Chapter Two

Leather, Violins and James Dean
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

Quatre slowly released him, and Trowa watched as he moved to the bed and turned back the covers. No expensive silk, just sunny cotton and daisy-printed pillowcases as sweet and unpretentious as the tiny blond who slept on them. And Trowa desperately wished that he could be more for Quatre—or perhaps, less: less cynical, less jaded,less of a coward … less of everything that prevented him from being a man deserving of the gift that was being surrendered to him so simply and unselfishly—no demands, no recriminations … no promises.

If only he could feel no guilt.

Still, Trowa could not bring himself to turn away, to leave the beautiful youth as untouched as he had found him. He dared not move, dared not utter a single syllable as Quatre sat, turning modestly away, as his fingers worked the tiny buttons along his shirt. Trowa’s blood pounded in his veins in bittersweet anticipation, but it seemed wrong —irreverent somehow — to interrupt the ritual with rough, uncontrolled lust, so Trowa watched with heated eyes, passion and pain warring within him with every leap of his flesh.

Quatre shrugged out of his shirt. Folding it neatly, he placed it on the dresser next to his bed. His golden head was shyly bowed, and he didn’t look up, nor did waver in his movements as he set it aside and began to unfasten his pants. The garment dropped, pooling around his ankles. One smooth knee was revealed and then the other.

Cold, black metal bracketed the joint, encircling both Quatre’s thigh immediately above the brace and his calf below, leaving the knee itself exposed, but heavily supported in its metal frame. It was swollen, the joint misshapen and curving faintly inwards. To Trowa, it only made Quatre more beautiful and precious for his obvious strength and determination—only confirmed what he had known from the minute he had laid eyes on Quatre: th blond was made to be cherished.

Feeling his gaze, Quatre bowed his head self-consciously lower. He was left in the cumbersome brace around his knee, the vest tucked demurely into pale blue boxers and the faint blush staining his cheeks.

When Quatre met Trowa’s eyes again, his expression was utterly open, an endearing mixture of determination, shyness and trembling expectation as waited for Trowa to join him.

With the same reverence and slow careful movements with which he had observed the delicate blond, Trowa removed his shoes, his jacket, his shirt … each garment until he stood naked before Quatre’s curious eyes. Quatre openly admired him, hiding none of his wonder and interest as his blue eyes trailed down Trowa’s body, leaving fire in their wake. Trowa kept his hands at his sides, allowing the intimate perusal. Watching as Quatre became flushed and his breathing became shallow, his soft, gasping breaths echoing in the room between them.

The sight of Quatre’s burgeoning passion seared Trowa and he hardened, rising under the younger man’s gaze. Quatre’s eyes widened and he stared, transfixed, at Trowa’s groin. His lips trembled and parted, his eyes sliding shut as tremors shook him and Trowa could no longer content himself with being a spectator. Slowly, he approached the bed and knelt at Quatre’s feet.

Quatre’s eyes flew open at the first heated touch of Trowa’s tongue tracing his knee, dipping between unyielding metal to the soft flesh beneath. He made a panicked, protesting sound, but Trowa’s hands was already worshipping that silken flesh, caressing Qautre’s thigh, and then his calf, freeing him from the confines of the brace to expose his knee. A choked, tortured moan spilled from Quatre’s s throat and his eyes squeezed shut.

“No!”

Trowa lovingly massaged one tiny foot and then the other, kissing each perfect pink toe in turn, then moving upwards, testing the suppleness of Quatre’s calf before trailing downwards again. Abruptly Trowa stopped, releasing Quatre completely and simply admiring the luminous beauty before him.

Quatre didn’t know why Trowa had halted his caresses, but he hoped to seize the opportunity to slide under the covers and shield his leg. He wanted to make love with Trowa, but he just couldn’t with his knee so exposed. He felt too vulnerable, too monstrous next to the ex-soldier’s masculine perfection. Besides, he reasoned, If he slipped in, then maybe Trowa would follow and he wanted so badly to touch all that smooth tanned skin. Perhaps now was his chance.

Quatre cracked one eye open and then the other and found emerald eyes staring right at him. When large thumbs circled his knee and gently caressed the puffy scars on either side, Quatre gasped and turned away, helpless tears smarting behind his eyelids. “Please! Don’t … don’t … touch … it.”

Trowa leaned forward, capturing the salty moisture with his lips. He searched Quatre’s expression with, dark concerned eyes. “What is wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Quatre inhaled shakily. His voice was soft. “Yes … but not in the way you mean.” His mouth turned downwards. “I … it’s too ugly,” he finished, burying his face in his hands.

“No.”

Quatre looked up at the quiet utterance. “What?”

Trowa caressed his cheek. “I said no.” His thumbs followed the wet tracks of Quatre’s tears. “Nothing about you is ugly. And this—” he bent, kissing a puckered scar with love, “this is part of you as well.” Trowa groaned, his hair tickling Quatre’s knee as he bent to suckle the serrated flesh with infinite gentleness. “Beautiful, so beautiful. Too beautiful for a soldier’s hands.”

