Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Trinity ❯ Part II ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: briar eve 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Hentai / Occult / Psychological / Romance / Supernatural / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 02.23.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 422 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Hentai / Occult / Psychological / Romance / Supernatural / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 02.23.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 422 | Status: Completed
If one grain of sand is equivalent to one second, then I wake after twenty five thousand, two hundred granules have passed. Trowa's still asleep, sprawled on top of me, legs entwined with my own. The romantic in me tells me to shimmy back under the covers, but my grumbling stomach is a better motivator, so I untangle myself from him and start for the kitchen. My sulky lover grumbles but doesn't even lift his head.
Although he's been forced to rise early for most of his life, Trowa's definitely not a morning person. I kiss his temple before abandoning him for food, delighting in the wave of Trowa's sleepy-time emotions. Other than at orgasm, this is the only time he's entirely unguarded.
My body is feeling wonderfully light this morning, so I literally trot down the stairs and through the conservatory to the kitchen. My estate here outside of New Kars is not as posh as my father's mansion on L4, but it's clean and the simplicity suits me. It's where I feel my most independent.
Coffee, for me, is a stimulant in all its states. And, while the liquid is lovely, it's the smell that gets to me first. Coffee's been made and, since I no longer keep servants on hand, I know who's brewed it.
Even before I open my mouth in greeting, he shoves a mug into my hands. Two cream, one sugar and just stirred enough to marble the black with white. I take it and follow him into the den, where he takes one end of the couch and I take the other, both with our mugs, both smelling of sex, both poster children for the post-war depression campaign. His hair's tousled, and he's wearing my old satin pyjama pants along with a serene smirk.
I'm probably wearing a matching one.
"Heero, did you sleep well?"
I'm immediately bombarded with sensations- the channelled lust, the voyeurism and the masturbatory release. I relive my own release and Trowa's, all filtered through his perception.
"So that means yes?" I ask, shifting my weight from one side to the other in an attempt to slow the blood flow to my penis.
"That first time he's back is always really desperate," he murmurs, sipping. "You act like virgins every time."
"I forget how raw it is to actually experience it, as opposed to channelling." I'm not entirely sure of how to express myself, so this is the best I can come up with. He nods.
"I understand. I often forget how absorbing it is to channel, as opposed to doing. . .it."
" 'It', huh? Is that how you refer to me when I'm not in the room?"
We raise our heads in synchronization at the sound of Trowa's remark. He's leaning against the doorframe, watching us, wearing nothing but a short house robe. His notorious 'addict mug' is cradled in both hands, for such a massive cup of coffee is truly a two handed weapon.
". . .Quatre, I thought you were going to throw that thing out," muses Heero.
"I hid it," is Trowa's smug reply. I sigh.
"I've been looking for that mug for three months, where did you hide it?"
Of course, he doesn't answer me. Instead, he takes the seat between us on the couch and leans in to press a kiss to Heero's lips. I watch them, quickly picking up their combined affection and lust through our connection. Trowa pulls away before it can amount to anything and stretches out over the sofa with his legs pinning Heero to the cushions and his torso pinning me. Leaning back on his elbows, he feeds his addiction.
The first time I explained my relationship with Trowa to Duo, he lectured me. He called me "whipped" and "masochistic" for loving a man who spent most of his life wandering around the world, searching for himself. I patiently sat through it, then pumped my friend full of Irish coffee and cookies to induce grogginess, otherwise he would have ended up repeating himself in full.
It wasn't until the second time he brought it up that I told him about Trowa and Heero and their bond. That conversation was much more vehement and it took a significant amount of alcohol to curb Duo's wrath. I. .. can't even remember most of the conversation. I know it ended poorly, and I know I didn't express myself clearly, but that's pretty much it.
Trowa called the next night- it was the only time he's ever contacted me directly while away.
He told me he felt my pain and confusion from his hotel room in Amsterdam. That alone justified my love for him.
