Table of contents for Leather Violins and James Dean

1. Chapter One
2. 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

Table of contents for Leather Violins and James Dean

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two

Leather, Violins and James Dean
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

“Thanks Heero,” Quatre smiled brightly at the man behind the counter. The aproned store owner grunted and nodded towards the long-haired youth lounging against some unpacked crates of Coca Cola.

“Maxwell,” Heero called sternly, “help Mr. Winner with his bags.”

“Awww man, Heero,” Duo jumped off the stack, his braid swinging behind him. “I’ll never finish the inventory at this rate,” he grumbled, approaching the counter and resting against it in a dramatic pose of weariness. His eyes, a brilliant violet, twinkled with mischief as he regarded the older man.

Heero glared. “Perhaps if you spent less time lolly-gagging and more time working, you would have completed the inventory already.” He shoved a particularly heavy paper-bag into Duo’s arms. “Now go.” Heero’s dark brows lowered and his voice held a definite threatening note.

“Oof!” Duo grunted as he balanced the bag in his arms. “Sheesh,” he said turning to Quatre with a smile. “He sure is Mr. Sunshine huh?” Duo joked, sticking his tongue out at Heero.

Quatre shook his head and laughed, by now well accustomed to the two men’s antics. It was one of the reasons he loved coming to Yuy and Maxwell’s. The prices were better than Harold’s grocery’s down the street, and the two storeowners never failed to entertain. He had heard the rumors about the two men: that they were deviants, freaks, men who shared an “unnatural” love for each other. He had felt the hostility — veiled and otherwise — directed at them and himself by association, but Quatre refused to curb his visits to the store. He did not believe in discrimination of any kind, and he gave no credence to rumors or bigotry.

Besides, how could he hate men with his own inclinations?

Quatre sighed and pulled one of the bags off the counter. Noting that Duo was already overburdened with the heavier of the two, he tried carrying the other bag but immediately released it when his knee protested. He bit his lip as the pain shot through him. Sweat dotted his brow as he rested against the counter. Quatre sat heavily on one of the stools, his vision wavering and blurring for a moment. Immediately Heero and Duo were at his side.

“Hey, Q,” Duo asked, “you okay?” He looked from Heero, to Quatre’s pale, sweating brow, with worried eyes.

Heero’s face hovered before Quatre’s. “What is it?” he asked gruffly. “Are you alright?”

Quatre managed a weak smile. “I’m fine — really,” he panted. “It’s just my knee,” he explained hurriedly. “I should have known better than to try to carry something so heavy,” he breathed, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as the painful throb began to subside.

“Hn,” Heero kneeled in front of Quatre’s khaki-clad legs. His strong hand pressed up his right calf, as he tested for injuries, moving upwards until his fingers touched the heavy metal brace hidden under the soft material.

Quatre’s eyes widened, and he made a soft, choked sound. His hands covered Heero’s. “Don’t,” he whispered. His gaze lowered and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment and discomfort. “Please … it’s fine, really,” he murmured, refusing to meet the other’s eyes as his hands desperately tried to push Heero’s hand away from his deformity. “Just … just a little sprain.”

Heero frowned but said nothing, as he released Quatre’s knee. Duo frowned as well, looking to Heero with a question in his eyes. The dark-haired man shook his head once, slowly and Duo nodded in understanding. He ruffled Quatre’s hair. “Think you can make it home ok Q?”

“Yes.” Quatre nodded determinedly. He stood and reached once more for the bag.

“Ah, that’s ok man. I’ll take care of it.” Putting on his most good-natured grin, Duo darted forward and snatched it from him. “Two trips down the street ain’t gonna kill me ya know. Besides,” he patted his flat belly, “I need it: Been going a little too heavy on those sloppy joes of Heero’s lately,” he added with a wink.

Quatre pierced Duo with a look that plainly said that he was not fooled by his act. “I am fine,” he insisted, “and,” he added when Duo began to protest, “there is no need for you to make two trips when I am perfectly capable of carrying this bag. Plus, you have that inventory to do,” Quatre reminded his friend.

“I’ll do the inventory,” Heero quietly cut in. “Listen to Duo. You need some rest.”

Quatre let out an exasperated sigh. “The two of you are being ridiculous! I….”

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the chiming of the bell as a customer walked in. They all turned in the direction of the silvery tinkle, to find a tall stranger looking calmly about the store.

Wearing dusty jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket, the tall man reminded Quatre of that actor, James Dean, whom he secretly had a crush on, and his cheeks flushed again. This time, for a different reason altogether as the stranger’s singly visible green eye locked with his.

His hair was all wrong, of course. In that strange hairstyle with the fall of bangs that completely concealed one emerald orb, it was nothing at all like the superstar’s wavy blonde coif. And there was that too … the eye color and the different build….

Nothing was blatant, or brashly sexual about this man. He was slim, compact and subtle, moving with the controlled grace of a panther, but the air of quiet negligence, that was the same. There was an intensity hidden beneath the indifferent exterior. It burned in his brilliant eyes and in the way nothing escaped his notice as he wordlessly grabbed a bottle of soda and set it on the counter. He looked from one man to the other as Heero rang up his purchase and his gaze finally rested on Quatre. It traveled from Quatre’s head to the tips of his sensible shoes and back up again, and Quatre suddenly felt very hot; the cotton shirt he wore stiff and confining. He ducked his head, feeling the blush suffuse his neck and face as he tried to think of anything other than the enigmatic man staring unapologetically at him.

That thought steeled Quatre a little, allowing him to dredge up a little indignation amidst his discomfort. Why should he be made to feel uncomfortable? The man had no right to waltz in and ogle him in such a rude manner. He knew he was small for his 21 years and almost childish-looking to boot, and of course, there was his limp, but he couldn’t help that he looked odd. He would never have Duo’s shocking beauty or Heero’s rough masculinity, but that was still no reason to single him out like some attraction in a sideshow.

Bravely, Quatre raised his head and met the stranger’s gaze. He was shocked to find that lonely green eye dancing with hidden amusement and some other volatile emotion that made his stomach flutter dangerously. He swallowed convulsively and an actual smile teased the edges of the man’s full lips.

“Hello Petite,” he greeted quietly in a deep, whiskey-smooth voice that rumbled across Quatre’s nerves like thunder.

If possible, Quatre felt his face grow even hotter. Duo snickered behind the interloper and out of the corner of his eye Quatre could see Heero raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“I … ah—ahem,” Quatre stammered, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Hi,” he said quickly. He looked past the man’s broad shoulder to Duo, who was grinning in total enjoyment of the situation. “Ah Duo, I … I … think I’m ready to go home now.”

“Sure Q-man,” Duo sang as he hefted a bag against his hip.

“Thanks,” Quatre murmured, smiling weakly. “I’ll just get this one.” He cast a weary eye on the bag that was right next to the green-eyed man. Quatre inched closer, feeling very uncomfortable under the stranger’s gaze and unbelievably self-conscious as his right leg dragged against the wooden floor. He wished desperately that he had brought his cane. Quatre reached for the bag, but the tall man snatched it away, balancing it effortlessly in one hand as he took a swig out of his soft drink with the other.