Quatre shook his head sadly and placed a finger against Trowa’s lips. “Shhh.” He pressed his lips against the brunette’s in a fierce, unschooled kiss. “Let’s not speak of it,” he whispered, tugging Trowa up from his knees and onto the bed beside him. “Not tonight. I want you, but I don’t know how.” Quatre looked into Trowa’s lush irises. “Show me,” he whispered.

Trowa’s throat constricted with emotion at the intimate request, at Quatre’s sweet, abundant passion. He had no defenses against it, nor any desire to build any. Trowa nodded, lifting Quatre and laying him against the pillows. When he cupped Quatre’s cheeks between his palms and began lowering his head to capture his soft lips, Quatre’s eyes automatically fluttered closed and he tilted his face upwards, leaning to toward Trowa like a flower in warm sunlight.

Trowa nibbled at the lush downturn of Quatre’s mouth and the rosebud unfurled, granting him entrance before he even sought to ask it. The taste of Quatre was intoxicating—softness and heat and an elusive hint of spice that tantalized Trowa almost beyond bearing. He licked at the wet insides of Quatre’s cheeks, the slickness beneath his bottom lip … questing for that exquisite flavor, and small hands gripped his shoulders tightly, a soft moan bubbling from Quatre’s throat.

Trowa groaned, pulling Quatre’s precious warmth closer, wanting to draw forth more of those sweet sounds. He devoured him, kissing him tenderly and thoroughly until the gentle blond was crying out and shifting restlessly against Trowa. Trowa pulled away, leaving Quatre trembling, his pale skin damp and sweetly flushed. His generous passion awed Trowa, humbled him. That Quatre would surrender himself so unquestioningly—Trowa nibbled at the soft lobe of Quatre’s ear and Quatre arched, panting—so hotly, took his breath away. His hands smoothed down the length of Quatre’s arms, massaging his shoulders and stopping only when his fingers were entwined with Quatre’s . Bringing their hands to his lips, Trowa brushed a kiss over their knuckles. Quatre smiled and the sadness hovering in his eyes tugged painfully at Trowa’s chest, reminding him how fleeting these moments were.

Trowa released Quatre, brushing the mussed golden strands away from Quatre’s forehead. His fingers traced the arch of a pale cheekbone and Quatre followed the caress, leaning into it until he was nestled against Trowa’s palm. Trowa groaned, and he bent, trembling with restrained passion as he captured Quatre’s lips once more. His hands slid beneath Quatre’s back, holding him arched as Quatre simply melted into the kiss, pale limbs turning to honey. When Trowa pulled away the delicate beauty’s lips were parted, flushed, and swollen from Trowa’s attentions. Quatre was staring up at him with dazed, passion-dilated eyes, pale irises almost completely eclipsed by the dark bloom of his pupils. Another groan spilled from Trowa’s throat.

“Let me undress you,” he pleaded hoarsely.

The words were barely uttered before Quatre was nodding, granting him what he sought without preamble or protest. Trowa shuddered, filled with some sorrowful emotion that threatened to overcome him. He brushed another kiss across Quatre’s lips and lifted him into a sitting position. Tugging on the soft material, he eased him out of the vest.

Quatre was perfect: smooth and petite, yet lightly muscled. His arms were strong and graceful, his chest narrow and sweetly defined, the milky expanse interrupted only by two delicate and rosily pouting nipples.

And never had two nipples so fascinated Trowa or looked so delicious. He stared, entranced at the dusky circles and their tiny rigid peaks. Quatre prickled with heat; the avid, heavy look in Trowa’s eyes stealing his breath away. He glanced down, following the direction of the older man’s gaze.

“What is it?” he gasped.

“These,” Trowa murmured, voice almost guttural with arousal. He leaned forward and circled one tender nubbin and then the other with his fingertip, causing Quatre to gasp and shiver as sensation shot through him.

“Tr—Trowa,” he moaned, shivering again as calloused fingers began to rub slowly at the sensitive buds. Quatre groaned, arching his back, desperately trying to press himself into Trowa’s palm, crying out sharply when the hands were removed and suddenly replaced with a hot mouth. Trowa nursed at him, suckling at one nipple and then its partner until Quatre was whimpering and mewling, tugging frantically at Trowa’s hair.

Quatre didn’t even notice when the hot mouth trailed downward, suckling and gently nipping, tracing patterns between the valley of his ribs and the soft flesh of his stomach, leaving a trail of love-bites on th pale, tender skin. Trowa’s tongue darted into the indent of Quatre’s belly button and Quatre arched, squirming deliciously at the ticklish sensation. Trowa came to the barrier of the younger man’s boxers and he paused, kneading Quatre’s waist before pulling back and hooking his fingers in the material.

Quatre’s erection nuzzled the soft cotton, tenting it, the moisture at tip wetting the thin cloth and rendering it almost transparent to Trowa’s gaze. To Quatre’s embarrassment, Trowa’s knowing fingers immediately found it, spreading the erotic slickness and sending pleasure wracking through his frame. Trowa tugged at the waistline of the boxers, inching it downwards until only that hot tip was revealed, peeking erotically above elastic. He stared hungrily at the erotic picture and Quatre groaned, turning his reddened face into the pillow.

