slip by the string around his neck.
“How long have you wanted to see me dressed up like this?”
The question makes Trowa laugh. “Even I didn’t know I wanted to see you like this,” he admits through his amusement. “Back in the circus, everyone just pretty much dresses up however they want. Even I walk around topless there. You know that, don’t you?” Quatre nods. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, what kind of clothes people put on. But when I saw you in this earlier…” He traces the frilly line of the slip’s flap. “It’s like something just switched on inside me. Something…something perverted, something ravenous.”
“You were so hard when you entered me,” Quatre giggles when he confesses that. But he doesn’t blush.
Instead he moves himself to Trowa’s lap, straddling it, and takes their flaccid cocks in his hands to hold them both together that way. Compared to his flesh, Trowa’s is longer and thicker by just a bit.
“Did I hurt you?” Trowa’s hands alight upon Quatre’s thighs.
Quatre hums, looking up to their dim ceiling. Lithe fingers tease Trowa’s head, bringing a shy smile through his lips. Trowa slips his hands back to Quatre’s ass to squeeze it gently. Then slides them back over to his knees to squeeze those gently, too. “If it was painful, I didn’t notice. You must have infected me with your perverted ways, Trowa.” He giggles again, smiling toothily at him. “It felt wonderful, Trowa. Having you inside me.” His thumb traces his glans, and Trowa twitches in his touch, swallows hard. “Feeling you inside me…and then you coming hard. Knowing it was because of me…because of something I did that you couldn’t control yourself.”
“You were dressed like a present, I guess,” Trowa says, then shakes his head. “But it was more than that. It was like…you were dressed specifically for my consumption. Like dinner after a long day.” He slips his hand underneath Quatre’s slip, plugging his thumb into his belly button. A quiet whimper plays through Quatre’s lips. “I wanted to devour you all at once…it’s like that was what the slip was telling me to do. But I wanted to pick you apart slowly, too. To enjoy the present that I got. Relish you for every morsel you offered…to me. Specifically.” Chuckling, he shakes his head again, then dips it to hide his embarrassed smile. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”
“You are.”
Quatre cups his jaw and brings his face up, as he leans into him.
“You are,” Quatre assures him with a nod and a whisper. “I feel the same way, too. Like I’ve been wrapped up in something meant only for your hands. Or like I’ve been prepared specifically for your tastes?” When Quatre frowns, it’s obvious he’s no longer sure about the words he’s just producing.
So Trowa grins instead, and snickers. “Yeah.” He nods. Something like that. “Something like that.” They’re going around in circles over something so achingly simple: Quatre is dressed in a lingerie, and Trowa wants him that way.
He seizes his mouth, and Quatre gives it to him, rutting on his lap, their tongues reuniting in a feverish ritual. Trowa grasps their cocks together and strokes them both from base to head. Squeezing gently.
Quatre moans and nods, rocking against his fist. It’s easy to rebuild the fire this way, when they’re both so eager to light the cooling embers back up. But Trowa bides his time.
They’ve got time, he reminds himself as he slips from Quatre’s mouth, giving him the chance to breathe as he slides down to his neck to bite him with the string. He keeps his hands busy, one hand ghosting to Quatre’s right nipple to slip his thumb through that generous pocket in the lace.
Quatre whimpers easily, and Trowa smiles. He likes that Quatre is so easy to tease like this. The way his teat gets harder by his touch alone, and then later, he’ll soften it up when he suckles on it like a babe. How Quatre is already sighing his name, his fingers wrapped around his nape, and the way he shudders when Trowa presses his thumb onto his head, squeezing precum through his slit. He’s so sensitive, he’s such a delight.
Trowa has him watch him when he sucks the clear fluid from his thumb. When he stretches out his tongue, Quatre opens his mouth readily to share the taste with him. Moaning sweetly when their lips fuse again, their tongues colliding in joyful reunion. It isn’t hard to get raring when Quatre is like this to him.
Trowa traces a line to his ear with his tongue and kisses it gently. “Quatre?”
Quatre moans in response.
“Dance for me?”
Quatre’s laughter trembles from his chest.
He kisses Trowa once more, then pushes himself up on his knees, spreading his slip open so he can find Trowa’s cock when it’s offered to him. Takes it in his hand and gives it a good squeeze so he can spread his precum over his half-rigid shaft.
Then slowly, he descends upon it, Trowa grasping him urgently around his waist to balance him. His entrance quivers when it wraps around Trowa’s eager head, but he doesn’t even take it slowly when he sinks back into Trowa’s lap, sheathing him all the way down to the base.
White light blinds Trowa momentarily as he throws his head back and groans deeply, already stirring inside Quatre’s tight walls. His heat is impossible, and that must have been a tear sliding down his cheek when he whimpers, “You’re so hot…!”
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Quatre giggles, hissing, too. “Now will you open your eyes? I can’t dance if you won’t watch.”
His vision is misty when he looks again, and Quatre’s smile is so dazzling, he may as well be seeing stars up close.
