Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Incubus ❯ One-Shot

_Incubus_

Disclaimer: GW isn't mine. The plot originally comes from a short story named 'Diet' on the site The Scorpion's Tale, which I can't seem to find again. Sad, the stuff there was really good. Anyway the point of that is I don't know who originally concived this plot.

AN: The original ending was quite bloody. I've reduced the horror effect quite a bit so this isn't nearly as good as the original. If anyone ever finds that site again, I strongly recommend you read the original 'Diet'.

Warning: Homosexual sex.

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Trowa sighed, turning away from the mirror. It was no use; there was no hiding it. He was ugly.

Had anyone else been in the room, they might have argued against that statement. Not that he was handsome by any means, but nor was he truly ugly. Plain might have been a better word. His hair was a muddy auburn in a very unusual unibang, his eyes were an uninspired shade between green and brown. He was fairly short for his nineteen years, only 5'6". His skin was pale and lightly afflicted with acne, and despite constant exercise, merely thin, not built. Worst of all, he stuttered.

Not that Trowa could see any good in himself. He had had the misfortune to fall deeply in love with another student, Hiiro Yuy. Hiiro was athletic and a straight-A sophmore and very, very involved with Relena Peacecraft, arguably the most popular and attractive student on campus. Trowa had even tried to assert himself to gain Yuy's attention, but nothing, not his acrobatic talent nor his mechanical skill nor his musical talent with the flute raised even an iota of interest from Hiiro. A constant comparison between himself, his crush and his rival had completely destroyed Trowa's self esteem and he had no close friends to pull him out of his funk. No matter how hard he worked, what he did, he never seemed to attract any decent attention.

His sister Catherine occasionally tried, attempting to point out his good qualities or in desperation, offering advice on how to make himself more 'attractive'. But none of Trowa's talents seemed to help him at all. He went on fad diets and worked for up to two hours every day to improve his body. He studied and practiced all hours of the night. He went through Catherine's beauty products as if he was her younger sister instead of her brother. He even contemplated plastic surgery. Finally Catherine threw up her hands and let him be.

One day, in perhaps a greater fit of despair than usual, he turned to the classified section of Catherine's Cosmo magazine. Most of it was stuff he had tried before, products and services that didn't interest him or personal ads, when a new ad attracted his attention.

IMAGE CONSULTANTS

98% CUSTOMER SATISFACTION

WEIGHT, AGE, APPEARANCE

ANYTHING AT ALL

NO SURGERY

CONFIDENTIAL

XXX ROUGE AVE.

JERU YY ZZZZZ

(AAA)BBB-CCCC

It was new, it was different (Trowa had never gone to a professional consultant before) and it was confidential. In addition, the high sucess rate combined with the lack of expensive treatments made up his mind. He called in and was lucky enough to make an appointment for 2:00 the Tuesday of the next week. According to the representative he talked to, the process took some time but they were currently inbetween clients and free to take on more.

It turned out to be a small (relative, it looked more than big enough to Trowa's eyes) mansion just off the highway. The outside was staid red brick and white-and-black trim. The lawn was neatly cared for beside the white-washed stone path and ended abruptly by head-high bushes. When he knocked on the door, a huge dark man with a thick beard let him in and directed him to a medium sized room to wait. He gave Trowa some papers to fill out, detailing price and what not, which were quickly signed and collected then the man left. If anything, the made him feel even more intimidated, well-cared for antique furniture, thick plush rug, stained glass windows leading out to a balcony. Vivaldi played by a string quartet floated out from a stereo. There were a variety of foodstuffs and a teapot set on the desk, but Trowa's stomach was too knotted to bother.

"Good afternoon" a cool smooth, contralto voice cut through the air. Trowa turned around and the consultant was standing in the doorway. That person exemplified everything Trowa wanted to be. The person standing there was slight, dressed in a rose dress shirt, deep almost black purple velvet vest, cream slacks and brown formal shoes. Although round childlike features made that person look very young, prepubescent almost, the hard aquamarine eyes beneath sunlit gold bangs dispelled that illusion. Despite the unusual clothes, he envied the appearance of that person and the cool confidence and perhaps a small degree of contempt of demenor. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"N-not at-t all."

"Please sit down." The consultant pointed to a burgundy leather couch, beneath a soothing picture of the ocean. He eyed the plates of confectionaries on the desk. "You haven't eaten anything." Trowa shook his head, nervously wringing his hands. The consultant wordlessly handed him a small plate with two cannoli on it and poured him a small cup of tea. "It's chamomile, and should help you relax. Now Mr. Barton, what seems to be the problem?"