“Please,” he said solemnly, eyes locking with Quatre’s, “allow me.”

Duo’s guffaw was cut short by a hollow thump that sounded suspiciously like a reprimanding slap being delivered to the fun-loving man’s back. He masked it with a cough as he shot a glare in Heero’s general direction. Quatre looked desperately over at the two men for help, but they were engaged in their own silent warfare, each glaring daggers at the other. He sighed and nodded resignedly at the tall stranger, “Sure … let’s go.”

———————————

Duo whistled appreciatively as he eyed the gleaming Harley Davidson parked at the curb. And from the small crowd of girls in fluffy poodle skirts gathered on the other side of the road, it appeared he wasn’t the only one who thought it was special. Duo circled the sleek machine, admiring its leather and chrome finish. “Wow,” he breathed, “she’s a real beauty.” He turned to the tall man standing next to Quatre. “Is this baby yours?”

The quiet man nodded, then paused thoughtfully. ‘Would you like to take her for a spin?” he asked unexpectedly, eyes fixed with little concealed interest on Quatre at his side.

Quatre’s eyes widened and he willed his friend to say no as Duo bit his lip in consideration. “Aww,” he looked wistfully at the vehicle. “I don’t think I could. I’ve gotta help Q with these and then it’s right back to work for me,” Duo explained sadly, and Quatre breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the offer though,” Duo added with a smile.

The man shrugged and they continued to Quatre’s house in silence, but Quatre could feel the stranger’s eyes on him all the way there.

When they were standing on the porch Quatre slid the key into the lock with shaking fingers and pushed the door open. He ushered the two men inside, telling them to rest the bags on the kitchen table as he moved to open the windows. He could see the tall brunette quietly observing the room, from its neat flower-boxes on the windowsills, to the pretty wallpaper, but more often than not his attention was fixed on Quatre as he moved about the room. Quatre nervously wrung his hands, not knowing what to make of the man’s strange intensity. Trying to appear calm, he turned to the other two with a smile.

“Thank you so much for your help, guys.”

“No problem Blondie,” Duo mumbled enthusiastically around the cookies he had snatched from the jar on the table. “It was my pleasure.” He munched for a moment longer then stretched. “Well, sorry to say, I gotta run,” he announced as he moved towards the door. “Heero’ll have my hide if I’m late again,” he added with a wink. “I’ll see you later Quatre.”

Duo paused, noticing that the other man had yet to budge. “You coming green-eyes?” he called cheerfully, but there was a note of steel to his voice that made the easy question a command.

“No, I think I’ll stay,” the stranger said softly and just as firmly. He turned to Quatre. “That is, if our gentle host will allow me.”

Quatre’s lips parted, ready to insist that the traveler leave, but the man’s pleading eyes stopped him. There was no menace in those depths — only tenderness and an intense passion. He stared, unable to look away from the verdant irises.

Duo coughed and tapped his foot impatiently and Quatre flushed, tearing his gaze away.

“It’s okay Duo,” he called softly. “You go on ahead. I’ll be fine.”

Duo hesitated, then finally assented — but not before piercing the taller man with an assessing glare. Violet locked with emerald for long moments before Duo abruptly nodded and looked away as though satisfied by what he had found. He looked once more over his shoulder at Quatre. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he insisted, looking at his friend.

Quatre nodded and smiled. “I promise.”

Duo gave him a thumbs-up and tossed him a cheeky grin as he turned, long braid swishing behind him as he jogged lightly down the stairs and disappeared around the bend.

Silence stretched between the two men, and desperate for something to do, Quatre shuffled over to the table and began to unpack the groceries. He was seriously beginning to reconsider his decision. Perhaps he should have heeded Duo instead. These were hardly safe times, and inviting intense strangers into one’s home was not wise — no matter how magnetic their eyes were — and he hated to admit it, but with his knee, he was less than capable of defending himself from any kind of physical attack. Especially from a man over six foot and easily twice his weight.

Perhaps sensing his discomfort and wariness, the man moved to stand next to Quatre. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you,” he said quietly. “I am usually neither so forward nor rude.” He extended a long-fingered hand to a surprised Quatre. “My name is Trowa Barton.”

Quatre peered at his companion over the rim of his coffee mug. “So, Mr. Barton—” he extended the sugar bowl to the other man, who politely declined. “What brings you our side of town?”

Trowa leaned forward on his elbows. “I spent three years in the service,” he revealed in that deep mesmerizing voice of his. “After the war, I had no family to return to — no obligations to anyone other than myself. In many ways it was a blessing,” Trowa mused. “When a boy leaves home on the cusp of manhood and spends three years being a killing machine, how can he ever be the same person to those who love him afterwards when his hands are so stained with blood?”

Trowa’s eyes flashed with some hidden emotion. “I have always been rootless — an outsider. As a boy I spent time with a moving circus,” he explained. “It was the closest thing I had to a family,” he added quietly. ” So last year I decided to take up the travel again. I’ve been on the road for six months now, trying to find something of the nation I once believed in.” Trowa’s expression became hard for a fleeting instant. “Besides, it’s hard to have nightmares after spending a day on the back of a motorcycle.”

Quatre was at a loss for words. He had experienced the war as most people had: struggling daily in their homes and not on the frontlines of the battle. His knee had prevented any chance of him being drafted when men his age were leaving their families to fight an enemy on foreign soil. So what could he say to this veteran whose experience denied all his optimism? Could any words be sufficient?

“I’m sorry,” he murmured futilely and Trowa shook his head.

“Don’t be. None of us can change our pasts but when I walked into that store and saw you….” He looked deeply into Quatre’s eyes. ” You shone amidst the others like a candle in the darkness. How could a moth like me but be drawn to your flame?” Trowa asked passionately. “I had to talk to you.”

Quatre shook his head , disturbed and saddened by Trowa’s somber words. “You are wrong,” he said fiercely. “None of us deserves darkness.” He pushed away from the table, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I have no desire to be the kind of light that destroys,” he said sadly, inexplicably drawn to this man that made his heart ache. He turned on the faucet and began to wash the dishes as tears clouded his vision. Quatre heard the scrape of the chair against the tiles and suddenly Trowa was behind him.

The older man reached over, shutting off the water and pulling a startled Quatre into his arms.

Automatically, Quatre tried to shuffle backwards. His leg banged awkwardly against the cupboards and Quatre closed his eyes, grimacing at his clumsiness. He looked up with wide eyes at Trowa and bit his lip. “Um, I think I better find my cane,” he trailed off, caught in the glare of the other man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Trowa murmured as he entwined his fingers with Quatre’s smaller ones. “The last thing I want to do is upset you. You are far too special … too pure. I’m almost afraid to touch you,” he whispered sorrowfully,”but oh how I want to taste of your sweetness,” Trowa confessed, his voice equal parts regret and desire. “You make me want to believe again.”

Quatre shoved away from the older man, moving with surprising speed towards the living room as Trowa trailed confusedly behind him. Quatre whirled to face him, uncaring of the pain it cost him. “I may be inexperienced,” he ground out carefully, “but I am hardly naïve. And I refused to be treated like some fragile china doll. We are of an age, and we are both men. I will not be pitied or put on some ridiculous pedestal,” he finished breathlessly, flushed from his tirade.