It’s a good way to catch him off-guard, when Quatre starts to rock his hips, his walls squeezing around Trowa’s length like they’re sucking him out. Trowa’s mouth falls open, croaking out his pleasure from the throat as Quatre warms up, a knowing smirk riding up his cheek. Trowa could feel the tension on his thighs flanking him as Quatre starts to roll his belly...he’d often tried to copy the way he does it. After all, they may have been violent soldiers in the past but when all is said and done, Trowa is still a professional performer. But he could never do it the way Quatre does it.
Always so mesmerizing, the ebb and flow of his muscles so liquid. His hands are on fire where they rest on Trowa’s chest for balance.
Trowa’s hands are shaking when he slips them underneath the chiffon curtain to feel the movements against his palms, the shiest moan escaping his gaping mouth. Quatre is always so beautiful when he moves like this, and knowing that he only gives this dance to Trowa only causes him to stir harder still, to mewl when Quatre tightens his walls around him, his grip around his racing heart. Quatre laughs at the effect he has on him.
He looks like an angel with his head craned upwards, sweat sliding from his brows, his golden waves damp with it. Trowa would have sunken his teeth into that bobbing throat if he wasn’t so enthralled by what he’s seeing.
“Hands up,” Trowa rasps, transferring those fiery hands from his chest to Quatre’s crown where he crosses them. “Hands up for me, please. I want to see you enjoying this.”
“Aren’t I?” Quatre smiles, but he keeps his arms over his head. Keeps his hips rolling.
Trowa hisses, hands slipping down to his lace-covered chest, the curve of his waist, his soft belly rolling underneath his fingers. His hand falls upon Quatre’s rigid flesh, and wraps itself around him.
Quatre’s movements stutter, a noise sipping through his frown. “Don’t,” he grunts, shaking his head. “Don’t touch me while I’m doing this.”
“I want to watch you come,” Trowa tells him. “Please. I want to see you unravel.”
“I won’t last long.”
Trowa shakes his head. “I don’t want you to last long.” He squeezes his length.
Quatre throws his head back and sighs out a song, gyrating his hips again. Trowa feels impossibly heavy inside his slippery heat, raw and too-sensitive all at once, but giving in is the worst thing he can think of right now. He wants more of this—more of that straining pain between his legs, more of Quatre’s closeness. His fire, his music. His mouth hanging open and his eyes shuttered as he moans, “Trowa…Trowa…” As Trowa pumps his sleek cock, desperate and then slow, teasing his stitch and then kneading his head by his fingertips.
“Quatre,” Trowa groans, the words in his head chipping at his walls even before he speaks them through gritted teeth. Quatre jumps and whimpers; surely he must have felt Trowa spilling a little inside him. “Quatre, I love you.”
“I lo…” Quatre breathes hard, head hanging back again. Trowa’s fingers take his right nipple and pinches it between the lace. “I lo…!!” He jumps again, squeezing Trowa between his walls, some of his seeds spilling out again. Trowa hisses at the layers of euphoria and spasms overwhelming each other. “I love…I…” Trowa never counted on him to finish his sentence. This assault is simply too much for Quatre, and that is why. That’s why he torments him like this—so he can hear him so breathless and mindless. “Trowa…Trowa…”
“I love you, Quatre.”
“I…!” Quatre shakes his head, though he does a valiant work of keeping his hands up, his hips rolling. “I, I, I...!!” He’s so close. Trowa can feel it in the quivers of his walls.
Trowa lets go of his rigid shaft, then, and Quatre gasps in relief, eyes flying open.
Trowa smiles; the man is right where he wants him.
He grabs him by the ass and thrusts high.
Quatre throws his head back and roars, hips jumping forward, the line of his release burning where he spills over Trowa’s stomach and chest. Trowa snarls when he snaps his hips up again, coming all over Quatre’s shuddering walls pressing in on him.
The rest of Quatre’s cry takes on a keening note as he rocks forward, desperate to empty out. His head droops to his chest, eyes on his straining cock as he comes in jets and spurts, painting Trowa’s front pearlescent.
Trowa chuckles deeply in spite of the weight pulsating between his legs. That last part where Quatre had watched himself coming, it was exactly what he wanted to see. “Thank you,” he utters, a dreamy smile swimming on his face. “Guess we’re both dressed in white now, huh?”
“What?” Quatre eyes him strangely, then growls out, “Oh, fuck,” when he finally gets Trowa’s joke. And somehow, that makes him come again.
Trowa bursts out laughing this time, watching his seeds drool all over his sagging erection. His hand is trembling when he reaches over Quatre’s nape, and finally pulls the string.
Quatre seems shocked to see the lace fall off his chest, and he makes an attempt to slip it off his head when Trowa races him with a crushing kiss, shoving him down to the bed on their sides. Quatre clings to him, legs wrapping urgently around his waist, fingernails digging into Trowa’s skin. Trowa swings his hips up hard.
Quatre throws his head back and cries, knocking Trowa’s jaw with his shoulder. That did not sound like pleasure.
