Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Unity Arc 01: The Rush ❯ The Plan (Sidestory) ( Chapter 7 )

Lirilith - Quat has good intentions, he really does XD Glad you've enjoyed it.

 

WolfWing - He is, isn't he? I try not to go overboard on the adorable factor but then the angst kicks in whenever he's around.

 

sylenctone - Love your comments, as always. I agree, it was a little gutsy of Q to try it, but really, what wouldn't he do for his friends? XD lol Hope you've got all that shopping done! If not, here's a little something to distract you from it.

 

Because you all asked: a sidefic. What happened between Trowa and Quatre behind closed doors…

 

Warning: Major, major angst.

 

Happy Christmas, Fandom

 

--//--

 

The Plan: Sidestory

 

This… had not gone quite according to his plan. Quatre watched Duo and Heero stumble into a bedroom with something a bit like wistful jealousy. Sure, that had been his eventual goal this morning so he was a little proud it had worked out in the end… But himself bound and gagged hadn't really been in the equation. Aroused was an… inconvenient side-effect. He was prepared for that. He was not prepared for naked.

 

The look he gave Trowa must've been close enough to panic because the Latin lifted him bodily and kicked the door closed, more concerned about him than the two idiots in the next room. Trowa placed him gently on tousled bed sheets and began working at the rope around his ankles.

 

“What happened?” His voice was curt and laced with anger Quatre could tell was being suppressed by sheer force of will and nothing more.

 

The blonde grunted. The ribbon in his mouth muffled the sound. Trowa looked up, his eyes sharper than glass, and the anger intensified even as an apology lurked in the back. Quatra spat at the ribbon when it was undone then looked up and said with all seriousness; “Kiss me.”

 

“What?” Confusion, distrust, anger, misunderstanding. It was all there in emerald eyes if one knew how to look. Quatre kicked his feet loose from the rope to get a firmer stance and made his words action.

 

He leaned forward and kissed the object of his attraction for all he was worth. Never mind that his hands were bound behind his back and useless. Never mind he was naked as the day he was born under a spider web of rope that certainly left nothing to the imagination.

 

Duo had been right. It was intense. Absolutely invigorating.

 

Trowa grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to sit. “Quatre, what the hell is going on?”

 

“Mission gone bad—well not bad.” He corrected himself against the alarm in Trowa's eyes, “Just… off kilter.” He blushed and turned on the bed to present Trowa with his hands. “Do you mind?”

 

Quatre frowned gently to himself when the Latin bent to work at the ropes and seemed completely unaffected by his state of undress. His arousal felt impossible to miss and it wasn't going away any time soon—not with the amount of adrenaline coursing through his system. He tried to focus on Trowa's question anyway.

 

“Duo confided in me a few days ago. He said that he and Heero had been—“ An abrupt shout of sound issued through the wall, Duo's voice. “That they were together.” The blush was back. “So I took it upon myself to present Duo with a Christmas gift this morning. That is to say—Heero.”

 

“And this is payback?” Trowa finished softly, still bent over the knots.

 

“I'm surprised Duo managed to talk him out of killing me.” Trowa's hands jerked on the rope, “Thankful,” Quatre continued, “But surprised.”

 

Trowa pulled the rope away and Quatre rubbed at his wrists. “Thanks… now I can kiss you properly.”

 

“Quatre—“ He caught the Arab's hands and was cut off before he could say more.

 

“Trowa.” The blonde lifted an eyebrow, “I want you. Now. I don't know how to make it any more obvious. Duo and Heero obviously approve and it would be a little hypocritical of them to condemn us for it.” He tried to keep the irony from ringing in his voice.