Trowa stared at the suddenly fiery creature before him and finally had the grace to look sheepish. “Forgive me,” he murmured, “I….” At a loss for words, he spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

Quatre maneuvered over to the couch and sank onto it with a sigh. He rubbed at his eyes. “No,” he said softly, to the older man. “It is I who should apologize. You didn’t deserve that.” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair as Trowa sat next to him. “It’s just that I’m so tired of being so small — so lonely — so innocent, and … and for a moment, I thought….” Quatre looked away. “I … I hoped that you could teach me,” he whispered, as a furious blush climbed his cheeks. “I am drawn to you as well,” he admitted, “but I can’t be your Savior or your Angel,” he said sadly.

Quatre stared at his hands, afraid to see the expression on the other man’s face. Already he regretted his impulsive words. When he felt Trowa rise from the couch, he found himself rapidly blinking back tears. He wiped roughly at his eyes, furious at himself for becoming so attached to a man he knew nothing about.

So much for proving yourself a man, Quatre. It was no wonder that nobody wanted anything but a platonic relationship with a him. It was bad enough that he was scrawny and deformed — but to be bawling like a baby at the slightest provocation was simply pathetic. Shamefully, he buried his face in his hands.

The first strains of music reaching Quatre’s ears shocked him — but not more so than the silent figure standing before him and radiating an intensity that he could not deny.

Trowa reached out his hand, and wordlessly Quatre took it, allowing the man to pull him to his feet and into his strong arms as the gramophone spilled rich, poignant notes. Quatre had listened to the record many times before, and yet never had the violin seemed so sweet — or so sorrowful as it did now. He pressed his ear against the sure beat of older man’s heart, and Trowa’s arms tightened, half-carrying, half-swinging Quatre as they danced awkwardly around the room. Not so much to the music, but to a bittersweet rhythm they found in each other’s arms.

—————————-

Trowa stopped. Cupping Quatre’s face in his hands, he focused every energy on emblazoning onto his memory the curve of soft white cheeks, the splash of marine hidden behind tawny lashes and the soft, trembling lips he would never see again. His chest ached with need and regret as he bent, brushing his lips, once, twice over the enticing pout, suckling tenderly on the firm flesh; tugging gently, savoring the way the tiny blonde gasped and shivered in his arms. When he eased his tongue inside, mating it gently with Quatre’s, the pale beauty’s eyes fell closed, small hands fisting in Trowa’s shirt as a surprised moan escaped him.

Trowa nibbled desperately at Quatre’s lips for a moment, and then abruptly he pulled away. His forehead pressed against Quatre’s, and their breath fanned against each other’s in hot, labored pants.

“No promises,” he breathed desperately. “No promises.”

Quatre’s lashes lowered, shielding the pain in his eyes. His smile was beautiful and heartbreaking as he took Trowa by the hand and led him carefully to his bedroom. Looking into his eyes, he placed a burning kiss in the center of Trowa’s palm.

“No promises,” he agreed softly. He tugged Trowa’s head down to meet his own, and placed a tentative kiss against the his lips. “No promises,” he repeated fiercely. “Just this.”

Table of contents for When It Rains

1. When It Rains, Chapter One
2. When It Rains, Chapter Two
3. 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

Table of contents for When It Rains

1. When It Rains, Chapter One
2. When It Rains, Chapter Two
3. Arabian Nights

When It Rains
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

Quatre sat comfortably swathed in the soft folds of the blanket … and in the savory aroma of spices. The small blond chatted animatedly while he ate, one hand holding the edges of the blanket together; in the other he deftly wielded the silver fork, savoring the rich flavor of the meal.

“Mmm, Tro, this is absolutely delicious.” He sipped the darkly gleaming wine in his glass, admiring the vivid color. “Et le vin…” Quatre’s eyes closed, “Wonderful…”

“Hmm? Ah thank you, Little One.”

Trowa could have been eating sawdust for all he cared. He was much more distracted by Quatre’s bare shoulder, exposed through the parted folds of the blanket. When Trowa taken the sodden bundle of clothes from the gentle blond, he had been unable to ignore the pair of silky blue boxers topping the pile. The knowledge that Quatre was gloriously naked beneath the flimsy barrier of cloth was a teasing, tantalizing torture. Trowa had done nothing throughout the meal but imagine in agonizing detail just what treasures lay beneath that blanket.

Trowa watched as Quatre brought another forkful to his lips, his gaze fixed on the sensuous bow of the Arabian’s mouth and the crushed berries of his lips. Quatre seemed even more beautiful in the soft light of the dining room. His cheeks were flushed, and his damp hair, curling slightly at the ends, was a shining cap in the amber glow of the lamplight. Trowa wanted to taste every shade of creamy vanilla, soft rose and gold that was Quatre—and then come back for more.

Mentally, Trowa groaned. His thoughts were having a rather pronounced effect on the fit of his jeans, and discreetly he rearranged himself. Trowa thought of the long night ahead of him and sighed. This really would not do. He had to stop this ridiculous self-torture or he’d be up all night—literally as well as figuratively.

Quatre glanced over at Trowa, who had been withdrawn and somewhat distracted throughout the meal. Was something wrong? No … it didn’t seem so. Usually he could sense if Trowa was troubled, and he sensed nothing of the sort. Perhaps Trowa just had a lot on his mind. Quatre had been distracted himself throughout the meal. Trowa’s green eyes sparkled in the light, and the rich autumn tones of his silky auburn hair seemed to beckon his caress.

As always, Quatre was mesmerized by the perfection of sinew and limb. Every action Trowa executed was with the precise graceful movements of a cat, at times deceptively lazy, but always sensual. Tonight, Trowa seemed to be radiating a strange energy that he could only describe as … heat. It was like being caressed by a single delicious flame—pleasurable, in and of itself, but only hinting at the true intensity of the fire.

Quatre thought perhaps he had had too much wine to drink. He didn’t drink often, and he did feel a tad lightheaded. It was no doubt the cause of these unusual feelings. All things considered, he was quite grateful for the voluminous folds of the blanket, which successfully hid his arousal. Quatre could only imagine the embarrassment of rising from the table with a raging hardon. It was definitely not something he wanted to experience first hand.

The meal being finished, Trowa contemplated his options. He could leave the table now and reveal to Quatre just how much he’d been enjoying his company, or he could wait for the blond to leave and hopefully he’d regain some measure of control over his body before he joined Quatre in the bedroom. But how to explain to his love that he wanted to remain seated at the table when it was obvious there was no reason for doing so? No, that wouldn’t work. He’d have to think of something else. Hmm, that empty salad bowl was quite large. Placed strategically…

“Trowa, why don’t we spend the rest of the evening reading together … or we could just relax and listen to music?”

“That sounds lovely, Little One. Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll be right behind you.”

Quatre beamed. He moved to rise from the table, carefully clutching the blanket. He was already pushing in his chair when he stopped.

“Oh, but the dishes,” he said his tone full of chagrin, “I should help. You prepared such a wonderful meal and I here I’ve done nothing but lounge around for the whole day. You go on, I’ll stay behind to do the washing up.”

“Ah, that’s really not necessary, love. I’ll do the dishes. Besides how would you manage, with one hand holding up the blanket?”