“I’m sorry!” Trowa gasps, looking urgently as Quatre flinches. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t push you—”
“No. I want it.” Quatre tightens his legs around him still. “Don’t give up on me. You’re not yet done, and so am I.” He grasps his jaw. “I know you want this, too.” Trowa does. Still does. He still wants his fire, his voice. The sound of his name cried out for all of Outer Space to hear, and it doesn’t even matter that that wasn’t the name his mother gave him. It only matters to him when Quatre screams it. When he uses that name to beg for him.
Trowa slams his hips into him again and Quatre yells out, chokes, clings to him, does it again when Trowa crashes into him again, and again and again. He crawls down to his teat and swallows it up in his mouth, his heart trembling with the purest joy when his tongue tastes only the salt of his flesh without the stringy texture of lace as he laps up his teat. Quatre whimpers with his name, crushing his face to his chest.
“Trowa,” he moans, as Trowa strikes him. “Trowa!” he screeches when Trowa pushes in too hard. “Trowa…Trowa...! I lo…I luh…!” Even now, he can’t say it.
The last time Quatre felt like this, he was fresh out of a fight in his Gundam that had gone horribly wrong. Given, that won’t explain the tenderness between his legs, on his nipples and in his throat. That also doesn’t explain why his head is ringing like an angry phone—
Quatre curses through his teeth when he jumps straight up from sleep to grab the receiver, boxing himself with it on the ear when he answers, “Hello?”
“President Winner.” It’s his secretary. His secretary? Of course, of course. There’s work to be done— “I apologize if this is late, but Vice President Ah has to cancel this morning. They mentioned that their wife is about to give birth.”
“Oh—oh.” Quatre had forgotten all about that meeting. “I see…well that—that’s nice.” It really is nice, though. Live childbirth, after all, is of special interest to the Winner Family. “We should send them flowers after the baby is born.”
“I’ll put in an order, then.”
“Thank you. And…what else do I have today?” Quatre winces, mostly at his lack of foresight but also, his ear is still ringing.
“A last minute invitation to a location visit, a meeting about your appearance in the groundbreaking ceremony for the Earth and Space Friendship Park, and Chairman Dee’s birthday celebration. Will you be able to attend?”
“No.” Quatre touches his head, the string from last night’s slip falling from his fingers. When he looks, he finds the sad-looking thing still wrapped around his waist. Between Trowa’s boundless desire for him and Quatre’s blinding need, they never got to get rid of it. “Sorry, but I’d like to stay home today.”
“Very well, sir. Should I send some medicine over?”
“No, thank you.” Quatre smiles at his imaginary secretary. “I’m just tired and would like to rest. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow. Please tell Miss Lee I’ll be taking my own chopper for tomorrow’s ocular.”
“Understood. Have a good day, sir.”
Quatre hangs up, then, and sighs out in heavy relief.
The wind rushes and throws him down the bed on his back, his fists coming up to protect himself from his assailant staring down at him with green eyes glimmering with fresh fire. Fresh hunger. “A, already?” Quatre chokes. Which isn’t to say he isn’t ready, but…well, as much as he’d like to be, he isn’t.
And neither is Trowa, as it turns out. He barely puts up a fight before he falls back into the bed with a groan, saying, “I wish. But…I had a long flight, after all. And it was a long night.” It was a long night. Beautiful. Memorable. Blazing. But long.
Quatre chuckles, rolling to his side to face him. And he won’t lie, but he does feel quite relieved to hear him say so. “And whose fault is that?”
Trowa shakes his head. “I don’t regret it.”
“Shall we stay in today?”
Trowa nods, his hand coming up to cuff Quatre’s hair behind his ear. “We could. You want to take it easy today?”
“We didn’t get to have a proper meal yesterday.” Quatre cocks his brow.
Trowa smiles apologetically. “I don’t regret that either,” he mumbles. “But…we can take it easy today.” He brushes Quatre’s biceps with the back of his hand. “We’ll spend the day in bed…just cuddle and nap. What else…”
“I could use a bath.”
Trowa nods. “We could do that, too.”
“Let’s have breakfast in bed, too.” Quatre smiles. “The servants should already be up and about. I’ll ask them to bring some over. Then we’ll just stay here all day and cuddle until tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Trowa smiles, too. “I’ll get the bath going, then.” He pushes himself up on his elbow.
They kiss, the first of many today. But the first one that is gentle and lingering, after all those heated versions they traded yesterday. Those ones will always get Quatre’s heart racing, make him hunger for more. But...these ones are nice, too. Sweet. Soft. Just long enough to make him long for another one when Trowa pulls back. Leaving him wistful and hoping.
Quatre sits up, hurrying after the man already making his way to the bathroom. “Trowa!”
Trowa turns around, then, a quiet, hm? on his smile. There was something Quatre meant to tell him last night, and he’d only remembered it that morning, after they kissed.
Quatre smiles back. “I love you, too, Trowa.”
Trowa blinks, his lips parting. He wasn’t expecting that.
He’s back sooner than Quatre can chase him, with a kiss that knocks against Quatre’s teeth. Then he grabs him by the hand and pulls him up to his feet.
Quatre laughs, stumbling after his happy boyfriend, the slip finally falling to the carpet as Trowa drags him along into the bathroom.