Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Follies d'Amour ❯ Part 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Folies d'Amour

 

By DRL

 

 

Part 3

 

The private hotel that Quatre conducted Trowa to was not a hotel at all in the usual sense of the word. It was a large, elegant townhouse, situated in a fashionable street. To all outward appearances it was completely innocuous and absolutely anonymous, with no identifying markings or signage on the exterior of the building, its only declaration being a brass number on the entrance door. The establishment offered, to those who could afford the considerable cost, elegantly furnished bedrooms, and even more elegantly furnished suites of rooms, to lovers who desired to entertain their beloved for a few hours in luxury and in privacy. The house was popular with men entertaining other men's wives and also with men of Quatre's persuasion, entertaining other men.

 

As they entered the brightly lit vestibule, they were greeted by a smartly dressed man of middle age, genial aspect and ingratiating manner, who took their hats and sticks. He addressed Quatre by name and assured him that `everything was in readiness', then he ordered a waiting footman to convey the couple to their suite.

 

As they ascended the sweeping staircase, covered with a plush red carpet into which their feet sank a full inch, Quatre stole a glance at Trowa beside him. The young man looked mildly curious, but there was no trace of the annoyance that Quatre had feared. Hitherto there had been nothing to indicate that building they had entered was anything more that what it appeared to be, a sumptuously appointed private residence. However, Quatre was sure that his companion was no fool. He was sure to have guessed by now the true nature of the place to which he had been brought and Quatre was watching for the slightest show of annoyance or disapproval.

 

The drawing and smoking rooms they passed were empty, and when they reached a door at the end of the long 1st floor corridor, the footman threw it open and preceded them into a large sitting room, in which a roaring fire blazed in the marbled fireplace, despite the clemency of the weather. Having assured them that he was at their command, the footman withdrew and left them alone.

 

“Well,” Quatre said turning to face Trowa, “Here we are.”

 

“Yes,” Trowa replied with an expression of amused indulgence, “But where exactly are we?”

 

In order to avoid the question, Quatre crossed the room to a small side table on which stood a decorative silver champagne cooler. The foil-topped neck of a bottle emerged from the cooler, nestled within a bed of ice. He withdrew the bottle and proceeded to open it, decanting the contents into two champagne saucers. Trowa had joined him and was standing at his elbow. He took the glass that Quatre offered him and quirked an eyebrow.

 

“I do believe you have brought me to a house of assignation, Mr Winner.” He said, but his green eyes sparkled with mirth.

 

“Do you mind terribly?” Quatre asked nervously.

 

“Not at all.” Trowa replied. He raised his glass. “Here's to an interesting afternoon.” They both drank deeply, then Quatre relieved Trowa of his glass, took him by the hand and led him through a doorway into a bedroom.

 

The room had a certain fin-de-siécle charm that seemed to please Trowa. He cast a long, appraising glance around the room, taking in the appointments, from the long curtains of dark red velvet, decorated with tasselled trim, to the vast bed, ornamented in white and gold with an oval plaque of porcelain let into its woodwork, painted with a small, chubby Cupid preparing to loose an arrow from his tiny bow. Quatre tore his eyes from his companion long enough for him to slip quickly into an adjoining room. He emerged almost immediately, pulling the door to behind him.

 

“Now my dear Trowa,” He said as he approached the tall young man, “Are you ready for an adventure?”

 

He silently unfastened the buttons of Trowa's coat, keeping his eyes locked with his companion's, watching for any sign of disapprobation. He detected none, and he gently slid the garment from Trowa's broad shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor. Slowly and sensuously he did the same with Trowa's waistcoat, shirt, tie and trousers, until he stood naked but for an exquisitely flimsy cotton undergarment that hid his manhood from Quatre's eager gaze (but only just). Trowa stood in the graceful attitude of a dancer, one foot extended slightly forward and his fingers loosely clasped behind his back, so that Quatre could admire his slender figure. As he allowed his eyes to drink in the sight before him, Quatre sighed in delight.

 

“You are truly beautiful.” He murmured in a breathy whisper, “The most beautiful being I have ever seen.”