Quatre looked down at the soft material clutched in his palm.

“Oh yes,” he said, a faint blush mounting his cheeks. “I had forgotten. Well, I’ll go shower while you’re cleaning up in here.”

Trowa rose from the table as Quatre left the room. He moved around the table, stacking the dirty dishes. Placing them in the sink, he turned on the hot water and began washing. He hoped the mundane activity would help keep his mind off Quatre. He could hear the hum of the water as the blond showered, and Trowa tried his damnedest not to imagine a naked Quatre, skin slick from the water. Instead, he focused on the swirls of soap disappearing down the drain. His frustration, he unleashed on the hapless kitchenware. Reaching for a thoroughly caked pan, he set to scrubbing vigorously.

————————————

Quatre stepped out of the shower and reached for one of the towels hanging on the nearby rack. Drying off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and padded into the bedroom. The air felt delightfully cool against his bare flesh as he rummaged through his clothes in search of a pair of pajamas. Finding the silky garment, he unwrapped the towel and discarded it on the bed. He shrugged into the pajama top, glancing down at his unruly flesh with a grimace. Not even the cold shower had been enough to completely ease his erection. He eyed the pajama bottoms. Perhaps he should reconsider silk, in favor of something less …revealing. Quatre walked over to the dresser. He was sure he had a pair of sweatpants in there somewhere.…

Trowa untied the apron at his waist and dropped it into the laundry hamper on his way out of the kitchen. His arousal remained a dull ache in his loins, and while not completely abated, he felt he could now face Quatre without causing undue embarrassment to them both. To his surprise, though, Quatre was not reading on the couch as expected. Trowa had heard the water shut off some minutes ago and had assumed that the blond was already dressed and comfortably curled up with a book. Admittedly, Trowa had taken longer than he expected in the kitchen. Perhaps Quatre had decided to wait for him in the bedroom. After all, Quatre had merely suggested an evening together; it was Trowa who’d assumed that they’d remain in the den.

Trowa walked to the bedroom, pushing open the door, which was already slightly ajar. He entered, an apology for keeping his love waiting, ready on his lips.

“Little One I…” Trowa’s words faded to nothingness as he was confronted by the sight of Quatre, clad only in the indigo pajama top, rummaging through the dresser drawers. The blond looked up, horrified at the sound of the taller man’s voice.

“Tr…Trowa!” he squeaked, blushing and stammering as he frantically grabbed the first item of clothing his hand landed upon, thinking to use it to shield himself. Dismally he discovered it was a sock which dangled from his fingers. Quatre could feel his cheeks flame even brighter crimson as he used his hands to cover his nudity as best he could.

This definitely was not his day.

Closing the door softly behind him, Trowa walked up to Quatre, who seemed rooted to the spot, cheeks scarlet as he tried to shield himself. Looking into the blond’s wide eyes, Trowa gently pulled Quatre’s hands away, holding them lightly at his sides.

“Don’t hide,” he said softly, voice husky with desire. “I’ve been dying to see you like this all evening.” Slowly, Trowa released Quatre’s wrists.

Quatre was torn between embarrassment at being exposed to Trowa’s gaze and the desire that surged through him at the sound of his love’s desire-darkened voice, and the hungry caress of his eyes. Quatre’s hands remained at his sides, trembling slightly as he fought the conflicting emotions.

Trowa’s eyes feasted on the sight before him. The smaller pilot was slender and sleekly muscled, and his fair skin gleamed like a pearl under the soft lights. His gaze fell to the golden curls at Quatre’s groin, where he discovered that he had not been alone in his desire. Quatre’s hardened length, jutted proudly before him, moisture beading at its tip. Slowly, irresistibly, Trowa dragged his thumb over the sensitive head, causing Quatre to jerk forward, crying out in shock as pleasure arced through him.

“Beautiful,” Trowa murmured, capturing Quatre’s soft lips in a gentle kiss. Lightly, he nipped at the blond’s sensuous lower lip, running his tongue over the seam of Quatre’s closed lips, coaxing him to invite him into the honeyed softness of his mouth. Quatre eagerly parted his lips, his tongue tentatively mating with Trowa’s as his hands moved to clasp Trowa’s neck, drugged, by the unique taste of his lover. Quatre had never imagined that a kiss could be like this—sweet and burning and everything in between.

The tentative movements of Quatre’s mouth and body heated Trowa’s blood like nothing he had felt before. He savored the slide of silk over skin as he caressed Quatre’s back, and his hands gripped the blond’s hips, pulling him forward, until the hard proof of Quatre’s naked desire was pressed against Trowa’s belly. They both gasped at the contact, electricity seeming to spiral out from that point where their bodies met.

Reverently, Trowa lifted Quatre in his arms and placed him on the bed, his heart aching with the beauty of the boy beneath him—this beautiful angel who had saved his soul. Trowa stared into Quatre’s eyes, memorizing every detail of the blond’s face—the smooth forehead, the tawny wings of his eyebrows, the dusky crescents of his lashes as they fanned against his cheeks. He placed soft, butterfly kisses on each part his gaze fell over, savoring the feather-light caress of Quatre’s lashes against his lips. Trowa followed the line of the slender, slightly upturned nose down to the softly parted lips, tongue stealing inside once more to taste of Quatre’s sweetness.

Quatre clasped the back of Trowa’s neck, fingers caressing the hair at the sensitive nape. The tender kisses Trowa was showering upon him spoke of love and trust and a deep passion. Quatre’s heart ached with the beauty of the experience. This was all he had ever wanted, right here in his arms. His arms tightened around Trowa as he deepened the kiss, the movements of his body mirroring the message of his heart.

Trowa savored the answering thud of Quatre’s heartbeat against his own as the blond held him in his arms. He broke the kiss to mouth the tender flesh beneath Quatre’s ear, his lips moving upwards, sucking the tender lobe of Quatre’s ear into his mouth. Quatre, gasped at he sensation, fingers clenching in Trowa’s hair as Trowa continued his gentle seduction, trailing kisses along Quatre’s jaw, the pale column of his throat, and suckling gently at the hollow of his winged collarbones.

He teased the rosy nub of a nipple through the silky material of Quatre’s shirt, feeling the tiny bud stiffen beneath his touch. Taking the silky cloth between his fingers, Trowa stroked the cool material lightly and repeatedly over the tender flesh. Slowly, deliberately, he outlined each erect nub through the cloth with his tongue, delighting in the heat that bloomed beneath Quatre’s flesh, and the languid arching of the smaller man’s body as he was held on the prongs of desire by the whisper-light caresses.

Trowa removed the shirt from his love’s body, deliberately, brushing the sensitive nubbins as he did so and Quatre whimpered, shocked by the live wire of sensation that connected his nipples to his hardened length. The hot wet suction of Trowa’s mouth covered one turgid peak, tongue stabbing, and teeth raking the tiny nipple, while his hands tormented its partner, shaping the nubbin to rigidity.

By the time Trowa’s mouth strayed across to his other nipple, Quatre was shuddering, incoherent sounds of passion falling from his lips as he begged Trowa to end the torture, but there was sweeter territory yet to be discovered.

