Arabian Nights

I don’t own Gundam Wing or its bishounen, nor am I making any monetary profit from this fic whatsoever.

Arabian Nights
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

Quatre awoke surrounded by a delicious warmth. He sighed contentedly, burrowing deeper into the cocoon of warmth. He lay in a tangle of limbs, head resting comfortably on his lover’s broad chest and one of his thighs wrapped securely around Trowa’s own long lean limb. The steady rise and fall of the auburn-haired youth’s chest and the soft tickle of his breath against the downy golden curls on Quatre’s forehead indicated that his partner was deeply asleep. Slowly, carefully, so as to not awaken him, he disentangled himself from his lover’s embrace.

Lover.

The thought alone was enough to send a quiet thrill through Quatre. The memories of the day were burned into his memory and he could scarcely wait to map the sweet territory of his love’s body. Even now, he could feel the dull throb of desire burning low in his belly.

Darkness had completely fallen and but for the faint whisper of the wind and the soft murmur of Trowa’s breathing, the room was utterly still. The soft muted light of the moon spilled into the room and onto the bed, bathing the sleeping pilot in its pale, iridescent glow. Quatre had watched Trowa sleep many a night, and as such, was utterly familiar with the soft, relaxed expression (so different from the calm stoicism of wakefulness) and the sensuous lips, slightly parted, lending an air of vulnerability to the austere features. But after the beautiful events of the afternoon, he thrilled to the knowledge of a different kind of vulnerability: points, which had the emerald-eyed pilot gasping and arching beneath his touch. A kind of excitement twisted through him, and moaning softly, Quatre contemplated the possibilities of finding other such spots that would spiral his lover’s pleasure.

Quatre’s fingers ghosted over the delicate skin of Trowa’s eyelids to the thick, auburn lashes that were longer than even his own. When the slender youth twitched but did not awaken, he continued his gentle exploration, memorizing the aristocratic slant of Trowa’s nose, the soft downturn of his mouth and the stubble-roughened texture of his jaw. He traced the lithe graceful line of Trowa’s upraised arm, down to the muscular pads of his chest, clearly delineated by the upturn of his arm and framed by the gleaming folds of the gaping, white, cotton shirt. The blonde’s lips whispered over the bulge of a bicep, fascinated by the contrast of the velvety skin and the taut power lying quiescent beneath it. The silky tuft of hair nestled in Trowa’s armpit was baby-soft and slightly darker than the hair on his head, much the same color as the dark auburn curls at his lover’s groin, peeking through the grinning metal snaps of his jeans.

The small, rose-brown nubs of Trowa’s nipples were puckered slightly from the cool night air and Quatre remembered Trowa’s hands on his flesh and the emerald-eyed man’s own soft moans of pleasure when he had teased him with his hands and mouth. Watching the taller man for signs of wakefulness, he circled one dusky nubbin with the tip of his finger, delighting when it puckered even further, rosy flesh firmly erect and pouting, beckoning another such caress. Wholly absorbed in, and fascinated by the delights of his lover’s body, the gentle Arabian fingered the pointed center of the aroused nubbin, pressing the velvet flesh lightly. This time, he was rewarded with the restless shifting of Trowa’s body and a stream of incoherent murmurs bubbling from the brunette’s lips.

Further encouraged, Quatre’s mouth descended on the tender bud, surrounding it with a moist heat and creating a gentle suction. Trowa moaned softly, his fingers blindly tangling in the soft platinum strands of Quatre’s hair as pleasure burst and shimmered, luring him out of the darkness of sleep. Delighted by throaty sounds of his lover’s passion, Quatre lifted his head, blowing a stream of air over the glistening nub as the pads of slender fingers simultaneously caressed and teased the sensitive aureole of its partner.

Trowa’s eyes fluttered open, dark centers dilated as he blearily focused on the slender figure before him. His body, however, registered very clearly the rings of pleasure expanding from Quatre’s touch as the blonde continued his gentle assault on his flesh.

