Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Contemplation Indigo ❯ Blow ( Chapter 29 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: drl451 
Quatre embarks on an adventure
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 02.18.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 4.0K | Visits: 326 | Status: Completed
Quatre embarks on an adventure
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 02.18.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 4.0K | Visits: 326 | Status: Completed
Blow
By DRL
"YOU?" The braided young man ejaculated. His violet eyes were wide with astonishment and incredulity.
"Shhh!” His blond interlocutor hissed, leaning across the table towards the other man. "Moderate your voice Duo, people are looking!"
“What, and you weren’t bothered about them looking when you…”
“Shhh!” The other man hissed again, this time with greater urgency.
Duo shot a quick glance around the room, then leaned in in his turn, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Nothing will make me believe that Quatre Raberba Winner ever did such a thing." He said.
"That's Quatre Raberba 'Barton' Winner,” The other declared with a complacent smile, “And he most certainly did – at this very table too."
A broad grin split Duo Maxwell's comely features.
"Atta boy Q,” He cried exuberantly, “Put her there!” With a firm grip, Quatre took the hand that Duo extended across the table, and pumped it vigorously.
**********
If Quatre was honest about the whole thing, he had been out of sorts from the moment of first waking. Trowa sensed this within moments, as he always seemed to, and he took appropriate action to lift his husband’s spirits which, while Quatre didn't quite accuse him of harbouring an ulterior motive, would also deal quite nicely with Trowa's 'morning glory'. Quatre had gently but positively rebuffed his advances - a measure of just how out of sorts he was that morning, and the two of them just lay in each other's arms until it was time to rise. He remained testy throughout the day, his mood not improved by his missing lunch due to an impromptu internal meeting.
The meeting responsible for his now gnawing stomach had just broken up, and all the attendees were slowly filing out of the boardroom, Quatre bringing up the rear. Wondering what the time was and therefore how long it was until suppertime, he raised his arm with a view to consulting his wristwatch, but as he did so he noticed that the crispy starched cuff of his shirt was hanging loose and unfettered, the gold cufflink that once held it at bay being noticeably absent. As the meeting had been an informal one, Quatre was not wearing a jacket, thus giving the sleeve even greater freedom. Clicking his tongue impatiently, he turned and went back into the boardroom. He recalled that he had been absently toying with the cufflink earlier on in the meeting, twisting and turning it this way and that, which had probably contributed to its eventual loosening and falling out, so he knew that the thing had to be in the boardroom somewhere. It was with relief that he immediately spotted it, as the pair had been a Christmas gift from Trowa the previous year and its loss would have upset him greatly. It had rolled under the boardroom table and was now winking prettily at him midway between the edges of the broad table, way out of easy reach. With a resigned sigh, Quatre squatted down and crawled beneath the table. As his hand closed triumphantly over his prize, he froze as the sound of girlish giggles wafted in from the doorway.
“…he’s a right mean bastard, that one, I don’t care how good-looking he is.”
Quatre had no idea who it was, but the voice was that of a young woman and with dismay, he realised that she had actually entered the boardroom.
“Mean or not, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”
There were two of them, and they were both now well inside the room. Motionless, Quatre considered his options. He could remain where he was, but this conversation looked like it was going to be one that he really did not want to overhear, and the young women would be mortified if they discovered him (as, incidentally, would he). He could clear his throat loudly, thus declaring himself, then emerge from beneath the table, but how would he explain his presence there in the first place? He could show them the recalcitrant cufflink, but would they believe him? Anyway, he owned the damn company – why did he need to explain himself at all? Ah, but would they know who he was? Of course they would. Even if they had not seen him around the office, he and Trowa were frequently featured in the press and media, so they were both virtually household faces. The next statement made Quatre’s mind up for him.
“Quatre Winner is the one I wouldn’t kick out of bed.” Girl #1 said dreamily. Quatre maintained his position. There was no way he could declare himself now.
“In your dreams, my dear.” Girl #2 replied derisively.
The rattling of china and the clinking of glasses told him what the two young women were doing in the boardroom. Using the sound of the crockery as cover, Quatre, now thankful for the table’s size, altered his position so that he was crouched in as small a ball as possible beneath it. To be discovered now would be unconscionable.
“You have no idea.” Girl #1 said in a sultry voice. “But my dreams about Quatre Winner would make a hooker blush.”
“He was in here just now,” Girl #2 said, “Did you see him? I came out to see if they were finished in here, and there he was, staring into space and fiddling with his sleeve.”