Trowa’s fingers tangled in Quatre’s soft golden nether curls, idly drawing circles through the gleaming thatch. The muscles of Quatre’s stomach tightened as Trowa placed soft kisses on the smooth flesh, burying his face in the nest of Quatre’s pubic hair and inhaling deeply of the boy’s musk. Embarrassed, Quatre tried to pull away, but Trowa’s hands held his hips firmly in place as his tongue traced the deep lines where muscular torso and thigh met.

His head dipped lower to Quatre’s distended length and the blond jerked, emitting a startled cry at the feel of Trowa’s tongue tracing the length of his violently sensitive flesh. Encouraged, Trowa placed an open-mouthed kiss at the plum-shaped tip of Quatre’s erection. At the burning center of the kiss, his tongue dipped into the sensitive slit. The tang of Quatre’s passion burst across Trowa’s lips as he delicately lapped at the tip, catching the single pearl that had escaped Quatre’s control. Making a guttural sound of pleasure, Trowa took the blond’s length in his mouth, slowly tracing the ridge of the vein on the underside of his hardness.

The first time Trowa had done this, he had thrown up afterwards, his bruised body curled into a fetal ball. He had never been able to perform the intimate oral act again.

Until now.

Trowa craved the Quatre’s taste, savored the feel of the silky smooth skin of his hips beneath his palms, the sounds he made in his passion… The tip of Quatre’s length butted gently against Trowa’s throat, and for a moment, the shadows threatened to overwhelm him, but he fought it, focusing on the taste and texture of his love’s desire. His mouth moved in a deliberately random rhythm over the turgid flesh, keeping the blond off balance and Quatre’s head moved back and forth on the pillow, body covered in sweat, breath coming in harsh, panting gasps. This… this was too much; too intense… he couldn’t… his fingers clenched in the sheets.

“Tr..Trowa … mon dieu!”

Trowa could feel the shudders wracking the Quatre’s body—knew that he was close. His hands cupped the soft spheres of Quatre’s testicles, lightly pressing and Quatre gave a throaty cry and spilled his seed into his lover’s awaiting mouth. Trowa suckled, savoring the taste of Quatre’s release and the knowledge that he had been able to bring him pleasure. His love lay flushed and panting beneath him and Trowa kissed him, following the salt of the tears drying on his cheeks to his swollen lips. Trowa had been wrong. This was no angel, but a beautiful, sensual man—deliciously exquisite and all his. The love Trowa felt at that moment was inexpressible. He lay down next to Quatre, pulling his slight form into his arms. His own neglected arousal throbbed painfully beneath the constriction of his jeans, but he was content to simply hold Quatre. There would be other times when his needs would be attended to.

Quatre reached up to place a soft kiss on Trowa’s lips, his mind still trying to assimilate the intense experience his body had just gone through. Feeling utterly sated and content, he snuggled into his lover’s arms … and felt the hard ridge of Trowa’s erection against his hip.

He wanted to give his love the same mind-bending pleasure that had just been given to him, needed to show Trowa how much he loved him after the older man’s seduction of his senses. Quatre’s hands deftly unbuttoned Trowa’s shirt, slipping inside to find his lover’s erect, rose-brown nipples. Tentatively, he mimicked the movements of Trowa’s hands on his body, teasing and pinching the sensitive flesh, then soothing the tortured nubbins with the soft movements of his mouth. Trowa’s hips thrust involuntarily off the bed, and he moaned at the unexpected caress.

Amazed that he could draw such sweet sounds of abandon from his normally stoic partner, Quatre repeated the heated movements of his hands and mouth. The fact that Trowa was vulnerable to his touch as well filled him with a heady sense of power. Quatre lowered his mouth to Trowa’s flesh, memorizing every contour and plane of the muscular torso. When he unbuttoned Trowa’s jeans and released his erection, pumping in a slow, hard rhythm, Trowa arched completely off the bed, his mouth open in a silent scream. The contrast of Quatre’s soft palm against his painfully sensitized flesh was almost too much for Trowa to bear. He was too violently aroused. It would take only a few more of those firm strokes to send him over the edge.

Quatre watched in fascination as Trowa struggled for control. His head was thrown back and his eyes were tightly shut as his hips snapped upwards to meet Quatre’s strokes. The heated column of flesh in Quatre’s hand pulsed and throbbed, the plum shaped head of Trowa’s erection deeply flushed, and bobbing in time to the movements of his palm. Avidly, Quatre watched the milky drops beading at the tip of his lover’s thick length. Experimentally, he gave a sharp rotation to his wrist, and Trowa suddenly and violently came, spilling his seed all over his stomach and Quatre’s hands. Quatre lifted his fingers, watching the pearlescent liquid. Trowa had tasted him.… He licked his fingers, marveling at the unique taste of Trowa’s passion.

Trowa, still shaken by orgasmic tremors, opened his eyes to the erotic sight of Quatre delicately lapping up his seed. He groaned, unable to tear his eyes away from the blond. At this rate, he would be aroused again in no time. Quatre was utterly absorbed in the sensual exploration and completely oblivious to his lover’s scrutiny. Trowa continued to watch as Quatre paused for a moment, as if undecided, then bending his head, the pink flame of his tongue stole out to trail through the splatterings on Trowa’s stomach.

“Quatre…” Trowa rasped, “stop.”

Quatre looked up, expression slightly dreamy.”Hmm?”

Trowa didn’t know whether to groan or to smile. He pulled the small blond into his arms, placing a kiss on the soft platinum strands on the Arabian’s forehead. Quatre came willingly into the embrace, returning Trowa’s kiss and sharing the taste of his passion with him. Trowa could feel Quatre’s semi-erect length against his own burgeoning arousal as they lay in the intimate embrace, but even as the blond’s slender thigh insinuated itself between his own, Quatre’s head buried deeper into Trowa’s shoulder and his eyelids drooped sleepily. His last words before he drifted off to sleep were barely audible, but Trowa heard them, and his heart blossomed as it always did at the sound of the three beautiful words that had changed his life:

“I love you.”

Outside, he could hear the rain falling softly again. The mournful sound of the wind as it rushed through the trees was nothing more than a love song to Trowa and he let the sound of the rushing water and the whispering wind lull him to sleep. He tightened his arms around Quatre, pulling the blanket over them both. He smiled to himself. When it rained it certainly poured.

End

Table of contents for When It Rains

1. When It Rains, Chapter One
2. When It Rains, Chapter Two
3. Arabian Nights

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

When it Rains
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

The air was crisp and sharp with the metallic scent of imminent rain. Blades of grass undulated, glinting silver-green under the mottled gray of the heavens, and the fey murmuring of the wind as it frolicked through the trees was punctuated by the ominous rumbling of the pregnant skies.

Inside, the kettle whistled as Trowa set about preparing the evening meal with quick efficient motions. Through the window, he watched the bobbing heads of the flowers Quatre had planted in the small garden on the side of the house. In the month since the war had ended, he and the gentle blond had moved in together. The modest house they’d bought on the outskirts of the city was away from the hustle and bustle of the commercial center, but close enough to allow Quatre to commute to his job on the construction site without difficulty. For his part, Trowa worked part-time for the Preventers as a reserve agent, calling in only when extra help was needed, or in times of emergency. He’d considered continuing his job as a full-time agent, but had decided against it. He found the calm predictability of domesticity reassuring, and after the cold artifice of L3, the quaint rusticity of the area was a balm to his troubled soul.