I can't explain our relationship anymore than I can verbalize the nature of my empathy. It's something that defies the boundaries of time and space and the restrictions of the human mind. He knows me deeper than I consciously know myself, and I love him for his acceptance and willingness to love me in return, despite it.
But, I know that doesn't explain his relationship with Heero, or why I continue to dote on him despite his infidelity. Duo thought me pathetic- weak and spineless- but he doesn't know. . .
I made Trowa a phoenix- I did. But I killed him before knowing his hourglass would turn on itself. Intensified by the zero system, my empathy drove me mad, and I was drawn to the one I would need to eliminate to further my wayward ambitions.
The Heart of Space.
Unconscious as it was, I sought Heero's death. I could sense him from across the void, and zero told me he needed to die for me to reorder the chaos that was space. Heero needed to be eliminated so the knot binding the space colonies would unravel. Only later in Sanc did I realize it. I had told Heero to leave- to stay away from me- but zero had known all along that he'd refuse and challenge me. What seemed so clear then was really a befuddling mess.
But then there was Trowa, and soon after there wasn't. He sacrificed himself to re-set the order of space, and the act succeeded as a pivot point.
That gesture has led to "this". . .whatever "this" may be. I don't understand what he is to me, nor do I understand the true nature of his relationship with Heero. As the Heart of Space, Heero has the power to fascinate people-to draw them to him and understand their motivations. Buried under all that conditioning is a power to rival mine, and yet we are both rendered defenceless by a soft-spoken messiah, anointed with the blood of my stupidity.
A gentle touch stirs me from my musings. Said messiah is peering up at me, his fingertips pressed to my cheek.
"You're too far away, Quatre," he murmurs, kissing my chin. "You need to stop going to that place."
His concern passes into me, but simultaneously I know my thoughts are passing into him. He sees the truth in everything he touches, which is a frightening skill for a killer to possess. I wrap my arms around him fiercely and kiss his forehead, tasting the salt on his skin.
"What do you want for dinner?" I quickly change the subject.
"Don't worry- I'll make dinner."
"Let Quatre make dinner, Trowa- I'm not eating out of a can tonight."
"Then I'll make you oatmeal," Trowa smirks. The playfulness isn't lost on Heero, but he disregards it.
"No. If he doesn't mind, Quatre will cook. He has something planned anyway."
And I do. Not long ago, Dorothy gave me a recipe for a white-sauce based mushroom Lasagne along with an unfriendly jab at my poor culinary skills. Since then, I've been awaiting an opportunity to flex my culinary muscles and prove Miss Catalonia wrong.
"Heero's right- I have a new recipe I'd like to try out, if you don't mind being guinea pigs."
"Anything but grits and condensed soup," Heero gruffs.
"When did you start eating for pleasure?" teases my Trowa, poking Heero in the stomach with his big toe.
"Since I realized there were more tastes in the world than 'bleh'." Taking it as a cue, Heero kisses Trowa sloppily, pressing him into my lap.
"Mmm. . ."The head in my lap smirks and murmurs a "tastes like 'bleh'."
Heero snorts, grabs our empty mugs, and leaves for the kitchen. He maintains a cool façade, but he's chuckling mentally.
"Troublemaker," I tease, holding my lover close. We enjoy a few moments of stillness in the den, before I rise to my feet, bringing him with me.
"You want me to have a shower with you," he whispers.
"Yes," I answer, "that's exactly what I want."
We don't make love in the shower, but we indulge in some soapy petting and deep kisses. The cleansing ritual itself is erotic with Trowa, as he takes great care with every part of my body, massaging the soap into my skin with his bare hands. Washing his hair is one of my favourite things to do in the world, and I take my time with it. While I think he's beautiful no matter what, the moment I push his hair back out of his face I'm rendered breathless. I channel that into him, hoping to prove his beauty to him. He blushes faintly and quickly rinses the shampoo from his hair, thus allowing his bangs to fall back into place. Although my comments embarrass him, I know he's pleased and feeling a bit vain.