Trowa expected to freeze up and stutter so badly that the consultant would simply toss him out on his back. To buy time he took a sip of his tea. When he looked back up and met those cold eyes, to his surprise everything began to flow out; his crush on Hiiro, his insecurity, everything he had tried before coming here. To his surprise, when he stopped talking, the other had slid onto the couch with him. The other began to speak in soft tones, but Trowa didn't take in a word that was said, so captivated was he by those swirling eyes. He didn't even protest when the consultant kissed him hard and pushed him back onto the couch.

When Trowa woke up he was still on the couch, as neatly dressed as before. The consultant was sitting behind the desk, and all the plates and the tea were gone. Instead there was a mirror laid flat upon the desk. "I'm sorry." Trowa said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." Then he stopped short.

"I didn't stutter!"

The consultant only smiled. Then he raised the mirror and Trowa gasped. In place of the dull reflection he had grown used to, a wood sylph stared back at him. His mud brown hair had gained reddish highlights, the complexion had cleared and tanned, the lackluster eyes turned a brilliant rich emerald. "Are you pleased?"

He pressed his hands to his face. "I'm surprised."

"Cyren Inc. prides itself on a job well done. We've been in the buisness for over fifty years now and have our roots from Pre-Colonial times. Shall we make this the usual time for your appointment?"

"Usual time?"

"This is an adequate job for the first session, but surely you are interested in more, ah, elaborate work?"

"Oh, um, yes, of course. Excuse me, but I didn't catch your name earlier?"

"Quatre Raberba Winner."

"Yes, uh, thank you, Ms. Winner."

"It's Mr." Amused eyes froze with even more contempt.

"Oh, stupid mistake." Trowa flushed and backed out of the room. In his car he stared into his new reflection. He only had a hazy recollection of what had occured in the room, but he was sure he would have remembered had they dyed his hair or put colored contact lenses in his eyes. And if this is what the first session was . . .

He shivered. Something told him to run away from Cyren Inc. that what had occured had a wrong feeling to it. The release forms, the clause about increased price based on results, Quatre Winner's own behavior all set off alarm bells in his mind. But the results were impressive for a-he checked his watch-only an hour long session. The price, at least right now was hardly exorbitant and he could always terminate the contract later. Besides for a chance at Hiiro . . . that made up Trowa's mind for him.

Still, there were qualms. He could have done any of the things he had experienced today, at a cheaper price. Nothing he had seen justified a return visit. Then he remembered those cold eyes, amusement and contempt mingling as if he had been an insect under a magnifying glass. Those eyes seemed to judge and dismiss him as being less than worthy of what they had given. They seemed to know his every thought and laughed at each and every one. Quatre Raberba Winner was well aware of his doubts and was expecting him to run as far and as fast as he could. That made up Trowa's mind. He'd show those eyes. He'd come back, if only to prove himself not a coward.

And so it began. Originally he had only intended to return once, an act of defiance. But he found himself coming back again and again, set out to prove something to those laughing aquamarine eyes. Each time was similar to the first. He'd be lead to some room in the mansion, left usually with some music and some food. Then Quatre would show up and they would talk, usually about what had happened over the past two weeks. Then something would happen, he knew not what, and he'd wake up and it was all over. Each time he left, something new had changed; he'd grown a few inches, gained muscles, his face had thinned and refined. Those episodes left hazy memories, something both pleasant and horrific.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh God"

Trowa leaned over Hiiro's body, pressing him down on the bed. He placed a hard kiss on his lips, forcing them open with his tounge and grinding his demin-clad erection against the shorter boy's crotch. Hiiro returned the favor, pushing up with his hips. "Yyyeeesss . . . " he hissed.

Trowa was silent in turn. After breaking the kiss he began to suck and nip at the exposed flesh of Hiiro's neck. Fumbling with the buttons on the plaid shirt, he finally ripped it open. Moving down, he licked at Hiiro's nipples then bit down. Hiiro's grip tightened in his hair. "Sssooo goooood . . . more, please, more!"

Hiiro ran his hands down Trowa's sides as the other began exploring his chest. He tugged fitfully at the tight turtlenck that he wore. "Off" he ordered. Then he reached down and began undoing his jeans. Trowa yanked the turtleneck off then kicked off his shoes. He began to knead Hiiro's muscles before stealing another kiss, not quite as deep as before. When Hiiro had gotten his jeans and underwear off he stopped. "Where's your lube?"

"Top left drawer." Hiiro began to run his hands over his own body. "God, you're so hot."