 

Enraptured, Quatre sank to the floor and kissed Trowa's bare knees, his fingertips lightly caressing the backs of his long thighs. By stages his hands moved up the loose legs of Trowa's diaphanous undergarment until he could squeeze and stroke the tender cheeks of the tall young man's buttocks. Eventually he gently pulled himself away and rose to his feet, fearing that he was boring his pleasure-seeking companion, although Trowa gave every indication of enjoying w hat was being done to him.

 

“Come,” He said decisively, and took Trowa by the hand, “I am going to bathe you in champagne.”

 

Trowa's green eyes opened wide and his languid expression was replaced with one of genuine astonishment. Quatre knew that he had struck the right note.

 

“In champagne,” He exclaimed. “How magnificent!”

 

“Every great beauty has been bathed in champagne by a special admirer,” Quatre continued, “And as the greatest of them, you deserve no less, and I shall consider it a sacred privilege to be allowed to perform this sumptuous rite for you.”

 

He led Trowa into the room he had discreetly inspected earlier. It was a spacious and ornate bathroom, and around nine or ten cases of finest quality champagne were piled neatly in a corner. Quatre settled Trowa on a chair, having retrieved his glass of champagne from the bedroom, and the tall young man sat, his bare knees gracefully crossed, sipping his wine and watching in total fascination as Quatre discarded his jacket and set to work popping corks and pouring fizzing champagne into the large onyx bath. The delicate fumes of the wine filled the air making Trowa's eyes sparkle.

 

“But this is quite mad!” He exclaimed, laughing and Quatre thought that if he lived to be 100, he would never again hear a sound as beautiful as that laughter.

 

“Yes it is.” He agreed, laughing with him as he stood, a bottle in each hand, champagne streaming into the bath.

 

Quatre worked quickly, tearing open the cases, unwiring the corks and opening the bottles with a deft twist, until he had emptied the contents of around eight dozen bottles and the floor was littered with foil, wires, corks and empty bottles.

 

“Now,” He exclaimed, “Your bath is ready, my prince.” He turned to Trowa and took his hands, one in each of his own. Quatre lightly kissed the palms of both hands and then the inside of each wrist, then he took Trowa gently in his arms to kiss his adorable mouth. Trowa let out a moan of pleasure.

 

“Oh Quatre,” He breathed, using Quatre's given name for the first time, “I think I'm falling a little in love with you.”

 

Spurred on by these words and Trowa's lapse into familiarity, Quatre slipped the wispy cotton undergarment over the globes of Trowa's bottom and down his silky-smooth thighs to pool at his feet.

 

“You are truly beautiful.” He said, stepping back to fully take in Trowa's glorious nakedness.

 

“Truly?” Trowa said, as if unsure.

 

“Utterly and breathtakingly beautiful.” Quatre answered. “Give me your hand.”

 

With great courtesy he helped Trowa into the bath. He lay back in the pale gold champagne, a sight that dazzled Quatre's senses. The delicate pink tips of his nipples showed above the surface and the rest of his long, svelte body and legs were visible through the wine. Quatre gazed at him and wondered at the good fortune that had made it possible for him to attract the interest of a young man as beautiful as Trowa. Those nipples of his were works of fine art in their perfection Quatre mused, as much a delight to the eye of the connoisseur as to his sense of touch, though he fully intended to explore the truth of this in due course. For the moment he was content to regale his eyes with the sight of Trowa's exquisite body. His elegantly formed and beautifully proportioned sex lay cradled between his slender hips in so artistic a manner that Quatre's heart missed a beat. To kiss it would be enchanting! There, at the join of his long thighs, nestled within thick cinnamon curls that simply invited the fingers to comb through them.

 

“How the bubbles tickle,” Trowa exclaimed with a tinkly little laugh that broke Quatre's reverie, “I love it!”

 

“Open your thighs and raise your hips a little,” Quatre suggested, “Let the bubbles burst against your most sensitive parts.”

 

Trowa arched his eyebrows at the frankness of the suggestion, but he crooked his knees and parted them as widely as the bath allowed, raising his hips slightly.

 

“Oh,” He cried a few seconds later, “Oh Quatre, the sensation is incredible!”