“Probably bored to tears, poor lamb.”
“Probably. More likely daydreaming though. He does that a lot, so Katy Marshall says. He just stares across at that portrait of Trowa Barton on the wall opposite his desk, daydreaming.”
Bloody cheek! Quatre thought. It was not daydreaming, it was deep, meaningful contemplation. And anyway, where did his secretary get off gossiping about him to junior members of staff?
“Did he have a bulge in his trousers?” Girl #1 said slyly.
“Janet!” Girl #2 cried, scandalised by the question.
“Weeeell,” Girl #1 explained, totally unrepentant, “If he did, then you’d know what he was daydreaming about, wouldn’t you, or better still, who?
Both girls dissolved into giggles once more. Never mind a hooker, Quatre thought, he was blushing himself! Suddenly his eyes widened with horror as a chair was withdrawn and one of the girls sat down at the table, just in front of him. She crossed her legs demurely and her foot missed him by about one quarter of an inch. He froze, holding his breath.
“So what do you think they get up to in bed,” The seated girl asked “Our boss and his gorgeous husband?” It was Girl #1 who was now established as ‘Janet’.
“No idea,” Her colleague replied, “But it must be pretty good because we’re always hearing about how happy they are together. I don’t think that would be the case if the sex was crap, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Janet said with a wistful sigh, “I think I would stay with Quatre Winner, crap sex or not, just to look at his beautiful face.”
“Well Jan, you don’t look at the mantelpiece when you’re poking the fire, but he’s definitely easy on the eye, I’ll grant you that, and his millions don’t hurt either. I wouldn’t mind stepping out on his arm.”
“Leave off Beth Turpin, he’s mine!” Janet admonished good-naturedly. Quatre watched warily as her foot jiggled up and down mere inches from his nose.
“He’s neither yours, nor mine, nor ever will be.” Girl #2 (or Beth, as she was now identified) said bitterly. “All the good ones are either married or gay, and Quatre Winner is both married and gay. How much more unavailable can a guy get?”
“I think he’d be sensitive and gentle.” Janet said meditatively, ignoring Beth Turpin’s pessimism.
“What?”
“In bed, I mean.” Janet explained. “Which one of them is on top, do you think?”
“Trowa Barton, I’d say.” Beth replied decisively. “He always seems quite strong and masterful to me. I passed him once in the corridor. You know, he’s much taller than he looks on the telly. He smiled at me, and fixed me with those smouldering, green ‘come-to-bed’ eyes. I’d have gone too, given half a chance. Oh yes, can imagine him being quite domineering in the bedroom. Quatre Winner doesn’t seem the type to take the initiative in bed. Too pale and blond. I’ll bet he’s quite submissive. Probably likes being tied up, though – tied up and beaten, then taken savagely from behind. That’ll be him, never mind that ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ look that he has. He’s a sub alright .”
“Beth, you are incorrigible!” Jan exclaimed with a laugh. “I don’t know about being tied up and beaten, but I think you’re right about him being submissive in bed.” Abruptly she uncrossed her legs and rose, causing Quatre to dart smartly to one side to avoid being kicked in the teeth. “But we can’t sit hear all day discussing the Boss’s sex life. The next meeting will be starting in five minutes.”
As the clatter of crockery on a rolling trolley faded away into the distance, Quatre emerged from beneath the table and stretched his cramped limbs. Not the type to take the initiative, was he? Bloody cheek! He roughly re-seated the errant cufflink as he wandered back to his office. He was now grumpier than ever.
***********
“Are you feeling better now darling?”
Dinner at ‘Les Trois Maisons’ had been Trowa’s idea. When he had collected Quatre in the chauffeur-driven car that ferried them both back and forth to and from work, the blond’s mood was even blacker than it had been that morning. Within a short time he had ascertained that Quatre had not eaten since breakfast that morning so a slap-up meal at the most exclusive eatery in town seemed the obvious course.
“Yes thank-you Trowa.” Quatre smiled. He had the other man’s hand clasped lightly in his as it rested on the table-top, and he now squeezed it affectionately. “It was a good idea to come here. Would you like dessert?”
“Yes, if you’re having something. You’ll have to excuse me for a moment or two though.” Trowa pushed his chair back from the table. “I hoped I could hold out until we had finished, but my bladder has other ideas.” He rose and smiled apologetically. “Order the usual for me - I won’t be a minute.”