“Quatre,” Trowa groaned, voice husky from sleep and arousal.”What are you…ah!…doing?”

The diminutive blonde’s only answer was a soft sound of desire as his hands moved to peel the jeans off his lover’s long legs. Tugging gently, he pulled the offending garment down and off.

Trowa’s breath hissed though his teeth as the hardened proof of his arousal sprung free, demanding attention.

Soft palms pressed into the corded strength of Trowa’s thighs as Quatre sensuously massaged and kneaded the taut flesh. His mouth dropped down to Trowa’s flushed skin, the soft words of desire murmured against his love’s skin, as much a caress as the gentle kisses showered on the sensitive flesh of Trowa’s inner thighs. Caught in the haze of passion, Trowa almost missed the whisper-soft words that gusted past the blonde’s lips.

“Love you so much. I want…” Quatre’s fingers traced the taut spheres of Trowa’s testicles, then trailed upwards to dip into the tiny well of his navel. “Let me…”

“Yes, yes,” Trowa whispered, not caring that he didn’t know what the blonde was asking.

He would never…could never, deny Quatre anything, and observing the blonde’s slack features and heightened breathing, his vow was reaffirmed many times over. The Arabian’s eyes were closed, soft moans escaping his lips as he memorized the grooves and curves of the long muscles of Trowa’s thighs.

Emerald pools darkened, verdant irises almost completely eclipsed by the dilated centers as Trowa watched, amazed, that the simple consummation of skin against skin could reduce the blonde to such a state of rapture. A helpless shudder raced along his spine as a thousand more ways by which he could have the blonde moaning and shuddering, danced around in his brain. The thought alone was enough to draw an involuntary groan from his lips. Quatre was a devastating combination of shy innocence and an unconscious, burning sensuality that crumbled his defenses. The awakening of the blonde’s sexuality was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. He wanted nothing more than to take his gentle lover into his arms and ravish all of that porcelain-fine, sweetly responsive flesh. He understood, however, that this was Quatre’s time to indulge and explore and to test the depths of his own burning, burgeoning sexuality.

Quatre’s golden head dipped until it was level with Trowa’s groin. He could feel the smooth, hard column of Trowa’s erection prodding his throat, and he moved lower, the pink rasp of his tongue tracing his lover’s engorged length. His fingers bit into the suddenly tense muscles of Trowa’s thighs as he felt the sudden arching of the slender man’s body as well as heard the strangled moan that rattled through his teeth. The soft sounds of the brunette’s passion intensified his own arousal; heat pooling and gathering until his flesh was painfully erect. The heady musk of Trowa’s arousal filled his senses, sharp and elemental, and he was overcome by the urge to be joined with his lover in every way possible.

Trowa watched as Quatre moved to straddle his hips, breath unraveling and the pale columns of slender thighs trembling as arousal met arousal. The blonde seemed to be of two minds: seemingly unable to decide whether he wanted to take or be taken. The feel of Quatre’s erection trapped against his own sent Trowa’s senses spinning. It took every ounce of the brunette’s control not to rock upwards. His jaw clenched as he attempted to still the clamoring of his body. This was Quatre’s show; he would endure it even if it killed him.

Quatre’s hands clenched in the sheets and his head lolled on his neck, a guttural moan escaping his lips as his hips set a helpless rhythm, sure of what he wanted, but uncertain as to how to achieve the goal. Pleasure rocked and radiated from their heated point of contact, leaving both men gasping. For a moment, the world narrowed to the heat of their bodies, the silky slide of skin against skin and the erotic movements of the blonde’s body.