 

Quatre watched him for a while as his eyes half-closed in his enjoyment of the tiny tickling of the champagne bubbles against the tender flesh of his sex and the sensual nodule between the cheeks of his bottom. Then throwing off the spell of the naked beauty before him with reluctance, he tore open another case, popped two corks and let the frothing wine pour down over Trowa's pert nipples.

 

“Oh yes, yes,” Trowa moaned with delighted pleasure, “Oh Quatre - how marvellous!” He arched his back so as to raise his chest to receive the cascade of pale wine, his expression one of surprise and pleasure. Quatre quickly opened two more bottles and poured again from as high as he could hold the bottles, directing the two streams of champagne onto the taught pink buds, where the wine foamed and sprayed out in a great torrent.

 

Quatre noted a change in Trowa's expression. The surprise had been replaced with that look of slight hauteur that he had at first feared but had begun to love. Trowa's thinking had adjusted to the situation, he surmised, and he had now come to terms with receiving such homage from so ardent an admirer, perhaps deeming it no more than was his due.

 

“Again!” Trowa demanded when the bottles were empty, and again Quatre cascaded the foaming wine onto his pink buds, which were now engorged and firm.

 

When the bottles were empty, Quatre set them down and reached for a large fluffy towel. He helped Trowa from the bath and wrapped him in the towel, which was large enough to cover him from shoulders to knees. Quatre led him back into the bedroom, laid him on the broad bed and unwrapped him with a delicacy bordering on reverence. His own clothes were off in seconds and he was beside Trowa, kissing and caressing him. Trowa lay with his arms outstretched, hands clasped above his head, and sighed in great contentment as Quatre kissed and suckled the tips of his nipples, relishing the taste of the champagne.

 

“I am definitely a little in love with you.” He murmured for the second time.

 

“And I with you Trowa.” Quatre replied fervently, his lips moving over the flat plane of Trowa's stomach, his hand between his thighs, closing at last over the warm treasure he had been denied at the ballet the previous evening. He pressed his lips to the damp curls that also tasted of champagne and then closed them around the thick shaft that protruded from them.

 

They were both a little drunk from the fumes of so much wine. Trowa's hands grasped him firmly by the shoulders and pulled him upwards. At once Quatre slid on top of him and as Trowa legs moved apart, brought his stiff projection to the tight pucker of Trowa's rear entrance.

 

The thought had been in his mind earlier, after what Trowa had told him of the dullness of his life, that he might well be a virgin still. Quatre pushed firmly but gently to overcome any such difficulty, but the ease of his entry proved Trowa to be otherwise. At this supreme moment Quatre tried to reign in his passion and to proceed at a canter rather than a gallop to prolong the uniqueness of his first lovemaking with Trowa, but the young man's beautiful face so close to his own expressed such pure delight at what Quatre was doing to him and the feel of that enchanting body beneath his was so stirring that, try as he might, nothing could restrain the sensations that overwhelmed him. His loins bucked wildly and Trowa cried out in pleasure as Quatre's passion erupted hotly within him. Trowa himself fared no better as his own passion poured forth scant seconds later.

 

Afterwards, they lay together in each other's arms, too spent to do anything more than kiss each other lightly, caress each other's hair and exchange murmured endearments.

 

“I'd better get you home or you will be late for dinner.” Quatre said at length. Trowa sighed heavily.

 

“Yes, I suppose so.” He reluctantly agreed.

 

They rose, hurriedly dressed themselves and descended the stairs to the vestibule, where they retrieved their hats and sticks and went out into the street. Quatre hailed a hansom and Trowa gave the driver an address in a fashionable street of elegant townhouses, not far from the park where they met. They lowered the blinds of the cab and spent the entire journey locked in each other's arms, exchanging passionate kisses and fervent endearments. When the cab drew up outside Trowa's house he kissed Quatre one last time and said,

 

“My name is Trowa Barton, my love. Send me word soon.”

 

Quatre rapped on the ceiling of the cab with his stick and the driver moved off, while Quatre sat back and sighed contentedly as he thought about how, in a few short hours, he had changed from a man deeply in carnal lust to a man wholeheartedly in love.

 

 

 

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