Trowa lunged for the drawer, nearly knocking over the lamp in the process. Scrambling at the drawer, he finally managed to draw the half-used tube out. "Cherry?" he laughed, a deep rumbling sound that sent shivers through Hiiro. "How cliche."

"What can I say?" Hiiro shrugged. "It was Relena's favorite."

Trowa stood up and began to wiggle out of his pants. Finally free of them, he pushed Hiiro onto his stomach. "Get up on all fours." he husked, warming the lube up with his hands. Hiiro pushed himself up, using one hand to stroke his erection, his head bowed down till it almost touched the pillow. "Give it to me hard!"

Trowa complied. With the bare minimum of prep he shoved in and began a series of short powerful thrusts. Hiiro cried out, then arched his back and dropped his hands down to support himself and twist the comforter. Trowa reached out, raking his nails like a cat down Hiiro's back.

Teenage hormones made intercourse short. Soon, Trowa threw his head back, throat too tight to make a sound and came. Hiiro whimpered as he withdrew, then collapsed down, grinding himself into the bed to find his release.

Trowa rolled away from Hiiro. It didn't make any sense. He had finally gotten everything he wanted: confidence, looks, popularity and Hiiro. Yet somehow, he was even more unsatisfied than before. He expected the act of sex with his crush would be filled with euphoria; instead it only highlighted some emptiness within him. When he had climaxed, he hadn't seen Hiiro, flushed and moaning below him, but a pair of mocking sea-colored eyes. Even in the silence of the room, broken only by thier panting breaths, he could almost hear that cool, confident voice 'Good? You call that good? Maybe enough for the common meat lying in your bed now, but never good enough for me.'

Somehow, over the months he'd been returning to Cyren Inc., his goals had changed. Slowly, his original goal of winning Hiiro's interest had faded and he had instead become obsessed with gaining that of Quatre Raberba Winner. Those sessions, once every two weeks, had become the basis of his life. His life had changed during the intervening weeks, but the catalyst had shifted from impressing Hiiro to impressing Quatre. Now all he was left with a hollow feeling in the ebb of his orgasm.

"Trowa?" He turned to look at Hiiro. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing" he grunted. He got up and began to put on his clothes, ignoring the discomfort of his sweat-soaked skin.

"Then why-"

"I said it's nothing!" Hiiro frowned. "Alright, bastard, have it your way. I can't believe I gave up Relena for a prick like you. Now get out!" (1)

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Trowa slewed his car into a space beside the Cyren Inc. mansion. Knocking on the door, he was let in by the silent, giant guardian of the door. He was lead this time to the third floor, through an almost empty room to a balcony, where Quatre lounged, bathing in the moonlight. He was dressed in a flowing white shirt and crowned with flowers. (2) "You're appointment's not till next week, Mr. Barton."

Trowa stood there. Rumpled, panting, covered with sweat and the scent of sex. "What can I do?"

"What can you do?"

"What can I do to impress you?"

"Impress me?" Quatre sat up and turned to face him "I'm you're consultant Mr. Barton. You do not have to impress me. Whatever feelings I have about you are personal and there is no need for me to share them with you." Trowa was shaking his head halfway through that speech.

"I want to impress you. I need to. Something, anything, I'll do anything to be worthy."

"Worthy of what?"

"Of you. I don't know how, but you've gotten under my skin. I'll die under your disapproval and contempt."

"Hmmm" Quatre stood up and stepped forward till he was almost touching Trowa. Almost, but not quite. "Anything?"

"Anything." Quatre smiled. It wasn't the abstract, half-condescending smile he usually gave Trowa. This one was coldly triumphant. He raised his hands and placed them around Trowa's neck. "Anything" he purred softly.

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"Step this way Ms. . . it was Ms. Hilde Schebieker was it?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"If you would wait here . . . feel free to eat something if you're hungry. It usually helps settle clients' nerves."

"Ah-ah! Wait, before you go!"

"Was there something you needed?"

"Do you know who'll I be seeing today?"

"Quatre Raberba Winner. Don't worry, you'll know him when he comes."

"Is he any good?"

"The best. In fact I used to be a client of Cyren Inc. and he was my consultant then as well."

"Really?"

"Oh, quite a long time ago, in fact."

"You don't look that old, Mr . . . I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Trowa Barton. And trust me, it's more than woth the expense. You'd sell your soul for this."

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(1) And let's hit it for gratituous sex scenes. Actually I'm quite proud of this one, not only did it not involve rape, but this is a pairing between two characters I absolutely abhor.

(2) Think Flower Doll 1