The innocent shyness tugged at Trowa’s heartstrings and he eased the garment off, caressing a pale hip. His hand turned, finding the soft nest of golden curls above Quatre’s sex and Quatre tensed and shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut.

When Trowa began to stroke him, Quatre whimpered and hips lifted sweetly off the bed. Trowa increased the firmness of his strokes and his own flesh ached as he watched Quatre’s flush deepen. The blond’s head thrashed on the pillow and his thighs instinctively fell open as he thrust into Trowa’s grasp, wantonly exposing himself to his Trowa’s hungry gaze. When hot wetness of the Trowa’s mouth enveloped Quatre’s hardness, a long, low moan erupted from him. Quatre’s eyes flew open and he climaxed abruptly, his hot essence spilling against Trowa’sthroat.

Brushing back the sweaty bangs from Quatre’s forehead, Trowa kissed him, murmuring tender endearments against his panting lips as he reached for the bottle of lotion on the dresser beside the bed. Gently, he spread Quatre’s thighs and suckled at the soft inner flesh, worshipping the sensitive skin with tongue and fingers until once more, Quatre began to move restlessly against him.

Quatre froze when a slick finger probed delicately at his entrance, circling the tiny pucker then dipping past the tight ring of muscle.

“Relax, Petit,” Trowa murmured, his voice low and mesmerizing. “I would never hurt you — never” he repeated fiercely as his finger withdrew, then returned, probing more deeply. Trowa moaned as he slid in past the first knuckle, Quatre’s tightness surrounding him in a loving vise.

The invasion rioted along Quatre’s nerves and he cried out, shuddering as he hovered on the precipice of pain and pleasure. Tears sparkled on his lashes and Trowa began a gentle, soothing stroking. Not pressing any deeper, but thrusting shallowly, loosening the tight seal of muscle. He only wanted bring this beautiful creature pleasure. Not pain, he vowed desperately. Never pain.

This time when a slender digit slid all the way in, it was Quatre who moaned. His hips pressed sensuously against Trowa’s palm, the soft cheeks of his buttocks clenching around the invading digit.

Trowa pressed into smooth heat, searching for the bump of Quatre’s prostate. He stroked it once, and Quatre’s hips bucked wildly as husky cries bubbled from his throat. His fingers clenched in the sheets.

“Trowa,” he groaned, “please!”

Quatre almost sobbed in frustration when he felt Trowa pulling away, but Trowa returned, doubling the pleasure, two fingers unerringly stroking that place inside him. The intensity of it rocked the tiny blond and he could only emit an incoherent stream of moans and whimpers as Trowa took him to heights he had never known existed.

Quatre’s scorching sensuality, his passionate cries and his intimate heat spilling over Trowa’s palm ravished the last of his control. He needed Quatre, needed him more than anything he had in his life. To be gifted with such beauty, such passion….

Emotion burned in Trowa’s chest. His hands were trembling as he lubricated his shaft. Mindful of Quatre’s knee, Trowa spooned behind the small blond, pulling him close. He lifted Quatre’s other leg across his hip, opening him. His hands sought the warm crevice, teasing the unfurled bud between the parted cheeks before carefully pressing inwards.

Quatre cried out sharply as Trowa’s length inexorably pushed in, dragging along sensitive inner tissues. He trembled, panting heavily as he struggled to adjust.

Quatre’s heat surrounded Trowa, the clenching of the inner muscles as the blond tried to adjust to holding Trowa within his body almost destroying the older man’s restraint. He kissed the nape of Quatre’s neck and his hands roamed the lithe body, tweaking a nipple then sliding between slim thighs, cradling the softness of Quatre’s testicles and stroking the flagging erection. When Quatre gasped and began to push against him, a guttural groan bubbled from Trowa’s throat as the last of his control unraveled. He began thrusting in a slow, deep rhythm, nudging his lover’s prostate with each rough stroke.

And Quatre welcomed him, took all of him, moved with him, his tiny cries of pleasure echoing in Trowa’s ears, and mingling with the ex-soldier’s own sounds of passion. The sight of Quatre, the feel of him … the heady musk of his passion … Trowa savored it all, locking it away in that chamber of his heart he never thought to feel anything in again. When they shattered together it was deep and beautiful and desperate, fueled by all that was left unsaid between them.

Trowa pulled Quatre onto his chest, showering his face with fierce frantic kisses. And small hands caressed him, lips answering with equal fervor as Quatre pressed desperately into Trowa’s arms.

They made love many times, that night and in the gray hours before dawn and when all had been given and taken, Trowa buried his face in the crook of Quatre’s neck and wept like a child. Wept for all that he was and all that he was not and for the man who had shared his fire with him and tried to ease the darkness in his soul. Quatre held him close and comforted him. Wiped away the rain of hot tears with small, pale fingers.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” he cooed soothingly, his own voice cracking with unexpressed emotion. His hands trailed caressingly down Trowa’s back, kneading the supple muscles on either side of his spine. Tremblingly he captured the other man’s lips.

“Don’t cry, sweet soldier,” Quatre repeated softly. “It’s not morning yet.”

End