Later, I go into town to the supermarket to buy the ingredients for supper. After loading up my car with pasta and Portobello mushrooms, and after a stop-in at Mr. Aman's for a bottle of wine, I hurry home, already sick with Trowa withdrawal.
The ingredients I leave on the counter and the wine I put on ice. I find the house terribly quiet considering there are three current residents, but I quickly remind myself that it's Heero and Trowa, which justifies the fact.
They're in the den, lying near the hearth, talking quietly. I don't disturb them- instead I linger in the doorway to observe. My heart aches seeing them so intimate. Trowa lies on his back, head propped up with a half-dozen pillows, his torso half covered with Heero's. I watch Trowa's hand as it massages Heero's skull, then Heero's catches my eye, drawing tender circles on our lover's stomach. They emit an overwhelming stillness. I pick up the conversation mid-way.
". . .it gets cold when Quatre falls asleep. I can't feel you anymore."
"I'm sorry," says Trowa, distant and thoughtful.
"Don't apologize- it's no one's fault. I just wanted to tell you that. Do you get cold?"
"Yes, I suppose I do," he whispered. "It feels like he's let go of me."
"Do you feel like that when I go to sleep?"
"It is the same."
"We feel the same to you?"
"Yes."
"But you know we're different," Heero finds it difficult to speak of this as he is even more mistrusting of his powers than I am of mine.
"Of course," Trowa replies with a shrug, "You're not the same person, but you feel the same inside."
No elucidation will come of this conversation- we still can't verbalize our connection. Heero knows this, of course, but he continues to gently probe Trowa for information.
"Does sex feel the same?"
Though it seems out of place, it's really not. Not long ago Trowa was a veritable brick wall, save for at orgasm when his emotions broke free.
"The process isn't the same but the result is." Trowa answers.
"And the result is?"
"Elation. You know that."
"Elation, huh?" Heero bends down to place a gentle kiss on Trowa's stomach. Even from my position I can see my lover's anticipatory tremble. It makes his emotions- filtered through Heero and my connection- all the more real.
And then they begin something I've been observing for the last three years, but have never been privy to see. My knees are trembling and I find myself slinking to the ground, in the doorjamb, with my hand in my mouth to stifle my whimpers.
After moments of lavishing kisses on Trowa's stomach, Heero slides the linen pants down our lover's hips and out of the way, releasing the shaft he greedily takes between his lips. I know from our connection there's generally little foreplay- there's just intensity and heavy panting.
Trowa gasps at the initial contact, jerking his hips upwards to greet Heero's mouth. With a snarl Heero forces him back to the ground, pressing his partner's hips painfully to the floor to continue the ministrations in peace. My lover writhes in frustration, bombarded with licking and suckling from a too-talented mouth.
"Heero. . ."
With a jerk Heero thrusts his face forward, taking in Trowa's entire length. The dark-capped head rises and falls between my love's legs, and my love's eyes grow wide and clouded with lust. The heat of Trowa's desire flows into Heero and then into me, leading the blood to my growing length and shooting tremors through my veins. With a whimper I unzip my pants and slip my hand beneath all the fabric to take hold of my erection. My eyes are still focused on Heero's undulating head and my ears on the whimpers drawn from the act.
Suddenly Heero releases Trowa's cock and, grabbing my love's hips roughly, flips Trowa onto his stomach. Fumbling around in his pockets, Heero pulls out a tube and squeezes its contents onto his fingers. As he firmly inserts them into Trowa's anus, I feel the fullness and heat sympathetic in myself. I squeeze my erection and increase the friction, revelling in the sensation of ghost-like fingers stimulating my passage.
Wiping his hands on Trowa's flanks, Heero bends down and slowly flicks his tongue over the tense bud. I jump at the sensation, mirroring Trowa's outcry. I taste the cinnamon of the lube and spicy salt of Trowa's skin, and feel his body quivering in response to my. .. Heero's. . .exploring tongue.