They’d created a home here, he and his love.

Home…

Even now, Trowa couldn’t quite believe it. He, who had no home, no name, for so long, now had a soft place to fall and a beautiful loving partner to come home to. These few weeks of quiet companionship, his love’s gentle spirit and sharp mind, and most of all, the love he saw in that limpid cerulean gaze were more than he could have ever hoped for. Trowa felt more whole than he had in a long time … could feel the shadows losing their grip with each passing day.

And yet, something was missing. Sex had been a very tentative area for them. His experiences in the past had been …less than pleasant, and he’d shied away from any displays of affection that went beyond hugs and kisses. Quatre had been so patient with him, unstinting in his affections and yet never asking more of him than he was able to give, even though Trowa knew the blond must yearn for more.

For so long the pain of his past had imprisoned him, but he was stronger now, and Trowa thought he was finally ready to share more with his love. His feelings towards the former pilot of the Sandrock were decidedly not platonic, and he was tired of chaste kisses and embraces through the innocuous barrier of clothing—the nights of sharing a bed, but not their bodies. Covertly, Trowa studied the gentle Arabian who lay on his stomach on the sofa, chin propped on his palms as he quietly read. Knees bent, the blond’s legs waved lazily in the air. Quatre’s lips were pursed and his brow furrowed in concentration. Occasionally a slender palm absently stroked the yellowing pages of the tome, caressing them lovingly before moving onto the next page.

Yes, Trowa was ready to share more with his angel. He knew Quatre was innocent, but it would be Trowa’s first time as well in so many ways. He could only hope that he’d be able to give Quatre at least a small measure of the joy Quatre had given him when the time came.

Trowa added a dash of paprika to the gently simmering stew, stirring for a moment before checking on the rolls baking in the oven. Satisfied that everything seemed to be going according to schedule, he poured some of Quatre’s favorite rosehip tea into a delicate china teacup, and moved to join him in the den.

“Little One, would you like some tea?”

Quatre looked up from his book at the softly spoken request. Trowa was standing before him, clasping a teacup of what smelled deliciously like his favorite tea. He gratefully accepted the proffered cup, his heart warmed by the simple gesture.

“Thanks Tro.”

Allah only knew what he’d done to deserve Trowa. Not that he was complaining—far from it. Quatre counted each day as a blessing. He’d known they shared a special connection from the first day they had met. When Quatre had surrendered that day on the battlefield, he had surrendered his heart as well. After the fiasco with Zero, which he still harbored so much guilt over, Quatre had feared that he’d lost his love forever. And yet, here they were, carving out a normal existence (well as normal an existence as ex-gundam pilots could), and most importantly, they were doing it together. He knew that Trowa sometimes worried that Quatre wasn’t satisfied with their relationship, despite his repeated reassurances of otherwise, but Quatre of all people understood demons, and the hold they could have, and he was content to take things slowly. Sex, was admittedly a very vague area for him, and for a long time he had worried that his inexperience would be a turn off for Trowa, and so, his love’s reticence had been somewhat of a relief to him.

Quatre studied the lithe, auburn-haired man over the rim of his teacup, marveling at how beautiful he was. How did Trowa manage to look so sexy in the simple butcher’s apron he’d folded in half and tied about his slender waist? Quatre’s gaze fell to the muscular forearms exposed beneath the sleeves rolled-up at Trowa’s elbows, and to those jeans, which were so tight as to defy logic. An involuntary sigh escaped his lips. Perhaps he was more ready for sex with Trowa than he thought.

When Quatre looked up again, he was horrified to find Trowa staring directly at him. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck and to his face as he tried to focus on anything other than that intense green gaze. His hands were shaking so badly as he brought the teacup to his lips that some of the tea sloshed onto his fingers. Thank Allah it hadn’t been too hot, or he’d have been howling in pain as well. Quatre chanced a peek at Trowa, just in time to see him rising from his seat and heading towards the kitchen.

“I think the stew’s just about done.” Trowa announced, chuckling to himself. His love was so cute.

Quatre watched Trowa’s broad back and lean hips as he retreated. Was that an amused twinkle he’d seen in Trowa’s eye?

“Hmm.” Another sigh escaped Quatre. But his love truly was a work of art…art!

“Oh no!”

He’d just remembered the pad and paints he’d left outside. It had been such a beautiful day earlier that Quatre had gone out with his watercolors to indulge in some much-neglected painting. The pale blue sky with its soft cotton-candy clouds had just been begging to be immortalized. Leaving the painting outside to dry, Quatre had become so absorbed in his book of philosophy that his mind had barely registered the change in the weather. Glancing warily at the storm-darkened clouds, he pelted out the door.

Bare feet slapping against the pebbled walkway, Quatre’s only warning was a final ominous rumble of the skies before the clouds released their burden and he was pelted with a thousand ice-cold needles. By the time he reached the abandoned materials he was already soaked to the skin, and the painting had been converted into a more … abstract piece. Deciding that the paints, which were now swimming in little multicolored pools, were a lost cause, Quatre grabbed the painting—or rather what remained of it—and dashed back to the house.

Trowa, who had seen the small blond suddenly tear outside, turned around just in time to see Quatre rush back into the house, slamming the door behind him, breathing heavily as he clutched the soggy book to his chest, and looking for all the world like a drowned kitten. Their eyes met, and a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle escaped Trowa’s lips. He cleared his throat and struggled to maintain a neutral expression, but it was impossible. The absurdity of the situation overcame them both and they dissolved into fits of laughter.

The laughter died on Trowa’s lips, however, when Quatre shrugged out of his vest, abandoning it on the floor with the ruined sketch pad. The cotton shirt was plastered to his body, its rosy hue rendering the garment virtually transparent. Quatre’s delicate nipples were clearly visible, puckered into tight little pebbles by the cold. Trowa mentally groaned. Those nights of sleeping next to the blond were nothing compared to this.

What he wouldn’t give to peel back that shirt and taste that sweet flesh. The rosy nubs would be delightfully cool at first, but they would rapidly warm beneath his lips. He would shape their heat upright until they were painfully erect, and his love was quivering and whimpering beneath the gentle ministrations. His gaze drifted downwards. Quatre’s normally conservative khaki slacks had undergone quite a transformation as well. The material was molded faithfully to every curve of slender hip, thigh and leg. Trowa groaned anew. He had no doubt that it was going to be a very long night.

“Wait here while I get some towels and a blanket.” Trowa’s voice was husky to his own ears and he prayed Quatre wouldn’t notice.

Quatre looked up, puzzled by the change in Trowa’s mood and the suddenly husky timbre of his voice, but Trowa had already disappeared in the direction of the bedroom. Quatre shrugged and attempted to palm his hair dry, giving up when he’d only succeeded in getting trails of frigid water beneath his collar and down his back.

Trowa returned scant minutes later with a blanket and a bundle of towels.