Trowa was as quick as he could be answering nature’s little call to duty. He did not want to leave Quatre alone at the table too long but in addition to this, he was the only one using the men’s restroom at the time and the room was presided over by an attendant. This presence made Trowa uncomfortable, since the man had nothing else to do but to observe the green-eyed ex-pilot at his toilette. As Trowa rinsed his hands he took the opportunity to check his reflection in the large, gilded mirror situated above the washbasins. He smoothed a hair or two back into place then, satisfied that his appearance required no further attention, he shook the excess water from his hands and was immediately presented with a snow-white terry-towelling square with which to dry them by the enthusiastic attendant. Mumbling his thanks, he fumbled in his trouser-pockets, withdrew a handful of change and dropped it into a gilded dish that was already brimming with coins and notes. Ignoring the various bottles of fragrance and unguents provided for the use of patrons, Trowa left the cloakroom.
As he made his back to the table, he saw that it was unoccupied. Mystified, he wondered where Quatre could be, since he had not entered the cloakroom, and Trowa could not possibly have passed him on the way. As he resumed his seat, he saw that their desserts, plus two small glasses of sweet dessert wine had been served in his absence. Quatre’s desert was an elaborate confection, carefully constructed and beautifully presented, while his own was a simple bowl of fresh strawberries, although even these had been carefully selected to be of equal size and shape before being neatly sliced and placed decorously within a crystal dish. As he shook a sprinkling of sugar over the bowl of strawberries with an intricately tooled, silver sugar spoon, then followed this with a drizzle of cream, once more he idly wondered what had become of his errant husband. He had decided to wait his desert until Quatre returned, but temptation got the better of him and he raised a morsel to his mouth. He almost choked on it however, as he inhaled sharply at the sudden sensation of a hand upon his knee.
Well, he had discovered where Quatre was, but the burning question was what on earth the blond though he was doing under the table. The next moment brought the answer to what Trowa realised was a very stupid question. Before he could register what was happening, Quatre had unzipped his fly and clamped soft lips around his penis.
Trowa was both surprised and thrilled in equal measure, with thrill promptly gaining the ascendancy. He glanced swiftly around the room and wondered whether any of the other diners realised what was going on, whether anyone had seen Quatre slip under the table but ultimately, he really could not make it matter. Oh, the sheer illicit pleasure of it! It was not only that he was getting a clandestine blow-job in a public place (under the circumstances his mind utilized the coarse term), but that it was a particularly artful blow-job, administered by his beloved, beautiful husband who had also been, hitherto, a paragon of moral rectitude. Trowa fully appreciated the risk his husband was taking. Quatre Winner was a household name and his face was instantly recognisable. If a hint of what was happening here leaked out, the press would have a field day. And Quatre was in no hurry either. He was taking his time, the little angel – he was making it last! Trowa knew that Quatre was also quite capable of calculating the risks. His husband knew exactly what he was doing; he was no fool. Trowa sat back and prepared to enjoy the ride.
Under the table, Quatre’s heart pounded with excitement. God, it was exquisite - the feeling of such wanton hedonism, servicing his husband invisibly, almost anonymously. The sense of being wholly in control. Trowa’s penis in his mouth was an iron rod in a velvet sheath; so sweetly soft on the surface, so iron-hard within. Cupping Trowa’s balls in his hand, he ringed the base of his cock with his thumb and forefinger. He heard Trowa’s gasp of ecstasy as he pressed the tip of one slender finger into his urethral opening. Quatre thrilled at this and at the way the sphincter tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed. Quatre was in charge and he at once played Trowa like a flute and conducted him like an orchestra. Raising the pitch, building towards a climax, then tightening his grip on the base of his husband’s penis, to choke off his orgasm before it could start. Then building again, moving towards the finish, then backing off once more, then resuming and…
Trowa played his own part beautifully; not a sound, except for that one gasp when Quatre had slipped his finger into him. He had been silent up until then - silent and utterly passive, keeping his hands above the table, not reaching down to grasp Quatre’s hair as he usually did, nor did he attempt to control the process in any way. He allowed his husband to be in complete control, and this is exactly what Quatre wanted. He would have liked to let it go on forever, but he realised that he could not. Reluctantly, as he let the crescendo reach all the way to its climax, Trowa came, and his semen spurted. Quatre allowed every drop of the creamy fluid to slip slowly down his throat, savouring the salty, faintly bitter taste, in stark contrast to the rich flavours of the meal he had just consumed. He could not have enjoyed the orgasm more if it had been his own. He kept Trowa in his mouth and sucked him, but gently now, feeling him soften and shrink. Sipping the last drop, he released Trowa’s cock, tucked him back into his trousers, and zipped him up.