Heero's tongue penetrates deeper, its stimulation aided by his index finger. I can barely hear Trowa's panting over the pounding blood in my ears. I take my length in one hand and massage my testicles with the other. Leaning my head against the wall, I bite my lip and watch Heero pleasure my hedonistic lover, whose sensations are gloriously slamming into my mind.
In one swift movement, Heero turns Trowa around, rolls them both over and pushes my lover down onto a neglected cock. Straddled atop Heero's hips, our love sinks down, impaling himself without conscious thought, driven by the erotic pull of Heero's power. Moaning, Trowa arches back and starts to ride his partner, using his elegant thighs to rise up and sink down. I can hear Heero's choking groan, but the sympathetic sensation of Trowa's tight channel and the sight of my uninhibited lover with another man sends electricity shooting through my body. I rub up against the doorframe, searching for extra friction. The friction increases in my mind when Heero starts to massage the bobbing organ in front of him. I'm vaguely aware of them screaming out each other's name, but all I can feel is the impending release and the electricity flicking through my nervous system.
Then everything goes white.
In my mind's eye I see Trowa- riding me, panting and crying out. My right hand is grasping his buttock, helping him gain leverage, while my left is relentlessly milking him. His clouded eyes, wet with frustration, grow large and his mouth opens in a soundless scream. For a second he freezes, then comes hard in my hand, clenching around me even as I thrust madly up into him. I follow quickly, groaning as I empty myself into him. He collapses against my chest, still skewering himself on my pulsating shaft. He calls out my name:
"Heero!"
And then, I follow him back to reality.
I've come all over my pants and the wall and am now clutching at the doorframe for dear life. Not far lie Heero and Trowa, tangled up and just as soiled as myself. A heavy sigh escapes my love as he turns his head to meet my eyes. He genuinely smiles and motions me over with a nod of his head. I rise on shaking limbs and manage to stumble over to his side. The smell of the cinnamon lubricant and their combined spiciness fascinates me, as does the otherworldly sheen of perspiration on Trowa's skin.
Heero smiles up at me as I collapse beside them. He takes my hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. Pressing a gentle kiss to my lover's shoulder, I lean my head against his and bask in the glow of our union.
Needless to say, dinner- which ends up scrumptious-starts a little late that night.
Although he's been forced to rise early for most of his life, Trowa's definitely not a morning person. I kiss his temple before abandoning him for food, delighting in the wave of Trowa's sleepy-time emotions. Other than at orgasm, this is the only time he's entirely unguarded.
My body is feeling wonderfully light this morning, so I literally trot down the stairs and through the conservatory to the kitchen. My estate here outside of New Kars is not as posh as my father's mansion on L4, but it's clean and the simplicity suits me. It's where I feel my most independent.
Coffee, for me, is a stimulant in all its states. And, while the liquid is lovely, it's the smell that gets to me first. Coffee's been made and, since I no longer keep servants on hand, I know who's brewed it.
Even before I open my mouth in greeting, he shoves a mug into my hands. Two cream, one sugar and just stirred enough to marble the black with white. I take it and follow him into the den, where he takes one end of the couch and I take the other, both with our mugs, both smelling of sex, both poster children for the post-war depression campaign. His hair's tousled, and he's wearing my old satin pyjama pants along with a serene smirk.
I'm probably wearing a matching one.
"Heero, did you sleep well?"
I'm immediately bombarded with sensations- the channelled lust, the voyeurism and the masturbatory release. I relive my own release and Trowa's, all filtered through his perception.
"So that means yes?" I ask, shifting my weight from one side to the other in an attempt to slow the blood flow to my penis.
"That first time he's back is always really desperate," he murmurs, sipping. "You act like virgins every time."
"I forget how raw it is to actually experience it, as opposed to channelling." I'm not entirely sure of how to express myself, so this is the best I can come up with. He nods.
"I understand. I often forget how absorbing it is to channel, as opposed to doing. . .it."