When Quatre’s movements became more frantic, and the blonde was shuddering helplessly above him, Trowa held the blonde’s hips in a sensuous vise, stilling his movements and taking control of the pace. His control threatened to completely unravel,however, when the Arabian twisted in his grasp, a frustrated cry bursting from his lips as he struggled to maintain the delicious friction. Trowa’s superior strength won out however, and his grip on the blonde remained firm. Deftly he switched their positions so that Quatre lay panting prettily beneath him. He laced his fingers in the blondes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Look at me, Little One.”

The normally placid aquamarine eyes fluttered open, unfocused and deeply sapphire from arousal. He rained kisses on Quatre’s face and jaw; the smooth column of his neck; soft, butterfly kisses intended to calm the blonde down and slow the pace of their lovemaking. When it seemed that Quatre had calmed down somewhat, he captured the Arabian’s wrists, raising them over the blonde’s head and holding them lightly in place with one hand. His lips captured a pouting nipple, suckling and then nibbling lightly until whimpers fell from Quatre’s lips, and his golden head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. Trowa moved to the other nipple bestowing it with the same treatment and the blonde arched off the bed moaning, the torture only serving to intensify the ache of his violently aroused flesh.

“Trowa… please. Please… I need…”

At the softly spoken plea Trowa released the blonde’s wrists, gazing into the limpid pools of his eyes. “Tell me what you need Love.”

A wave of heat coursed through Quatre’s body, delicious and shocking in its intensity. He wanted more than anything to be joined with Trowa in the most elemental way possible: to hold his lover deep within his body, to give and receive pleasure in the most intimate union of all.

His mouth opened to tell his lover of his desire, but Trowa’s intense emerald gaze unnerved him, and all he could manage was an abortive whisper.

“I…”

Embarrassed, he turned his face into the pillow, a faint blush blooming beneath the porcelain skin. Allah, it had been so much easier to say in his mind.

Gently, Trowa turned Quatre back to face him. When he spoke his voice was soft but insistent. “What do you need, baby?”

The low timbre of Trowa’s voice, and the mesmerizing green of his gaze pinned Quatre in place. The emotion he could see swirling in that emerald gaze took his breath away. He wanted this man more than anything in his life—needed him more than breath itself and the emotion smoldering in the darkened depths of his lover’s eyes—desire, love and the promise of pleasure—was enough to make him forget his virginal shyness for the moment. He raised a trembling hand to trace Trowa’s lips. Aquamarine irises locked with emerald.

“I want to feel you inside of me. Make love to me please Trowa.”

Trowa had wanted this for so long, had yearned to share this with Quatre—the intimate giving and taking of their bodies, the slide of heated flesh into tight warmth—that the soft plea was enough to send a shudder racing along Trowa’s spine. To have Quatre so hotly and sweetly surrendering to him was almost too much to bear. The deep yearning he felt in his chest in that single moment had nothing to do with lust and everything to with love—the desire to cherish—to protect the pale, moon-luminous figure beneath him.

The kiss with which Trowa claimed the blonde’s softly parted lips was fiercely possessive and would have been bruising in its intensity if had Quatre not been responding with the same fervor. Trowa stole into the soft recess of the Arabian’s mouth, tongue dipping into the slick well of his lower lip, tracing the smooth surface and tiny serrations of small, perfect teeth. The honeyed heat of Quatre’s mouth, the slick glide of his tongue battling his own—there was nothing he didn’t notice about the blonde in that moment: his soft scent, roses and sandalwood and the intoxicating musk of arousal, the salt of his skin, the way he gave a little cry when Trowa’s hands slid beneath his back, holding him arched beneath him as his tongue circled a pebbly nipple, the contours of his chest, the tiny well of a navel.

The warm bar of Trowa’s muscular forearm supported Quatre, while the long, lean fingers of his other hand sought the juncture of pale, muscular thighs. His fingers curled around the blonde’s hardened length, savoring slick heat of silk over steel.