After a long moment, during which Trowa neither moved nor spoke, Quatre asked softly “Is anyone looking this way?”
“I’m not sure,” Trowa rasped hoarsely, “I can’t seem to focus properly.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Quatre said dismissively. He clambered out from under the table, taking no trouble to conceal his actions, held up a gold cufflink in triumph and said loudly “It’s okay darling, I’ve found it.”
The blond made a pantomime out of reseating the cufflink (for the second time that day), sat down and looked across at Trowa, his face a picture of wide-eyed innocence.
Trowa beamed radiantly at him.
“You are amazing.” He said.
***************
“So what happened after?” Duo asked as he stirred a fourth spoonful of sugar into his coffee. Quatre made a moue of distaste as he contemplated the quantity of sugar the other man had just added to his cup, relative to the diminutive size of the cup itself. He had something of a sweet tooth himself, but not that sweet.
"What happened?" He replied at length. "We had dessert, then went home." His tone implied that he found the question curious, if not actually fatuous, since nothing else can possibly have been expected to happen.
"Duh!" Duo spat scornfully. "I meant later on when you got home, unless you wanna tell me that you just had a cup of Horlicks each, then went to bed."
"Ugh, certainly not,” Quatre replied, his face registering distaste once again, "I hate Horlicks!" His gaze turned inwards suddenly, and an enigmatic half-smile played about his lips.
"...weeell..." Duo urged with a touch of impatience, after waiting a moment or two expectantly for the blond to continue. Quatre came back with a slight start.
"Well what?" He asked casually.
"Well what happened when you got home." Duo said with exasperation. "I can see from your face that something did happen, so come on, tell."
Quatre smiled. Something did indeed happen, but it was something special and something very private. He loved Duo like a brother and confided in him about everything, but this...
***************
"Let's go to bed when we get home." Quatre murmured as he nibbled gently on Trowa's earlobe.
Trowa arched an elegantly shaped brow in amused wonder. He had no idea what had gotten into the blond, but he entered wholeheartedly into the spirit of the thing, and the pair of them smooched on the back seat of the car as enthusiastically as a couple of teenagers. However, in the bedroom somewhat later, Quatre was subdued and pensive as they lay together in an easy, companionable embrace, skin against skin; heart against heart. The blond eventually stirred and raised himself up, supported on his elbow, so that he looked down on his lover’s face. The room was in darkness, but for the glow of a single bedside lamp, and Quatre’s heart lurched in his breast as Trowa’s face, gilded by the lamplight, was suddenly too beautiful to bear. He dipped his head and kissed the porcelain-smooth lips - lingering, pressing, exploring, drinking from his lover’s mouth. His hand stroked the taller man’s long, languid body sensually and smoothly, hands caressing his cock, manipulating it with smooth confidence, until Trowa was as fiercely tumescent as he had been earlier.
Trowa felt desire rise up in him, but before he could act upon it, he felt the blond’s efforts to manipulate his position. Moving to Quatre’s bidding he manoeuvred his body as commanded, opening himself up to accept his husband as he had never before in his and Quatre’s many years together. He anticipated pain, and when it came it was sharp, like a pain of deep, agonising desire, but it was a pain he welcomed and allowed to wash over him, until pain and desire were one. Too soon, the sensation changed, becoming a deep pleasure, a feeling of submission and penetration; leaping desire and deep satisfaction. He groaned, not only with the pain, but with a deep, inner joy and a sense of acquiescence and surrender that he had never before experienced.
Afterwards, he lay still in Quatre’s arms, transfixed by a profound pleasure that felt almost holy. He realised that Quatre must experience this every time Trowa made love to him, and he finally thought he understood the ethereal, saint-like aura that surrounded the blond, and that Trowa found so alluring. He was not a religious man, but he felt (somewhat sacrilegiously) that he had touched on something very like the love of a God, which burns into a man so that life is never the same for him again.
Tired and sated, Quatre soon slept, but Trowa lay awake well into the night, He had, in a sense, lost his virginity a second time, but this time it was a deflowering that he could and would remember for the remainder of his life – something bright and good to replace the shadowy remembrance of a brief, awkward fumbling, devoid of all emotion and pleasure, many years ago, when he was little more than a boy. He savoured his epiphany.
***************
“So, you won’t tell me what happened?” Duo asked. Quatre smiled again, and shook his head.