 

Trowa was silent and even the depths of his eyes couldn't give Quatre an answer. The blonde began to retreat, “Unless you don't—“

 

Grasping; “Yes. I do, but…”

 

Quatre's eyes were kind and he reached forward to stroke the side of Trowa's face. “Then just let it go.” He pulled the man toward him and Trowa leaned forward in hesitating jerks. “Let me love you…”

 

“Oh, god…” They met gently, sweetly. Quatre pulled the Heavyarms pilot closer and opened his mouth to a questing tongue so tentative it made him want to weep. He inched back on the bed and guided Trowa with him until the pilot was moving forward of his own accord.

 

He lay down slowly, careful not to break the tentative kiss, afraid that was the only contact keeping Trowa here with him in the now rather than lost in thought. The Latin braced himself on the mattress and executed a pushup perfectly, terrifyingly controlled.

 

Quatre clung. “Give me your weight. Let me feel you. Let me know you're here, I—“ …don't know if I can do this, please help me. His voice was not steady. There was a half minute of absolute stillness where a fear threaded itself deep within Quatre's heart. Trowa didn't want this or couldn't do this. The feeling wasn't mutual. He had been mistaken. This was a mistake-

 

And then he was gathered in strong bronzed arms and Trowa's weight was on him, easily born. He wrapped his arms around the Latin's wide back and threaded their legs together.

 

Trowa's breath was hot on his shoulder. “I don't deserve this…”

 

Quatre hugged him tighter. How did one respond to that? How did he reassure a doubt so deeply engrained? He shifted and kissed him, poured his whole heart into that kiss and prayed to Allah it was enough. He had nothing else to give.

 

The broken sound Trowa made in the back of his throat was so indefinable Quatre couldn't have explained it if he tried. He pulled the pilot's shirt up and ran his fingers along the hot skin beneath it, suddenly craving that closer contact with an almost dire urgency.

 

Trowa pulled the shirt over his head and Quatre slid his sweats down at the same time, kicking the fabric off and away. When his weight came down again, burning skin to skin, it was searingly perfect.

 

“Touch me…please.” Quatre panted and stroked what skin he could reach.

 

Trowa collected his knees under him and cradled Quatre's slim neck in his long fingers. He pressed and kneaded the skin there, skimmed his fingers over the delicate collarbone and pressed his palms firmly on either side of his ribs, as if assuring himself the blonde was really, truly there.

 

Quatre arched into the hot touch wherever it surfaced. He breathed in deeply to feel Trowa's hands brush his sides and over the top of his chest, hesitating over hard nipples. The air came out in a low moan and a short litany of `please, please' that prompted Trowa lower.

 

The Latin splayed his palm over Quatre's slim hips and watched in fascinated pleasure as the blonde writhed slowly against the sheets. `please, please' was quickly becoming his mantra. Quatre was nearly delirious and nothing had even happened yet. So when Trowa shocked him by bending to lick the tip of his erection, Quatre's breath escaped in a high keening note.

 

Trowa slid lower, sucked, kneaded, worked his tongue around the shaft then back up to the head. Quatre was beside himself. He dug his fingers into the sheets to avoid sinking them into Trowa's hair and frightening the man away. His nerves sang with tension. Trowa breathed, then sucked again forcing a temperature change that spun Quatre higher than before.

 

He couldn't remember how to breathe. When Trowa brush a careful hesitant finger down the curve of his ass Quatre couldn't remember anything at all. The crest was wrenched through him from gut to toes and he cried out, sobbed Trowa's name.

 

The pilot swallowed everything and was suddenly rolled to the side. Quatre panted, kissed a trail down Trowa's neck and palmed the erection at the bottom of the line. He bit the Latin's shoulder when he arched with a gasp. He urged Trowa higher with his fingers, licked at a nipple, and skimmed his free hand over bare, hot skin.

 

The pilot was flung over the edge no holds barred. His entire body went rigid and his climax was utterly silent. Quatre let himself fall to the bed beside his lover and traced invisible designs over the broad chest until Trowa came back to himself. His breathing slowed and eventually evened out. He curled an arm around the blonde, then his breathing evened further. Asleep.

 

Quatre smiled and shifted closer to whisper against bronze skin. “You deserve the world.”