“Here,” he said, handing Quatre one of the fluffy white towels, “take off those wet clothes and dry off with these.” The rest of the towels and the blanket he placed on the nearby table. He brushed a tender kiss against Quatre’s wet forehead before returning to the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready before you know it.”

Humming softly to himself, Quatre did as he was told, stripping off the sodden garments. One towel he used in his dripping hair, the other he rubbed over his body, its rough texture pleasantly abrasive on his sensitive skin. The spot where Trowa’s lips had pressed against his forehead still tingled from the contact and he sighed dreamily, a feeling of contentment sweeping through him. Surely life couldn’t get any better than this.

Table of contents for 30 Kisses

1. Game Night
2. The TV Installation Guy
3. The Coffee Shop
4. Say Ahh
5. Breath
6. Red
7. Handy Italian Phrases
8. Moment
9. Scandal
10. Yellow Daisies
11. Golden
12. The Road to Hell
13. The Road Home
14. Table No. 2
15. The New Couple
16. Kiss

I don’t own these lovely boys though I wish I did.

The New Couple
by Michalyn
Warnings: Duo POV, 13+5, 3+4, mentions of 1+2
For 30-kisses theme #24 (Good Night)

Notes: This is something of an experiment in POV for me that I started a few months ago, so I’m not sure what I think of it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. It’s sort of a loose sequel to Breath Thanks for reading!

The bell tinkles outside and familiar laughter drifts down the hall. My guests are arriving. Of course it is Quatre’s bright voice I hear first; Trowa is quiet enough to startle a cat. We’re expecting some new faces tonight. It’s been so long since we’ve been joined by another couple that there’s already a kind of tension in the air, a frission of anticipation if you will. I know Quatre and Trowa wouldn’t miss this for the world.

Sometimes it’s a hassle orientating newbies, but tonight I think differently. What we do here is no exact science (Is science ever really exact? I have my doubts, though this is blasphemy to Heero) so I like to go with my gut on these things and my gut tells me I won’t be disappointed.

I run a little shindig in this old house that I get to charge couples a tidy sum for, and that, quite honestly is pretty good. It’s even better because I still can’t figure out how I got here. No, that’s not quite true. When I say it that way it makes what I do seem like a scam, which it is not. I guess the crude term would be “swingers club” and that is true in a sense, (hey, lets call a spade a spade) but i’d like to hope it’s more than that. I really do believe in this thing but I try not to take myself too seriously. I can’t solve anybody’s problems and if a couple is looking for that, then they’re going to be sorely disappointed.

I guess this … this establishment if you will, is more about celebrating the good stuff. That’s not to say the couples who come here are the Cleavers. I like to think of them instead as people who have recognized each other’s neuroses and accepted them. Quatre can be a little clingy and getting Trowa to open up is like pulling teeth, but they work at it and I know neither could see themselves with anyone else.

If perfect is out there, certainly neither I nor they have encountered it. Once, I had a couple come in here yelling at each other, and expecting me to tell them why they weren’t communicating. Sorry, not my job. Like I said, I’m no shrink. I’m here to help people who love each other get away for a bit without actually having to disrupt their jobs and their busy lives and to help them break out of the daily routine by spicing things up a bit in the bedroom.

Like much of my expertise, this is practical stuff. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life and there’s no shame now in admitting that I’ve witnessed a good portion of them through sex. I grew up on the streets and I quickly discovered that wielding knives was not the only thing I was good at. I was thirteen when the manager of the local grocery store demanded a blowjob as payment for not ratting me out for the pack of cigarettes I had stolen. I’m sure you can imagine the rest from there.

In any case, that rather rough education was tempered considerably when I met Heero. We feel like an old married couple and I mean that in the best sense, with none of the insipid familiarity that everyone seems to recognize in their parents and dreads for themselves. There’s familarity, a heck of a lot of frustration sometimes, but no contempt. Never that. At the risk of sounding cheesy, being with Heero has been a life-changing experience.

If it wasn’t for Sister Helen at the juvenile center I would never have made it to college. It wasn’t the fear of God she put in us kids but the fear of her own hellish temper. You did not disappoint Sister Helen. That was it. Period. She looked as meek as a lamb, but when someone crossed her, he discovered pretty quickly the error of his ways. The woman was a hardass, plain and simple. She was kind too. Without her I would never have believed that it was good enough to be myself and that being loved wasn’t a favor but that I deserved it, damn it.

I made it to Struthers on a full scholarship and how a grubby brat from a poor neighborhood ended up with a straight-laced military kid like Heero is another story for another time. I might forget; you must remind me to tell you over coffee some day.

Anyway, we were both a year shy of graduating when we set out to start a computer business. Heero took it and ran with it, but the computer stuff never quite grabbed me. I had these ideas. There were things I wanted to do. I was a city boy and I knew it in all of its cruel beauty. No matter how far I went, I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied with grassy lawns and quiet afternoons. I needed the noise and the concrete. It was in my blood. I needed to do something that tapped into that life force, that connection.

But what was I good at? I had always been a smooth talker—that, and a great fuck. So after leaving school for a year after graduation to help Heero, I went back to school, got my MBA and here we are today. Business and sex. Heh. I think it’s a pretty good fit for me. I can make your toes curl and that’s not pride talking, just the hard won truth. I know the practical and painful sides of human desire, its beautiful and its mean, ugly side. Regardless of whether I had ever wanted it or not, I do own that knowledge. Why not put it to good use?

I never wanted anything despicable, though. My own experiences with money and sex were enough for me to know quite intimately how disastrous that combination can be. I didn’t want to revisit those dark places; I turned to something more modest, more positive instead. Even now, I keep things pretty exclusive. I’m not interested in turning this into anything other than what it is: a place to hang out, a place to be comfortable among friends. To this day, the bulk of the money I make comes from Quatre’s well-lined pockets. (Trowa’s a veterinarian and he’s happy to let Quatre shoulder the expense.) We’re old friends; they like it here and are willing to pay to have the place to themselves.

Except today, of course. Recently they’ve been talking about inviting another couple and when I received the phone call, I knew these guys were what we were looking for. Like clockwork, May, the secretary buzzes me to let me know the new guests have arrived. I go down to meet them.

This must be the guy I spoke with on the phone. He’s tall and well-built, in his early thirties, though with that aristocratic bearing it’s hard to tell. I can’t help but notice his arm around the man with him. Slender, young. How young I can’t tell because he is turned away from me, but I place him somewhere near Quatre’s and my ages. Twenty-two, twenty-three, definitely no older than twenty-five, but his eyes are very serious. His dark hair is pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck. It is raining outside and there are droplets on his glasses. He catches me staring and takes them off, buffing them a little too briskly against his shirt. Sensible shoes, impeccably pressed shirt. He even has a pen clipped to his breast pocket. To take notes? He’s so earnest that I have to hide my chuckle. Sweet Jesus, you met all types in this line of business. I’ve seen many things since I started running this place but I don’t think anyone’s brought a pen yet. The peculiarity of it immediately puts him in my good books. Heero would shake his head and say I’m just predictable. Okay, so maybe he’s right, but I can’t help but find the shy ones endearing.