" 'It', huh? Is that how you refer to me when I'm not in the room?"
We raise our heads in synchronization at the sound of Trowa's remark. He's leaning against the doorframe, watching us, wearing nothing but a short house robe. His notorious 'addict mug' is cradled in both hands, for such a massive cup of coffee is truly a two handed weapon.
". . .Quatre, I thought you were going to throw that thing out," muses Heero.
"I hid it," is Trowa's smug reply. I sigh.
"I've been looking for that mug for three months, where did you hide it?"
Of course, he doesn't answer me. Instead, he takes the seat between us on the couch and leans in to press a kiss to Heero's lips. I watch them, quickly picking up their combined affection and lust through our connection. Trowa pulls away before it can amount to anything and stretches out over the sofa with his legs pinning Heero to the cushions and his torso pinning me. Leaning back on his elbows, he feeds his addiction.
The first time I explained my relationship with Trowa to Duo, he lectured me. He called me "whipped" and "masochistic" for loving a man who spent most of his life wandering around the world, searching for himself. I patiently sat through it, then pumped my friend full of Irish coffee and cookies to induce grogginess, otherwise he would have ended up repeating himself in full.
It wasn't until the second time he brought it up that I told him about Trowa and Heero and their bond. That conversation was much more vehement and it took a significant amount of alcohol to curb Duo's wrath. I. .. can't even remember most of the conversation. I know it ended poorly, and I know I didn't express myself clearly, but that's pretty much it.
Trowa called the next night- it was the only time he's ever contacted me directly while away.
He told me he felt my pain and confusion from his hotel room in Amsterdam. That alone justified my love for him.
I can't explain our relationship anymore than I can verbalize the nature of my empathy. It's something that defies the boundaries of time and space and the restrictions of the human mind. He knows me deeper than I consciously know myself, and I love him for his acceptance and willingness to love me in return, despite it.
But, I know that doesn't explain his relationship with Heero, or why I continue to dote on him despite his infidelity. Duo thought me pathetic- weak and spineless- but he doesn't know. . .
I made Trowa a phoenix- I did. But I killed him before knowing his hourglass would turn on itself. Intensified by the zero system, my empathy drove me mad, and I was drawn to the one I would need to eliminate to further my wayward ambitions.
The Heart of Space.
Unconscious as it was, I sought Heero's death. I could sense him from across the void, and zero told me he needed to die for me to reorder the chaos that was space. Heero needed to be eliminated so the knot binding the space colonies would unravel. Only later in Sanc did I realize it. I had told Heero to leave- to stay away from me- but zero had known all along that he'd refuse and challenge me. What seemed so clear then was really a befuddling mess.
But then there was Trowa, and soon after there wasn't. He sacrificed himself to re-set the order of space, and the act succeeded as a pivot point.
That gesture has led to "this". . .whatever "this" may be. I don't understand what he is to me, nor do I understand the true nature of his relationship with Heero. As the Heart of Space, Heero has the power to fascinate people-to draw them to him and understand their motivations. Buried under all that conditioning is a power to rival mine, and yet we are both rendered defenceless by a soft-spoken messiah, anointed with the blood of my stupidity.
A gentle touch stirs me from my musings. Said messiah is peering up at me, his fingertips pressed to my cheek.
"You're too far away, Quatre," he murmurs, kissing my chin. "You need to stop going to that place."
His concern passes into me, but simultaneously I know my thoughts are passing into him. He sees the truth in everything he touches, which is a frightening skill for a killer to possess. I wrap my arms around him fiercely and kiss his forehead, tasting the salt on his skin.
"What do you want for dinner?" I quickly change the subject.
"Don't worry- I'll make dinner."
"Let Quatre make dinner, Trowa- I'm not eating out of a can tonight."
"Then I'll make you oatmeal," Trowa smirks. The playfulness isn't lost on Heero, but he disregards it.
"No. If he doesn't mind, Quatre will cook. He has something planned anyway."