Quatre’s lifeblood throbbed visibly beneath the surface and he traced the vein from base to swollen tip, fingers finding the perfect, plum-shaped head, dragging across the sensitive slit, spreading the slick moisture collecting there. Quatre’s hoarse cry he captured with his mouth, nibbling at the wine-dark, wine-sweet lips, even as he began to smoothly stroke the blonde.

The first time was always difficult and instinctively he knew the blonde would be deliciously small and tight He hoped that bringing Quatre to ecstasy first would relax him, helping to counter the discomfort he would inevitably feel at their joining. He wanted to make this experience pleasurable for them both - even more so for his love. He would never forgive himself if the blonde were hurt—by any means—through fault on his part.

Trowa continued the firm, relentless stroking, eyes fixed on the Quatre’s slack features. He could tell that the Arabian was close from the lolling of his head against the bar of his arm, the frantic movements of his slender hips and the hitched suffix of a moan he gave with each exhalation.

Quatre arched helplessly in his lover’s arms, hips slamming upwards to meet the brunette’s strokes. He knew nothing but the haze of passion and the caress of Trowa’s hands and mouth on his body leaving a fiery trail of desire in their wake. The blonde’s posture exposed the smooth, pale column of his throat and bending Trowa sipped at the pulse beating there, nibbled the soft flesh at the hollow of his winged collar-bones, then soothed the gentle love-bites with his tongue as he migrated ever downwards. Teeth raked a rigid nipple and Quatre abruptly climaxed, crying out sharply as he spilled silky strands of semen between them.

Trowa cradled Quatre’s soft weight in his arms, as the blonde was held in the grip of ecstasy, waiting for the tempest to subside, before lowering the blonde to the bed and reluctantly pulling away. He needed to find something that could be used as lubricant. He had wanted this for so long and yet here he was unprepared. He made a mental note to remedy that situation as soon as possible. For now, however, they would have to improvise.

Quatre made a questioning sound of protest, hand snaking out to capture Trowa’s wrist, preventing retreat. Trowa released himself from the blonde’s gentle grip, placing a soft kiss on the inside of the Arabian’s wrist.

“I want you more than anything Angel, but I don’t want to hurt you. I need to find something that will make my entry easier for you.”

Quatre didn’t think he could get the next words out without his cheeks spontaneously combusting. “Trowa … um the nightstand…left drawer.

Quizzically, the brunette pulled out the drawer in question and reached inside, fingers searching until they landed upon … a tube of lubricant? An elegant auburn eyebrow arched smoothly upward. Trowa looked at Quatre questioningly, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes as he read the label aloud.

“‘Arabian Nights, now in new kiwi flavor’?”

Quatre blushed and stammered. “I ah … that is … I thought that we might … you know … that I…” Groaning, he rolled over, burying his flaming face in the pillow. Allah, how was it that he managed to get himself into these situations?

Chuckling softly, Trowa bent to nuzzle the soft hairs at the nape of Quatre’s neck. “I’m sorry,love,” he whispered, lips caressing the tender skin as he spoke. “I wasn’t aware that you were fond of kiwi.”

“Mmph mmph mmph.”

Quatre gave a muffled sound of humiliation and if possible, burrowed even further into the bedclothes, refusing to turn over.

Though the blonde’s position hid what Trowa most wished to see, he didn’t mind. The lean, tapering lines of Quatre’s torso and the firm globes of his buttocks were equally sweet territory. He mouthed the velvety flesh over a delicate vertebra, following the graceful line of Quatre’s neck and the groove of his spine. The blonde’s muffled sounds of pleasure could be heard, and smiling against the porcelain skin, Trowa rounded he curve of each smooth buttock in turn, nipping the firm flesh lightly, causing Quatre to jump.

“Oh!”

The wet rasp of Trowa’s tongue traced the shadowed cleft between the twin globes and Quatre let out a startled gasp and tried to squirm away from the lazy caress.

Surely Trowa wasn’t going to… What he was thinking was… no … he wouldn’t.