"No, I won’t,” He replied, “But I have a lot to thank those two girls for, what were their names – Beth and Janet was it? In fact,” He added, “I think it’s time they had a pay rise. I’ll have a word with Human Resources when I get back to the office.”
??
??
??
??
Page | 1
By DRL
"YOU?" The braided young man ejaculated. His violet eyes were wide with astonishment and incredulity.
"Shhh!” His blond interlocutor hissed, leaning across the table towards the other man. "Moderate your voice Duo, people are looking!"
“What, and you weren’t bothered about them looking when you…”
“Shhh!” The other man hissed again, this time with greater urgency.
Duo shot a quick glance around the room, then leaned in in his turn, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Nothing will make me believe that Quatre Raberba Winner ever did such a thing." He said.
"That's Quatre Raberba 'Barton' Winner,” The other declared with a complacent smile, “And he most certainly did – at this very table too."
A broad grin split Duo Maxwell's comely features.
"Atta boy Q,” He cried exuberantly, “Put her there!” With a firm grip, Quatre took the hand that Duo extended across the table, and pumped it vigorously.
**********
If Quatre was honest about the whole thing, he had been out of sorts from the moment of first waking. Trowa sensed this within moments, as he always seemed to, and he took appropriate action to lift his husband’s spirits which, while Quatre didn't quite accuse him of harbouring an ulterior motive, would also deal quite nicely with Trowa's 'morning glory'. Quatre had gently but positively rebuffed his advances - a measure of just how out of sorts he was that morning, and the two of them just lay in each other's arms until it was time to rise. He remained testy throughout the day, his mood not improved by his missing lunch due to an impromptu internal meeting.
The meeting responsible for his now gnawing stomach had just broken up, and all the attendees were slowly filing out of the boardroom, Quatre bringing up the rear. Wondering what the time was and therefore how long it was until suppertime, he raised his arm with a view to consulting his wristwatch, but as he did so he noticed that the crispy starched cuff of his shirt was hanging loose and unfettered, the gold cufflink that once held it at bay being noticeably absent. As the meeting had been an informal one, Quatre was not wearing a jacket, thus giving the sleeve even greater freedom. Clicking his tongue impatiently, he turned and went back into the boardroom. He recalled that he had been absently toying with the cufflink earlier on in the meeting, twisting and turning it this way and that, which had probably contributed to its eventual loosening and falling out, so he knew that the thing had to be in the boardroom somewhere. It was with relief that he immediately spotted it, as the pair had been a Christmas gift from Trowa the previous year and its loss would have upset him greatly. It had rolled under the boardroom table and was now winking prettily at him midway between the edges of the broad table, way out of easy reach. With a resigned sigh, Quatre squatted down and crawled beneath the table. As his hand closed triumphantly over his prize, he froze as the sound of girlish giggles wafted in from the doorway.
“…he’s a right mean bastard, that one, I don’t care how good-looking he is.”
Quatre had no idea who it was, but the voice was that of a young woman and with dismay, he realised that she had actually entered the boardroom.
“Mean or not, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”
There were two of them, and they were both now well inside the room. Motionless, Quatre considered his options. He could remain where he was, but this conversation looked like it was going to be one that he really did not want to overhear, and the young women would be mortified if they discovered him (as, incidentally, would he). He could clear his throat loudly, thus declaring himself, then emerge from beneath the table, but how would he explain his presence there in the first place? He could show them the recalcitrant cufflink, but would they believe him? Anyway, he owned the damn company – why did he need to explain himself at all? Ah, but would they know who he was? Of course they would. Even if they had not seen him around the office, he and Trowa were frequently featured in the press and media, so they were both virtually household faces. The next statement made Quatre’s mind up for him.
“Quatre Winner is the one I wouldn’t kick out of bed.” Girl #1 said dreamily. Quatre maintained his position. There was no way he could declare himself now.
“In your dreams, my dear.” Girl #2 replied derisively.
The rattling of china and the clinking of glasses told him what the two young women were doing in the boardroom. Using the sound of the crockery as cover, Quatre, now thankful for the table’s size, altered his position so that he was crouched in as small a ball as possible beneath it. To be discovered now would be unconscionable.
“You have no idea.” Girl #1 said in a sultry voice. “But my dreams about Quatre Winner would make a hooker blush.”
“He was in here just now,” Girl #2 said, “Did you see him? I came out to see if they were finished in here, and there he was, staring into space and fiddling with his sleeve.”
“Probably bored to tears, poor lamb.”
“Probably. More likely daydreaming though. He does that a lot, so Katy Marshall says. He just stares across at that portrait of Trowa Barton on the wall opposite his desk, daydreaming.”