And I do. Not long ago, Dorothy gave me a recipe for a white-sauce based mushroom Lasagne along with an unfriendly jab at my poor culinary skills. Since then, I've been awaiting an opportunity to flex my culinary muscles and prove Miss Catalonia wrong.
"Heero's right- I have a new recipe I'd like to try out, if you don't mind being guinea pigs."
"Anything but grits and condensed soup," Heero gruffs.
"When did you start eating for pleasure?" teases my Trowa, poking Heero in the stomach with his big toe.
"Since I realized there were more tastes in the world than 'bleh'." Taking it as a cue, Heero kisses Trowa sloppily, pressing him into my lap.
"Mmm. . ."The head in my lap smirks and murmurs a "tastes like 'bleh'."
Heero snorts, grabs our empty mugs, and leaves for the kitchen. He maintains a cool façade, but he's chuckling mentally.
"Troublemaker," I tease, holding my lover close. We enjoy a few moments of stillness in the den, before I rise to my feet, bringing him with me.
"You want me to have a shower with you," he whispers.
"Yes," I answer, "that's exactly what I want."
We don't make love in the shower, but we indulge in some soapy petting and deep kisses. The cleansing ritual itself is erotic with Trowa, as he takes great care with every part of my body, massaging the soap into my skin with his bare hands. Washing his hair is one of my favourite things to do in the world, and I take my time with it. While I think he's beautiful no matter what, the moment I push his hair back out of his face I'm rendered breathless. I channel that into him, hoping to prove his beauty to him. He blushes faintly and quickly rinses the shampoo from his hair, thus allowing his bangs to fall back into place. Although my comments embarrass him, I know he's pleased and feeling a bit vain.
Later, I go into town to the supermarket to buy the ingredients for supper. After loading up my car with pasta and Portobello mushrooms, and after a stop-in at Mr. Aman's for a bottle of wine, I hurry home, already sick with Trowa withdrawal.
The ingredients I leave on the counter and the wine I put on ice. I find the house terribly quiet considering there are three current residents, but I quickly remind myself that it's Heero and Trowa, which justifies the fact.
They're in the den, lying near the hearth, talking quietly. I don't disturb them- instead I linger in the doorway to observe. My heart aches seeing them so intimate. Trowa lies on his back, head propped up with a half-dozen pillows, his torso half covered with Heero's. I watch Trowa's hand as it massages Heero's skull, then Heero's catches my eye, drawing tender circles on our lover's stomach. They emit an overwhelming stillness. I pick up the conversation mid-way.
". . .it gets cold when Quatre falls asleep. I can't feel you anymore."
"I'm sorry," says Trowa, distant and thoughtful.
"Don't apologize- it's no one's fault. I just wanted to tell you that. Do you get cold?"
"Yes, I suppose I do," he whispered. "It feels like he's let go of me."
"Do you feel like that when I go to sleep?"
"It is the same."
"We feel the same to you?"
"Yes."
"But you know we're different," Heero finds it difficult to speak of this as he is even more mistrusting of his powers than I am of mine.
"Of course," Trowa replies with a shrug, "You're not the same person, but you feel the same inside."
No elucidation will come of this conversation- we still can't verbalize our connection. Heero knows this, of course, but he continues to gently probe Trowa for information.
"Does sex feel the same?"
Though it seems out of place, it's really not. Not long ago Trowa was a veritable brick wall, save for at orgasm when his emotions broke free.
"The process isn't the same but the result is." Trowa answers.
"And the result is?"
"Elation. You know that."
"Elation, huh?" Heero bends down to place a gentle kiss on Trowa's stomach. Even from my position I can see my lover's anticipatory tremble. It makes his emotions- filtered through Heero and my connection- all the more real.
And then they begin something I've been observing for the last three years, but have never been privy to see. My knees are trembling and I find myself slinking to the ground, in the doorjamb, with my hand in my mouth to stifle my whimpers.
