June 26, 2000
Lord have mercy, this took forever to write...I just wanted to thank everyone who's replied to Cruel Intentions...
It is now 11x9 and I'm going to go to sleep...soon...hopefully...
Warnings: Fusion, lemon, sap, angst, voyeurism...did I forget anything?
"That's all for today, Quatre," Trowa said softly, letting the bow fall from the taut strings to rest at his side. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" Quatre nodded mutely, feeling his palms grow moist with sweat, and wiped his hands on his tan pants. He was armed to the teeth with the knowledge being with Heero had given him; all he had to do was pick a time and act on his desires. Suddenly, the green-eyed man stopped and graced him with a little smile. "You're getting much better. Soon you won't even need me to teach you."
The blonde boy felt panic begin to rise within him. "W-what are you talking about? I'm not as good as you!" He quickly set his violin into the brown case, snapping it shut with a bang. "Trowa--"
His teacher shrugged. "Of course you are, Quatre-kun. You're my equal in that respect." Trowa paused as he began to pack up his own violin. "How old are you?"
The smaller boy lifted his head proudly. "Seventeen last month," replied Quatre. He nodded slowly, but said nothing. "Why? How old are you?"
Trowa laughed gently, reaching out to muss the Arabian's hair, grin fading as the blonde boy caught his wrist in one hand. "Much too old for you," he said huskily. Quatre could feel his heart pounding loudly in his chest, every nerve in his body singing as the taller man leaned down and gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead, his soft lips brushing lightly over his skin.
"Age doesn't matter. I'm your equal..." he said slowly, taking Trowa's hand and placing it over his heart, "...in more than one way, Trowa-kun. Why should age keep us from..." Quatre took his own hand and placed it, lightly so the green-eyed man couldn't feel his own racing pulse, over Trowa's heart. "...What our hearts are telling us?" Trowa pulled away with a slight frown creasing his tanned skin. "My heart tells me nothing, Quatre."
"That's not true!" he cried, defiance ringing from every corner of the room.
"It *is* true, Quatre, and I'm afraid I have to go now." He tried to brush past the stunned blonde boy without so much as a second glance. Infuriated, Quatre grabbed his hand tightly, desperately.
Trowa studied their locked fingers, the strange fusion of the white and soft browns. "You don't know what you desire, Quatre. You're only seventeen; that's still a boy. Have you ever been with a man?" he demanded, using his free hand to tilt his chin up so he could stare into the bright blue of his eyes.
"I have."
The words fell like a dead weight from his lips, and Trowa turned away, releasing Quatre's hand. It was at that moment that he realized the French boy had been holding his hand as much as Quatre had been grasping at Trowa's. The revelation spurred him on, giving him a strength he hadn't known he'd possessed, and he reached again for the older man.
"Trowa...have you ever been with a m--anyone?" He sighed, waiting for the inevitable positive response, for the rebuke and the laughter at Quatre's own so-called "experience".
"No."
Quatre's eyes widened as they stared at each other, yards between them, hands outstretched.
"Heero," Duo murmured, body thrashing about between the hot cotton sheets. They stuck to his legs, molding to the soft contours of his thighs and calves. "Heero..." His back arched into his dream lover's caresses, hands groping uselessly in the humid spring air.
She watched silently from the door, shaking her head as the American let out another soft groan from behind clenched teeth. She felt bad for the poor boy, she really did. Falling for Heero Yuy led only to pain and suffering: Relena, God bless her poor twisted soul, was a perfect example of the skittish, oversexed creatures his love produced. She'd changed so much in the short time Willie had known her, from an intelligent brunette to a conniving and scheming blonde bitch.
What was so damn special about Heero Yuy?
Her face flushed as Duo let out another loud moan, hips vaulting off the bed, the contours of the muscles in his bare chest shadowed lightly. She shouldn't be watching this...but she was. And goddammit, she was a fucking lesbian, she shouldn't be enjoying the soft sounds of pleasure the young man was making...but she was. The little gasps and sharp intakes of breath were making her so hot. It wasn't right, she was Duo's family, and family didn't have hentai thoughts about other family members...
He let out a little whimper, head tossing back and forth, and Willie's eyes sharpened to a pin's head, focusing only on those tightly shut eyes, and his long, strong fingers as they groped for the sheets, for anything to ground him. Suddenly, with a gasp, he sat up in his bed, trembling, hair slowly unraveling from his braid. Duo hugged his knees to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth, whispering to himself.