Bloody cheek! Quatre thought. It was not daydreaming, it was deep, meaningful contemplation. And anyway, where did his secretary get off gossiping about him to junior members of staff?
“Did he have a bulge in his trousers?” Girl #1 said slyly.
“Janet!” Girl #2 cried, scandalised by the question.
“Weeeell,” Girl #1 explained, totally unrepentant, “If he did, then you’d know what he was daydreaming about, wouldn’t you, or better still, who?
Both girls dissolved into giggles once more. Never mind a hooker, Quatre thought, he was blushing himself! Suddenly his eyes widened with horror as a chair was withdrawn and one of the girls sat down at the table, just in front of him. She crossed her legs demurely and her foot missed him by about one quarter of an inch. He froze, holding his breath.
“So what do you think they get up to in bed,” The seated girl asked “Our boss and his gorgeous husband?” It was Girl #1 who was now established as ‘Janet’.
“No idea,” Her colleague replied, “But it must be pretty good because we’re always hearing about how happy they are together. I don’t think that would be the case if the sex was crap, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Janet said with a wistful sigh, “I think I would stay with Quatre Winner, crap sex or not, just to look at his beautiful face.”
“Well Jan, you don’t look at the mantelpiece when you’re poking the fire, but he’s definitely easy on the eye, I’ll grant you that, and his millions don’t hurt either. I wouldn’t mind stepping out on his arm.”
“Leave off Beth Turpin, he’s mine!” Janet admonished good-naturedly. Quatre watched warily as her foot jiggled up and down mere inches from his nose.
“He’s neither yours, nor mine, nor ever will be.” Girl #2 (or Beth, as she was now identified) said bitterly. “All the good ones are either married or gay, and Quatre Winner is both married and gay. How much more unavailable can a guy get?”
“I think he’d be sensitive and gentle.” Janet said meditatively, ignoring Beth Turpin’s pessimism.
“What?”
“In bed, I mean.” Janet explained. “Which one of them is on top, do you think?”
“Trowa Barton, I’d say.” Beth replied decisively. “He always seems quite strong and masterful to me. I passed him once in the corridor. You know, he’s much taller than he looks on the telly. He smiled at me, and fixed me with those smouldering, green ‘come-to-bed’ eyes. I’d have gone too, given half a chance. Oh yes, can imagine him being quite domineering in the bedroom. Quatre Winner doesn’t seem the type to take the initiative in bed. Too pale and blond. I’ll bet he’s quite submissive. Probably likes being tied up, though – tied up and beaten, then taken savagely from behind. That’ll be him, never mind that ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ look that he has. He’s a sub alright .”
“Beth, you are incorrigible!” Jan exclaimed with a laugh. “I don’t know about being tied up and beaten, but I think you’re right about him being submissive in bed.” Abruptly she uncrossed her legs and rose, causing Quatre to dart smartly to one side to avoid being kicked in the teeth. “But we can’t sit hear all day discussing the Boss’s sex life. The next meeting will be starting in five minutes.”
As the clatter of crockery on a rolling trolley faded away into the distance, Quatre emerged from beneath the table and stretched his cramped limbs. Not the type to take the initiative, was he? Bloody cheek! He roughly re-seated the errant cufflink as he wandered back to his office. He was now grumpier than ever.
***********
“Are you feeling better now darling?”
Dinner at ‘Les Trois Maisons’ had been Trowa’s idea. When he had collected Quatre in the chauffeur-driven car that ferried them both back and forth to and from work, the blond’s mood was even blacker than it had been that morning. Within a short time he had ascertained that Quatre had not eaten since breakfast that morning so a slap-up meal at the most exclusive eatery in town seemed the obvious course.
“Yes thank-you Trowa.” Quatre smiled. He had the other man’s hand clasped lightly in his as it rested on the table-top, and he now squeezed it affectionately. “It was a good idea to come here. Would you like dessert?”
“Yes, if you’re having something. You’ll have to excuse me for a moment or two though.” Trowa pushed his chair back from the table. “I hoped I could hold out until we had finished, but my bladder has other ideas.” He rose and smiled apologetically. “Order the usual for me - I won’t be a minute.”