Trowa kneaded the pliable flesh gently. Cupping the soft cheeks he parted them so that the tiny rosy sphincter nestled between the pale globes was bared to his gaze. He paused to admire the erotic sight before bending to wetly circle the rosy pucker. The tiny ring of muscle clenched and relaxed and Quatre whimpered even as his hips thrust unconsciously backwards to meet the touch. The turgid tip of Trowa’s tongue slid just past the ring of muscle, stretching it ever so slightly.

Quatre’s eyes flew wide with shock. “Allah!” His strangled voice rose an octave.”Trowa—don’t. Stop!”

Heedless, the slick squirm of the brunette’s tongue returned, this time pushing even further past the puckered ring into the tight channel. The pleasure of it rocked the blonde even as the slight pressure hinted at discomfort.

“Nnnnn…Trow-ah!”

The taller pilot’s arm slid beneath Quatre’s hips, lifting him so that he knelt on all fours on the bed. Spreading the trembling thighs even further, Trowa’s head dropped back to between the parted globes, tongue busily at work. By the time he was done, Quatre was drawing deep shuddering breaths and the only thing holding him upright was the warm bar of Trowa’s forearm. The brunette’s own aroused flesh throbbed painfully, but he was determined to sufficiently prepare Quatre for what was to come.

Turning the blonde over onto his back once more, Trowa raised a slender leg over his shoulder; the other he wrapped around his waist. A long, well-lubricated finger slid slowly and deeply into the tight passage.

Even after Trowa’s previous attentions, Quatre couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped his lips and the sudden clamping of his muscles around Trowa’s probing finger. Tremors assailed the blonde as he tried to assimilate the sudden intrusion. It wasn’t yet painful, but the persistent pressure bordered on discomfort. All was forgotten however with the slow thrust of that finger, creating a nameless yearning that made him want something more. Soon the thrust of that digit was followed by a second and a third. Tears smarted behind Quatre’s closed eyelids. Allah it burned!

Quatre hadn’t realized that he was making soft sounds and whimpers until he heard Trowa murmuring soothingly.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. I’ll take care of it.”

The inexorable thrust of those three fingers returned, probing for the tender gland of the blonde’s prostate. Slender fingers curled inward and a wild cry burst from Quatre’s lips.

Ah right there. Trowa moaned at the blonde’s impassioned outburst, feeling the last of his control beginning to fray. He could wait no longer.

Trowa paused in his careful preparation of his lover to apply lubricant to his own hardened shaft. The urge to relieve the pronounced ache in his nether regions was almost too great to overcome, and involuntarily, his fingers lingered at the task, the light, moist, pressure of his hands on his arousal as he spread the unction from base to swollen tip almost completely unraveling all of his hard-won control.

Almost.

Intently regarding the prone figure before him, he positioned himself at the entrance to his lover’s body. His sole focus was Quatre’s aquamarine gaze as he slowly pushed in.

Quatre felt the nudge of Trowa’s erection at his entrance, the incredible moment of pressure as the bulbous head of his lover’s shaft slid just past the tight ring of muscle which was trying so valiantly to keep him out—the slow, inexorable probe as inch, by silky inch, his lover sheathed himself in his body until he was deeply seated, auburn nether curls commingling with gold and Quatre’s own erection was trapped between their two bodies.

Trowa’s hardened length within him set off a riot of nerve endings. He felt incredibly stretched, hopelessly invaded and on the verge of something so incredible his body shook with want of it, the threads of pain and pleasure so tightly wound together that he couldn’t hope to unravel the two. The sensuous roll of Trowa’s hips set a leisurely pace and the incredible weave of pain and pleasure intensified: in and out thread over thread, a crazy rhythm battering his senses with every slow thrust

Allah he wanted this so badly, but it hurt and it felt so unbelievably good, that he couldn’t … couldn’t begin to grasp the paradox of it all. Surely it was impossible to survive anything so intense. Quatre’s lips trembled and he couldn’t help the spill of tears from behind his closed lids. Tears from pain or pleasure, even he could not say in that moment. His lover’s name was a murmured incantation, a prayer for surcease and release even as he moved experimentally against his soul mate.