Suddenly, he jerked. "Who's there?" he called out, his voice breaking on "there". "Willie?"
"I heard you and I thought you were having another nightmare," she offered simply, crossing her arms over her chest so her erect nipples wouldn't show. "Wanna talk about it, Duo?" He said nothing, but watched her with frightened eyes beneath his brown bangs. Willie sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, noting that he was still aroused. So he didn't come, she thought, frowning, but her musings were disturbed by a soft sob.
"Duo? Honey? Are you okay? Do you want me to go get some juice, Duo? I'll be right back..." That'll give him some time to jerk off, she thought rather unpleasantly, and padded down to the kitchen for some fresh-squeezed orange juice. Yet when she returned, he was still sitting, curled up in a ball. Willie seriously doubted he'd moved at all while she'd been away. He sat up slowly, accepting the plastic cup gratefully, and sipped at it, trying to drown in the bottom of the cup.
Willie decided to gamble. "You were crying out, Duo. I could hear you from down the hall. What's wrong?"
"You know, then." It wasn't right for someone so young to sound so...hopeless.
"I only know bits and pieces of what the staff's told me." Duo's head turned towards her, eyes questioning. "Everyone's looking out for you, Duo. You don't ever have to worry about him doing anything to you unless you want him to." She could see the rose tint to his cheeks and smothered a laugh.
"Yeah, someone was really looking out for me when--the pool," he said vaguely, waving his hand in dismissal. "It's nothing."
"Duo Maxwell, something is obviously bothering you and I'm not leaving until you, as you children are fond of saying, 'spill.' Now, are you going to tell me or am I going to have to sit here all night? I will. I'll stay as long as it takes--"
"Okay, enough already," Duo said, scowling. "I kinda like Heero. But I still think he's an asshole and he's a pompous jerk--"
"Wait, wait, wait," Willie sighed. "You kinda like Heero? You either do or you don't, love, that's how life works. And Heero is not an asshole, I've known the boy since he was in diapers. He's misguided." The American sniffed.
"Okay, so I *do* like Heero. But he's going back to school soon and I don't know if I should tell him, I mean I yelled at him a lot and he looked really angry. What if he's still angry? I wouldn't know what to do and I'd feel like such a complete idiot--"
"Slow down, I'm not going anywhere. You know," she said conversationally, swinging her long legs as they dangled over the side of the bed, "you won't find out anything unless you talk to him. He's a nice boy." Duo, feeling as if he'd stepped straight into the gossip scene with all the girls from Grease, giggled.
"You think I should?"
"I do," she said firmly, pulling the sheets up to Duo's chin as she urged him to lie down. "Let it wait until the morning, Duo. You can take my Lexus over to his house; Pierre can give you the address. It'll all be fine, Duo."
"Mmm..." He was already nodding off again, a little smile playing over his face.
He almost blurted out, "But Relena said..." but thought the wiser of it. Quatre had a feeling Trowa wouldn't take too kindly to being discussed, especially with someone as...Relena-like...as the gossiping bitch herself. He hadn't seen it before, but now that her lie was exposed, he could see past the sweet smiles. He only hoped Heero knew what he was dealing with.
"I thought--"
"Quatre," Trowa cut in, reaching out and capturing the blonde boy's face between soft hands, "why are you doing this?" The Arabian could barely breathe; his face was mere inches from Trowa's. He could feel his breath ghosting lightly over his face, making his skin tingle. He could smell the cologne he wore, the slightly spicy scent that tickled his nose. It was doing terrible things to his body, and he pulled away, though not enough to give the impression he was rejecting him.
"I think it should be fairly obvious," replied Quatre, not rattled in the slightest. "Haven't you felt it? It's the strangest...and the most amazing thing I've ever felt in my entire life. It's like," he paused to smile, "it's like waking up to watch the sun rising and realizing just how small I am in comparison to the rest of the world. It's...lust and it's love and it's just..." His hands waved absently as he fought for the words. "It's...it's...like finding something I didn't know I'd lost."
Trowa studied him for a moment. "That's how you feel," he said tersely, as if daring him to take it back. Quatre tried a smile he hoped was encouraging and nodded. "Quatre." He stopped, wavering visibly. "I haven't done anything to make you feel that way." The blonde's face fell. "But..."
He reached forward and crushed the smaller boy to his chest in a surprisingly forward move. "I'm glad you do." They stood that way, staring at the other's forehead, not trusting themselves to meet their eyes.