Trowa was as quick as he could be answering nature’s little call to duty. He did not want to leave Quatre alone at the table too long but in addition to this, he was the only one using the men’s restroom at the time and the room was presided over by an attendant. This presence made Trowa uncomfortable, since the man had nothing else to do but to observe the green-eyed ex-pilot at his toilette. As Trowa rinsed his hands he took the opportunity to check his reflection in the large, gilded mirror situated above the washbasins. He smoothed a hair or two back into place then, satisfied that his appearance required no further attention, he shook the excess water from his hands and was immediately presented with a snow-white terry-towelling square with which to dry them by the enthusiastic attendant. Mumbling his thanks, he fumbled in his trouser-pockets, withdrew a handful of change and dropped it into a gilded dish that was already brimming with coins and notes. Ignoring the various bottles of fragrance and unguents provided for the use of patrons, Trowa left the cloakroom.
As he made his back to the table, he saw that it was unoccupied. Mystified, he wondered where Quatre could be, since he had not entered the cloakroom, and Trowa could not possibly have passed him on the way. As he resumed his seat, he saw that their desserts, plus two small glasses of sweet dessert wine had been served in his absence. Quatre’s desert was an elaborate confection, carefully constructed and beautifully presented, while his own was a simple bowl of fresh strawberries, although even these had been carefully selected to be of equal size and shape before being neatly sliced and placed decorously within a crystal dish. As he shook a sprinkling of sugar over the bowl of strawberries with an intricately tooled, silver sugar spoon, then followed this with a drizzle of cream, once more he idly wondered what had become of his errant husband. He had decided to wait his desert until Quatre returned, but temptation got the better of him and he raised a morsel to his mouth. He almost choked on it however, as he inhaled sharply at the sudden sensation of a hand upon his knee.
Well, he had discovered where Quatre was, but the burning question was what on earth the blond though he was doing under the table. The next moment brought the answer to what Trowa realised was a very stupid question. Before he could register what was happening, Quatre had unzipped his fly and clamped soft lips around his penis.
Trowa was both surprised and thrilled in equal measure, with thrill promptly gaining the ascendancy. He glanced swiftly around the room and wondered whether any of the other diners realised what was going on, whether anyone had seen Quatre slip under the table but ultimately, he really could not make it matter. Oh, the sheer illicit pleasure of it! It was not only that he was getting a clandestine blow-job in a public place (under the circumstances his mind utilized the coarse term), but that it was a particularly artful blow-job, administered by his beloved, beautiful husband who had also been, hitherto, a paragon of moral rectitude. Trowa fully appreciated the risk his husband was taking. Quatre Winner was a household name and his face was instantly recognisable. If a hint of what was happening here leaked out, the press would have a field day. And Quatre was in no hurry either. He was taking his time, the little angel – he was making it last! Trowa knew that Quatre was also quite capable of calculating the risks. His husband knew exactly what he was doing; he was no fool. Trowa sat back and prepared to enjoy the ride.
Under the table, Quatre’s heart pounded with excitement. God, it was exquisite - the feeling of such wanton hedonism, servicing his husband invisibly, almost anonymously. The sense of being wholly in control. Trowa’s penis in his mouth was an iron rod in a velvet sheath; so sweetly soft on the surface, so iron-hard within. Cupping Trowa’s balls in his hand, he ringed the base of his cock with his thumb and forefinger. He heard Trowa’s gasp of ecstasy as he pressed the tip of one slender finger into his urethral opening. Quatre thrilled at this and at the way the sphincter tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed. Quatre was in charge and he at once played Trowa like a flute and conducted him like an orchestra. Raising the pitch, building towards a climax, then tightening his grip on the base of his husband’s penis, to choke off his orgasm before it could start. Then building again, moving towards the finish, then backing off once more, then resuming and…
Trowa played his own part beautifully; not a sound, except for that one gasp when Quatre had slipped his finger into him. He had been silent up until then - silent and utterly passive, keeping his hands above the table, not reaching down to grasp Quatre’s hair as he usually did, nor did he attempt to control the process in any way. He allowed his husband to be in complete control, and this is exactly what Quatre wanted. He would have liked to let it go on forever, but he realised that he could not. Reluctantly, as he let the crescendo reach all the way to its climax, Trowa came, and his semen spurted. Quatre allowed every drop of the creamy fluid to slip slowly down his throat, savouring the salty, faintly bitter taste, in stark contrast to the rich flavours of the meal he had just consumed. He could not have enjoyed the orgasm more if it had been his own. He kept Trowa in his mouth and sucked him, but gently now, feeling him soften and shrink. Sipping the last drop, he released Trowa’s cock, tucked him back into his trousers, and zipped him up.
After a long moment, during which Trowa neither moved nor spoke, Quatre asked softly “Is anyone looking this way?”
