Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Follies d'Amour ❯ Part 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Folies d'Amour

 

By DRL

 

 

Part 1

 

Quatre Winner sat back in the comfortable seat of the carriage and sighed inwardly. He glanced at his father beside him, and smiled as the older man chanced to do likewise, and their eyes met. He had agreed to accompany his father to the ballet out of a sense of duty rather than through any personal desire. His father had not taken another wife, nor had he really kept any female company since the death of Quatre's mother, so many years ago now that the young man had all but forgotten her. Quatre and his father lived alone, with the exception of their servants and retainers.

 

In those early years following his wife's tragic death, Quatre's father had looked after his young son, but now that Quatre was 18 years old and virtually a man, he had seen it as his duty to now look after his father and performing little acts of filial obligation such as accompanying him to the ballet or opera were merely a part of this duty. Other boys his age were already at university, preparatory to going out into society to find themselves a suitable heiress as a wife, who would bring them a good dowry and eventually a son to begin the cycle again. Quatre, however, was heir to a vast fortune and had no need of a dowry from any woman, absolutely no desire for a wife and only a mild curiosity about what it would be like to have a son. He preferred to remain at home with his father, much to the perplexity of his small, select circle of friends.

 

Quatre and his father wove their way arm in arm through the throng of bejewelled women and tail-coated men congregating in the opulent entrance foyer of the Opera House and made their way to their seats. In the carriage on the way to the theatre Quatre recalled his father explaining to him why they would not be occupying their customary box seats, although he could not for the life of him recall what the reason had actually been. It was all one to him at the end of the day. Whether viewed from the balcony, a box or the stalls, the ballet was a bore.

 

As the house lights went down and the orchestra struck up, Quatre settled down into his seat and prepared for a few hours of torpor. His father was seated next to the aisle and Quatre was seated beside him. On the other side of him sat a strikingly handsome young man, and beyond him a young woman, who Quatre took to be his sister because she was obviously a little older that he was and there was a distinct likeness between them. The young man had glanced up at Quatre as he took his seat, but he had registered no interest and had looked away again immediately, almost disdainfully Quatre thought. Despite this rudeness, Quatre decided that he liked the look of the young man beside him, with his floppy cinnamon hair and his piercing green eyes, so he surrendered to him the seat arm between them, and since his father had already taken possession of the other arm, Quatre found that he had nowhere to rest his elbows, and thus he encountered the first drawback of not being seated in a box, where the chairs were individual and each had two arms.

 

As the dancing began Quatre amused himself by admiring the buttocks and thighs of the male dancers on the stage. He found these thighs extremely beautiful, shaped to perfection by years of hard practice, long, slender and gracefully muscled; the buttocks pert, tight and also muscular. Strangely enough, considering his preferences, Quatre did not much care for the over-emphasised bulges at the groins of the male dancers, which he found rather vulgar. He contented himself with studying their thighs and buttocks.

 

Pleasant enough as it was at first to contemplate such a sublime topic, it was inevitable that Quatre's interest should diminish after a time, until eventually he found himself quite bored. The seats, though plush, were far from comfortable and he made a concerted effort not to disturb his father's enjoyment of the spectacle on the stage by fidgeting. To divert his mind he thought back to his most recent amorous encounter. Considering Quatre's sheltered life, the opportunity for these were few and his teenage masculine urges were fulfilled in the most part by Marcel, the younger of the two grooms his father employed. The lad was about two and twenty, a few years Quatre's senior, comely enough in a clean, scrubbed sort of way and willing too, if a little pedestrian in his methods. For want of any more palatable fodder, Quatre had fallen back on Marcel's rustic charms on several occasions. He now strove to recall their last intimate encounter in as vivid a detail as he could, as a means of passing the time.

 

The memory of the encounter was a pleasant one and had a rousing effect on Quatre. The pressure of his trousers on this upright part successfully diverted his attention from the stage and with any luck would retain his interest until the interval. He glanced down with affection into his lap, trying to discern in the darkened auditorium the long bulge he knew to be in the front of his trousers, but he was embarrassed to see that, in sitting with his legs apart to accommodate his enjoyable stiffness, his left knee was touching the thigh of the young man in the seat beside him.