His partner on the other hand is something else. He’s carrying their duffel bag. Of course, he checks me over as well. People choose this place precisely because it does not fit the gaudy new-age stereotype, and yet, they always seem shocked when I’m not sporting a scruffy beard or not wearing a bandana and tie-dyed pants. I suppose only my braid is sterotypical, but I know I make an attractive picture standing there in dark turtleneck and jeans.

I can see it in Mr. Perfect’s eyes as he runs his hands through his impeccably groomed ginger hair. While his lover busies himself taking off his coat, he casts the same assessing look over the furniture and creamy wallpaper and I can tell he’s impressed.

I’m not surprised. It’s an elegant old Victorian mansion; the flowers are fresh and there’s a homey feel to the place. Actually, despite his cool air, I can tell Mr. Perfect’s a little nervous. He’s a little snotty, but I suppose as his type usually goes he’s not that bad. Quatre’s the only rich guy I know who doesn’t ooze it from his pores.

Trowa and Quatre are regulars so I let them wander off on their own while I take the newcomers aside.

“Chang-Khushrenada party?” I ask with a smile.

“Yes.” My spectacled friend steps forward. “I am Wufei, and this is Treize. We called sometime last week,” he finishes somewhat hesitantly. He keeps looking around like he expects bondage gear to drop out of a secret door any minute now. Then again, I might be wrong; who knows what’s in that duffel bag of theirs with its “CK” monogramed in gold curlicued letters?

“Ah.” I nod. “It’s a pleasure to have you. Please make yourself comfortable. The Barton-Winners are already here, so I’ll have May show you to your room, so you can freshen up before dinner.”

“Thank you.” It is Treize who is nodding now. As I expected, the older guy is sexy, charming and as polished as the matching bands on their fingers. He makes himself right at home, flirting lightly with May as she guides them up the stairs.

Quatre and Trowa are already snuggling by the fire when I finally return to the living room. Quatre’s hand is slowly making its way down to Trowa’s pants just as I turn on the lights. Little minx. I clear my throat, and he grins, pulling away reluctantly.

“Shame on you, guys, it’s rude to start the feast without all of the guests,” I admonish with a grin.

Trowa stretches his long legs out in front of him and apologizes but I can see neither he nor Quatre is truly contrite—and rightly so. We’re here to have fun after all. They’ve been kind enough to spread the cushions on the floor and so I only have to bring the snacks and drinks in.

I settle down with my friends and we catch up on all that we’ve missed in each other’s absence. Trowa quietly praises a new young intern, while Quatre skims over the details of a new merger. For myself, I sit and listen, sipping a little champagne, telling of my and Heero’s differing progress.

Wine and laughter have loosened our tongues and made us all pleasantly languid by the time Treize and Wufei emerge, showered and changed. Treize is barefoot in jeans and a polo shirt; Wufei is more formal once again in slacks and button down shirt. I am disappointed to find that the pen has disappeared.

“Treize, Wufei, make yourselves comfortable. There’s wine, fruit, cheese and I’ve also got some caviar for the more delicate palettes among us.”

They thank me, polite as ever and move to the table, murmuring nervously to each other. There’s always that first bout of shyness, but I’m not worried. We’ll get them to loosen up, yet. They return with some Gruyere and assorted fruit and I’m happy to see that they’re not so uncomfortable as to forego sharing a glass of sparkling wine.

That’s right, baby steps, kids. Let’s take it nice and slow. They’re a handsome couple and I can feel Trowa’s and Quatre’s appreciation from across the room.

“Usually we like to start with a little introduction,” I begin. “Why don’t we go around the room? I’d like everyone to state their names, how long you’ve been together and giving us a bit of your sexual history is always nice, as well as why you’ve come here. Quatre, why don’t we start with you?”

Quatre nods.”Hello, I’m Quatre Raberber Winner and Trowa and I have been together for a little over three years now. Regarding my sexual history, there’s not much to tell. I’ve only had four lovers, including Trowa. I think of my time with my first three lovers as really more of an experimentation period. I was not comfortable with my sexuality yet and it took a while for me grow into my skin. Inevitably, the sex was pleasurable, but never quite good.” Quatre pauses to grab a strawberry. “With Trowa it’s different—and better—in every way.”

Trowas green eyes go dark as Quatre’s soft voice continues. He laces their fingers together and takes the introduction over, repeating his name and some of what Quatre has said about their relationship.

“As CEO, Quatre’s schedule is hectic and it is hard for us to find time together,” he elaborates. “We visit Duo often because this is one of the few places where we know once we enter, we can leave the world at the door and catch up on all that we’ve missed.”

Treize and Wufei murmur pleasantries. There is a pregnant silence as we wait for either of them to continue the momentum. When neither steps up to the plate, I have no choice but to prod.

“Treize? Wufei?”

“Ah, yes.” Treize clears his throat. He leans forward. “Where shall I begin? I am Treize and Wufei and I have been married for two years, together for four. We’ve come because we’ve been wanting to try something different and this seemed the best place to do so.” He laughs a little embarrassedly. “As for my sexual history … well … let’s just say I’ve tried a little bit of everything.”

I had seen the rings but did not actually think they were married. It is a pretty brave couple who takes the plunge, even though things are getting better these days. At least, we can now legally marry whomever we choose, but in actuality, few couples are lucky enough to find a judge who will make it a fact. It’s not something I like to think about too much, except lately Heero’s become rather insistent….

Wufei is introducing himself. He is charming, if in his own gruff way. I find myself feeling a little guilty for having a soft spot, however innocent, for the second Mr. Chang-Khusrenada. He is a married man after all. He finishes up his introduction. Withdrawing a bit, he darkens under his warm complexion. “I have no real sexual history,” Wufei reports matter-of-factly. “Except with Treize.”

I cannot say I am too surprised. He is too straight-laced to have played around much.Good or bad, I certainly am not one to judge. Quatre, it seems, however, is and has. Whether it is this revelation or Wufei in general, I look across the room and see that he is all but purring. Geez, he really is on the prowl tonight. I had no idea the guy could be so ferocious. Trowa, more circumpsect, is studying both men beneath his lashes.

Wufei is perfectly oblivious, but I can see Treize struggling to maintain a veneer of rationality in the face of what appears to be an immense desire to tuck his husband under his arm and run away with him. He sends Quatre a cautionary look and the blond stares back, unabashed.

I stifle a chuckle.

I believe Treize is only now understanding what he has gotten himself into.

To ease the awkwardness a bit, I draw everyone into a haphazard circle. “Now that we know a little more about each other, our goal here is to learn how to better please ourselves and our partners by first talking about what works for each of us. What do you love most about your lover? Talk about challenges too; each person is unique. What would you like to do differently? If you have no ‘complaints’,” I shadow the quotation marks in the air, “then is there something you have always wanted to try, but haven’t been able to work up the courage for? Perhaps you are scared that your partner will disagree. Before we start anything I want us to talk these things out. Where possible I’ll try to make suggestions for what might enhance pleasure even more.”

I pat the oversized pillows. “Come on, spread out, snuggle up, whatever makes you happy. I want everyone to be comfortable. Since we went in the other direction last time, Wufei, let’s get the ball rolling.”

Wufei is quiet, pondering my words like I have presented him with a deep, philosophical riddle. Perhaps it is. Eventually he says, “I am most attracted to Treize’s hands. They remin