“I’m not sure,” Trowa rasped hoarsely, “I can’t seem to focus properly.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Quatre said dismissively. He clambered out from under the table, taking no trouble to conceal his actions, held up a gold cufflink in triumph and said loudly “It’s okay darling, I’ve found it.”
The blond made a pantomime out of reseating the cufflink (for the second time that day), sat down and looked across at Trowa, his face a picture of wide-eyed innocence.
Trowa beamed radiantly at him.
“You are amazing.” He said.
***************
“So what happened after?” Duo asked as he stirred a fourth spoonful of sugar into his coffee. Quatre made a moue of distaste as he contemplated the quantity of sugar the other man had just added to his cup, relative to the diminutive size of the cup itself. He had something of a sweet tooth himself, but not that sweet.
"What happened?" He replied at length. "We had dessert, then went home." His tone implied that he found the question curious, if not actually fatuous, since nothing else can possibly have been expected to happen.
"Duh!" Duo spat scornfully. "I meant later on when you got home, unless you wanna tell me that you just had a cup of Horlicks each, then went to bed."
"Ugh, certainly not,” Quatre replied, his face registering distaste once again, "I hate Horlicks!" His gaze turned inwards suddenly, and an enigmatic half-smile played about his lips.
"...weeell..." Duo urged with a touch of impatience, after waiting a moment or two expectantly for the blond to continue. Quatre came back with a slight start.
"Well what?" He asked casually.
"Well what happened when you got home." Duo said with exasperation. "I can see from your face that something did happen, so come on, tell."
Quatre smiled. Something did indeed happen, but it was something special and something very private. He loved Duo like a brother and confided in him about everything, but this...
***************
"Let's go to bed when we get home." Quatre murmured as he nibbled gently on Trowa's earlobe.
Trowa arched an elegantly shaped brow in amused wonder. He had no idea what had gotten into the blond, but he entered wholeheartedly into the spirit of the thing, and the pair of them smooched on the back seat of the car as enthusiastically as a couple of teenagers. However, in the bedroom somewhat later, Quatre was subdued and pensive as they lay together in an easy, companionable embrace, skin against skin; heart against heart. The blond eventually stirred and raised himself up, supported on his elbow, so that he looked down on his lover’s face. The room was in darkness, but for the glow of a single bedside lamp, and Quatre’s heart lurched in his breast as Trowa’s face, gilded by the lamplight, was suddenly too beautiful to bear. He dipped his head and kissed the porcelain-smooth lips - lingering, pressing, exploring, drinking from his lover’s mouth. His hand stroked the taller man’s long, languid body sensually and smoothly, hands caressing his cock, manipulating it with smooth confidence, until Trowa was as fiercely tumescent as he had been earlier.
Trowa felt desire rise up in him, but before he could act upon it, he felt the blond’s efforts to manipulate his position. Moving to Quatre’s bidding he manoeuvred his body as commanded, opening himself up to accept his husband as he had never before in his and Quatre’s many years together. He anticipated pain, and when it came it was sharp, like a pain of deep, agonising desire, but it was a pain he welcomed and allowed to wash over him, until pain and desire were one. Too soon, the sensation changed, becoming a deep pleasure, a feeling of submission and penetration; leaping desire and deep satisfaction. He groaned, not only with the pain, but with a deep, inner joy and a sense of acquiescence and surrender that he had never before experienced.
Afterwards, he lay still in Quatre’s arms, transfixed by a profound pleasure that felt almost holy. He realised that Quatre must experience this every time Trowa made love to him, and he finally thought he understood the ethereal, saint-like aura that surrounded the blond, and that Trowa found so alluring. He was not a religious man, but he felt (somewhat sacrilegiously) that he had touched on something very like the love of a God, which burns into a man so that life is never the same for him again.
Tired and sated, Quatre soon slept, but Trowa lay awake well into the night, He had, in a sense, lost his virginity a second time, but this time it was a deflowering that he could and would remember for the remainder of his life – something bright and good to replace the shadowy remembrance of a brief, awkward fumbling, devoid of all emotion and pleasure, many years ago, when he was little more than a boy. He savoured his epiphany.
***************
“So, you won’t tell me what happened?” Duo asked. Quatre smiled again, and shook his head.
"No, I won’t,” He replied, “But I have a lot to thank those two girls for, what were their names – Beth and Janet was it? In fact,” He added, “I think it’s time they had a pay rise. I’ll have a word with Human Resources when I get back to the office.”
??
??
??
??
Page | 1