After moments of lavishing kisses on Trowa's stomach, Heero slides the linen pants down our lover's hips and out of the way, releasing the shaft he greedily takes between his lips. I know from our connection there's generally little foreplay- there's just intensity and heavy panting.
Trowa gasps at the initial contact, jerking his hips upwards to greet Heero's mouth. With a snarl Heero forces him back to the ground, pressing his partner's hips painfully to the floor to continue the ministrations in peace. My lover writhes in frustration, bombarded with licking and suckling from a too-talented mouth.
"Heero. . ."
With a jerk Heero thrusts his face forward, taking in Trowa's entire length. The dark-capped head rises and falls between my love's legs, and my love's eyes grow wide and clouded with lust. The heat of Trowa's desire flows into Heero and then into me, leading the blood to my growing length and shooting tremors through my veins. With a whimper I unzip my pants and slip my hand beneath all the fabric to take hold of my erection. My eyes are still focused on Heero's undulating head and my ears on the whimpers drawn from the act.
Suddenly Heero releases Trowa's cock and, grabbing my love's hips roughly, flips Trowa onto his stomach. Fumbling around in his pockets, Heero pulls out a tube and squeezes its contents onto his fingers. As he firmly inserts them into Trowa's anus, I feel the fullness and heat sympathetic in myself. I squeeze my erection and increase the friction, revelling in the sensation of ghost-like fingers stimulating my passage.
Wiping his hands on Trowa's flanks, Heero bends down and slowly flicks his tongue over the tense bud. I jump at the sensation, mirroring Trowa's outcry. I taste the cinnamon of the lube and spicy salt of Trowa's skin, and feel his body quivering in response to my. .. Heero's. . .exploring tongue.
Heero's tongue penetrates deeper, its stimulation aided by his index finger. I can barely hear Trowa's panting over the pounding blood in my ears. I take my length in one hand and massage my testicles with the other. Leaning my head against the wall, I bite my lip and watch Heero pleasure my hedonistic lover, whose sensations are gloriously slamming into my mind.
In one swift movement, Heero turns Trowa around, rolls them both over and pushes my lover down onto a neglected cock. Straddled atop Heero's hips, our love sinks down, impaling himself without conscious thought, driven by the erotic pull of Heero's power. Moaning, Trowa arches back and starts to ride his partner, using his elegant thighs to rise up and sink down. I can hear Heero's choking groan, but the sympathetic sensation of Trowa's tight channel and the sight of my uninhibited lover with another man sends electricity shooting through my body. I rub up against the doorframe, searching for extra friction. The friction increases in my mind when Heero starts to massage the bobbing organ in front of him. I'm vaguely aware of them screaming out each other's name, but all I can feel is the impending release and the electricity flicking through my nervous system.
Then everything goes white.
In my mind's eye I see Trowa- riding me, panting and crying out. My right hand is grasping his buttock, helping him gain leverage, while my left is relentlessly milking him. His clouded eyes, wet with frustration, grow large and his mouth opens in a soundless scream. For a second he freezes, then comes hard in my hand, clenching around me even as I thrust madly up into him. I follow quickly, groaning as I empty myself into him. He collapses against my chest, still skewering himself on my pulsating shaft. He calls out my name:
"Heero!"
And then, I follow him back to reality.
I've come all over my pants and the wall and am now clutching at the doorframe for dear life. Not far lie Heero and Trowa, tangled up and just as soiled as myself. A heavy sigh escapes my love as he turns his head to meet my eyes. He genuinely smiles and motions me over with a nod of his head. I rise on shaking limbs and manage to stumble over to his side. The smell of the cinnamon lubricant and their combined spiciness fascinates me, as does the otherworldly sheen of perspiration on Trowa's skin.
Heero smiles up at me as I collapse beside them. He takes my hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. Pressing a gentle kiss to my lover's shoulder, I lean my head against his and bask in the glow of our union.
Needless to say, dinner- which ends up scrumptious-starts a little late that night.