Quatre's heart was pounding in his rib cage, so fast he was sure his chest would burst with all the strange sensations and feelings wreaking havoc inside of him. All the advice Heero had given him, the insinuations by Relena, the articles, the Internet searches [1], flew out of his head. There was nothing calculated or hierarchical about this; they had been wrong, wrong, wrong. There was no system to approaching one's love, no script of set lines guaranteed to win love and affection.
Quatre gathered the remains of his shredded courage and, standing on the balls of his feet, brushed his lips over Trowa's. They both froze, drinking in the sight of each other shadowed in the dim light from the windows of the practice room.
The way the light played over his face, all he could see was one unblinking, steady green eye, staring intently back at him. He was only dimly aware of Trowa moving, threading his arms around Quatre's back, swaying slightly to music only they could hear.
And the dance began.
Quatre kissed him deeply with all his newfound skill, hands caressing his neck, drinking in the shivers that ran down his back eagerly. Trowa responded hesitantly at first, then parted his lips, tongue stroking Quatre's, pulling him into his mouth. They broke away, the sounds of light panting filling the air.
And back again. He tugged insistently at Trowa's shirt, moving the green-eyed boy's hands so his arms crossed, helping him pull the white shirt off. It fell to the ground, unnoticed, as the blonde boy began to back Trowa up, pushing him onto the vinyl bench. His hands slid from his neck, down the slight indentations of his shoulder blades, playing over the bumps of his spine. At the same time, he began to kiss his neck, teething the smooth skin, drawing the most arousing sighs from his soon-to-be-lover.
Quatre wanted him...wanted their first time to be perfect. His first time! It nearly blew his mind away that no one had yet claimed this perfect creature; he was certainly luckier than he'd ever thought. "Trowa..." They paused in their various states of undress. "Will you let me?" He gave a quick nod, smiling in a way that was both innocent and knowing.
Quatre kicked off his shoes with a pair of dull thuds; he heard Trowa do the same. They kissed again, floundering around with buttons and socks, desperate to stay in contact with each other, hopping around the bench. He pulled off his own pink shirt, nearly stumbling as he attempted to toss it across the room to join Trowa's.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and swallowed hard. He had undressed while Quatre was busy nearly falling over, and stood before him with lowered eyes. Still clad in tan khakis, he crossed the room and kissed him, moving his hands slowly over the small of his back and the round curve of his buttocks. "Trowa?" he asked again.
"I'm not made of glass, Quatre." His voice was amused, almost laughing. Quatre found himself smiling and let out a breath he'd been unaware of holding. "Now...did you want to paint my picture or do something else...constructive?"
It was almost like something out of a dream. He was only aware of being lowered to the bench, shivering as the slight breeze raked over his skin, the length of Quatre's body stretched out over him. He shifted slightly, every single nerve singing and humming as the blonde boy began to move over him, hands bracing himself on the very edge of the cushion.
He couldn't stop a moan as strong hands caressed his thighs, so close to where he needed them to be. A soft sigh, and then those fingers wrapped around his erection firmly, moving slowly in languid strokes. Trowa was vaguely aware of a finger, slowly moving inside him, stretching him, the very tip caressing him in a strange imitation of what would follow. It wasn't good enough, there was something else, some kind of pleasure he knew had to exist. Instinct overcame inexperience and he pushed back on the finger, eyes sliding shut in concentration.
There!
Every muscle in his body grew taut, straining against his skin, white hot fire searing through his veins, burning and soothing. Another finger, another flash of bliss that made his whole body ache. He could hear his own desperate pants, mingled with Quatre's, and thrust his hips up, allowing the tiniest smile to form as his movement wrung a soft curse from his love.
Two last finger, then emptiness. In a way, it was almost worse than the desire that was slowly eating him alive from the inside. Then he was there, pushing inside, rocking forward on his hips, making little groaning noises that were slowly driving him towards a precipice from which neither had any intentions of turning away from.
With one last cry, Quatre thrust forward, trembling as he came, calling out Trowa's name in a choked voice. His momentum carried him deep within him, the head of his penis nudging that place, once, twice, and then he was gone, stumbling through the darkness, fumbling through to the light. It was as if he had tunnel vision, and he was focused on one person, one brilliant flash of heat and emotions and love and he could feel something inside breaking and he wasn't sure what it was, only that it was slowly warming him until he was burning and then all in one moment it cracked. He thought he heard glass shattering and then silence.
"Trowa..."
He looked into Quatre's eyes, and the undisguised feeling he saw there shook him to the depths of his soul.
End Part Eight
Ariana
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