And then Trowa was leaning forward, murmuring soothing love words between soft kisses, sipping the crystalline droplets that clung to tawny lashes.

“Sweet … sweet …love. Shhh baby, it’s all right. I’ll make it better I promise.”

Quatre’s muscles contracted sweetly around Trowa, caressing his entire length as he was held lovingly in tight warmth. Trowa moaned, grasping Quatre’s length trapped between their bodies, stroking firmly as he thrust deeply into the blonde, aiming unerringly for the sensitive cluster of nerves he knew was there. Relentlessly he stroked the tender spot, relishing the symphony of Quatre’s moans and whimpers as pleasure arced through him: sharp, sweet lightning that drew the Arabian’s slender body taut as a bowstring. His bent knee over Trowa’s shoulder tightened its grip, bringing his lover closer as he began to thrust in counterpoint.

The tight welcome of Quatre’s body as Trowa thrust, the silken caress of the blonde’s tight channel sweetly grabbing his flesh as he withdrew was perfect. He was perfect. His flushed face, the heated movements of his small body and the erotic sounds he made in his passion—all pure perfection.

Never had Trowa felt anything like this intense, insane ecstasy. His own guttural moans joined Quatre’s as they set a frenzied rhythm, thrust and counterpoint perfectly matched. It was as though the blonde were made just for him and he just for Quatre. In, out, silk over steel, a shimmering all encompassing pleasure and colors swirling and bursting behind his eyelids, cumulating in a tightening of nerves, a gathering of every sensation to a single intense bull’s-eye of orgasm that triggered Quatre’s own climax, the Arabian crying out sharply, inner muscles milking his love to completion as he spurted onto his lover’s awaiting body.

Trowa lowered Quatre’s leg from his shoulder and lay back on the bed, pulling Quatre into his arms. Quatre’s soft weight on top of him felt so right. He tightened his arms, drawing the blonde even closer as he nuzzled his damp forehead. They basked in the satiated afterglow of lovemaking, each trying to assimilate the amazing intensity of the union.

Quatre had a soft faraway look in his eyes as his hands idly stroked Trowa’s skin. The emerald-eyed pilot captured the straying palm and raised it to his lips to place a burning kiss in the center. His tongue traced the faint slash of the Arabian’s heart-line, down to the blue vein pulsing in his wrist before gently releasing it.

“What are you thinking Love?”

Quatre raised his head, looking deeply into Trowa’s emerald eyes.”Just thinking that that was the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced in my life and how lucky I am to have you.” His lips moved up to capture Trowa’s with his own as if to confirm the sentiment.

“I love you so much that sometimes I think that my heart is going to burst out of my ribcage with the joy of it. And after what you’ve given me tonight, I could only love you more.”

Trowa didn’t bother to conceal the wetness that sprang to his eyes at his love’s words. The melting, yearning feeling in his chest spread to his throat, choking him with emotion and preventing him from expressing all that he felt in that moment. He buried his face in the soft, fragrant skin of Quatre’s neck, just holding him close as the tears fell softly, their flow for once unimpeded.

Quatre felt the hot glide of tears against his neck and he placed soft kisses against Trowa’s neck, holding him lovingly in his embrace, saying without words that he was here, that he understood.
His hands tenderly began to roam his lover’s body and soon, Trowa allowed himself to be lowered onto the mattress beneath the blonde.

Quatre loomed over his lover, hands sensuously caressing Trowa’s body, leaving fire in their wake.
His tongue slid between the soft pout of Trowa’s lips as he savored his lover’s taste in a searing kiss before slowly pulling back.

“Now it’s my turn,” he whispered.

Trowa’s passionate cries could be heard well into the early morning.

End