 

`How very rude he must think me', was his first thought, to be followed almost immediately by the pleasing realisation that the young man had not moved his leg away. By way of experiment Quatre withdrew his knee from contact with his neighbour, waited a moment or two, then moved it back. The young man did not flinch from the pressure, but nor did he return it. Could it be, Quatre wondered, that he was so engrossed in the spectacle on the stage that he was unaware that a stranger's leg was pressing against his own? Quatre glanced up at the dancers cavorting senselessly about on the stage. No, he doubted it.

 

Slowly, for he had no desire to attract the attention of his father, which any sudden movement would surely do, Quatre half-turned his head to look at his unknown neighbour and studied his profile as best he could from the corner of one eye. He was no more than 20 years old, he thought, but probably younger, possibly closer to Quatre's own age. His hair, as had already been observed before the house lights had gone down, was a rich cinnamon colour, which now looked a dull brown in the darkened theatre, and was neatly trimmed although a thick forelock fell across his brow, all but concealing one clear, green eye. His forehead was high and smooth, betokening intelligence and his fine eyebrows described an elegant arch. His chin, beneath a stubborn, uncompromising mouth, was firm and showed decisiveness of character, in Quatre's estimation. Altogether a most charming person to be seated next to, but how was he to make the young man's acquaintance - this was the question that Quatre now pondered. Under different circumstances he would have introduced himself and hoped for the best but under these conditions, so bold an enterprise was impossible.

 

Quatre's hands lay on his thighs, for without the benefit of arm-rests his only other options were either to fold his arms across his chest or to clasp his hands in his lap. Quatre let his left hand brush against his neighbour's serge-clad knee, so lightly that it might be considered accidental and he would be able to apologise profusely for his clumsiness if the young man raised any objection. He made no move at all. Emboldened, Quatre let his hand lie along his thigh close to the knee, in such a way that the whole side of his palm was in light contact with the stranger's own knee. Quatre thought he detected a tiny quiver of his neighbour's leg at the touch, but he did not pull away from the contact. The delicate warmth of his flesh through the fine serge of his trousers made Quatre sigh with pleasure.

 

Upon the distant stage the dancers were flinging themselves about in a creative frenzy that went totally unnoticed by Quatre. His attention was concentrated on the knee which his fingers were now caressing without pretence. A cautious half-glance at its owner's face showed that he was still looking directly ahead at the stage, but even in the dim light Quatre perceived that his head was tilted slightly back, his eyelids were almost closed and his delicate lips were parted slightly. Who could he be, Quatre wondered, this enchanting young man who allowed him the exquisite pleasure of stroking his leg in a public place?

 

By now Quatre's hand had moved beyond its starting point, had dipped slowly between the slightly parted knees to caress the tender inside of his neighbour's thigh. Again that delicious little tremour! This time Quatre was sure that he shot him a quick glance from the corner of his eye. Quatre was enraptured by having the boredom of sitting through a ballet performance dispelled in so unexpected and exciting a manner. If all the male dancers on the stage had, at that moment, stripped themselves and continued the ballet stark naked, they could not have wrested his attention from the secret delight of his hand gently stroking the taught thigh of his unknown neighbour.

 

Quatre's hand moved higher still, and to his utter delight his neighbour shifted his position, furtively but definitely, so that his legs were further parted and Quatre could proceed completely unimpeded. The skin beneath the fine fabric of the stranger's trousers felt smooth as satin and warm to the touch; a combination of delights that so aroused Quatre that he felt a prickle of perspiration in his armpits. Ahead of him lay that incredible moment when his fingers, gliding slowly up that stretch of taught thigh, would encounter the prize at the junction with the opposite thigh. Quatre's mind reeled in sensual anticipation.

 

But it was not to be. A scant inch away from the apex and his neighbour's warm thighs suddenly snapped closed on Quatre's hand, trapping it between them and forbidding any further exploration. As Quatre's mind struggled to comprehend this sudden development, the stranger took firm hold of his wrist and sharply drew his hand away from him completely. A moment later the music stopped, the curtain came down and the house lights went up. The audience began to applaud.

 

“Magnificent!” Cried Quatre's father as he clapped his hands together enthusiastically, “Superb!”

 

“Quite superb!” Quatre agreed at once, although his praise was intended for the young man seated beside him, “The experience of a lifetime.”

 

Mr Winner looked appreciatively at his son.

 

“I have never known you to be so enthusiastic about the ballet before.” He said delightedly, then his brow creased with concern and he looked closely at his son. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed.”

 

“The experience was... enthralling. There is no other word to describe it Papa.” Quatre pitched his voice so that he could be overheard by his neighbour. His father smiled a grateful smile.

 

“Come along,” The older man said, “Let us get something to drink. A small cognac perhaps?”

 

During the interval Quatre though furiously about how he was to make the acquaintance of the enchanting creature who had provided him with a most memorable interlude. He caught sight of him once or twice in the crowd, talking to the woman he was now sure was his sister. He could hardly walk up to the young man on the pretext that he had met him before, not with that formidable young woman at his side. She was attractive after a severe fashion, and she hovered over her brother with a proprietorial air that Quatre quite resented, although he had no real right to.

 

“Papa,” He said, turning to his father, “That young lady over there - the one with the black silk gown and the jet bead necklace - she looks familiar to me somehow. Is she not the daughter of an acquaintance of yours? Perhaps I have seen her whilst paying a call on someone with you.” Mr Winner turned to look.

 

“The girl with the auburn curls talking to the handsome young man you mean?”

 

“Yes, that's the one.”

 

“No, I don't think I've ever had the pleasure.”

 

Quatre shrugged. It had been a stab in the dark. He excused himself and, in the privacy of the gentlemen's restroom, scribbled a few words on the back of one of his visiting cards.

 

The second part of the ballet was a sheer delight for Quatre. No sooner had the house lights lowered than his hand found its way between the legs of the young man beside him. This time he went straight to the object of his desire without preamble. As his eager hand closed about the warm mound at the apex of his neighbour's thighs, an incredible joy surged through his heart at the touch. Wild thoughts whirled through Quatre's mind. More than anything he wanted to be alone with this marvellous young man, to take him in his arms, to kiss his lips. Above all he was full of an insane desire to press his lips to the warm and tender flesh where his hand now rested.

 

He gently stroked, kneaded and caressed the young man's private member through the fabric barrier, his own stiff part quivering deliciously within the confines of his trousers. He risked a glance at his neighbour's face in the dark, but the young man did not return the look - he stared fixedly at the stage, even though his mouth was opened in what Quatre was convinced was a faint sigh of pleasure. Ceasing his gentle ministrations, Quatre felt for the tiny buttons that fastened the fly of the stranger's trousers and proceeded to unfasten them. At the very threshold of success however, he felt his hand thrust briskly aside once more. The orchestra reached a climactic finale and the audience applauded the end of the performance.

 

With regret that his joy had ended, Quatre collected himself and swiftly put the plan he had formulated into action before the house lights went up. He withdrew the visiting card he had scribbled on during the interval from the pocket of his waistcoat and, standing to join an ovation for a performance he had barely seen, he slipped it into the waistcoat pocket of the young man. He took his father's arm and prepared to lead him out of the auditorium. The young man did not so much as glance in Quatre's direction as he and his sister made their preparations to depart. Seeing his face so full and so close, Quatre was struck by the exquisite refinement of his appearance and the air of slight haughtiness in the cast of his features. All this notwithstanding, he had permitted Quatre, a complete stranger, such intimacies. Between his appearance and his actions was so great a contradiction that Quatre was at a loss to understand it, but he was determined to do so, but would the young man keep the assignation he had scribbled on the back of the visiting card?

 

tbc

 

 

 

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