15-Sept-2002
Title: Name of the Pharaoh
Author: bonnejeanne (bonnejeanne@yahoo.com) and von (sablexo1@yahoo.com)
Archive: GW Addiction - http://www.gwaddiction.com
Category: yaoi, AU, sequel, horror?
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: 3 x 4
Spoilers: None
WARNINGS: LEMON in this section (underage or offended by m/m sex please refrain), some language, VERY weird premise, a little angst. Trowa may seem OOC for part of the fic, there's a reason.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing characters and universe are the property of the copyright owners. Our stuff is ours. No money being made here.
Feedback: welcome.
NOTES: Another in the Classic Monster Series. Previous fics in the series are American Werewolf in Space, Bloodline and Broken (Silver) Arrow, all can be found at GWA.
This story is about the two remaining Gundam pilots. It introduces another Classic Monster as well. And an old "villain" makes another appearance. Hope you enjoy. This is probably not the end of the series.
Probably excessive footnotes at the bottom. ^^;;
By the time they reached a safe location, however - a small guest house rented through a series of dummy subsidiaries, on the Mediterranean coast - Trowa seemed reluctant to confront the conversation that lay between them. He spent a couple of hours giving HeavyArms a complete check-over, and by the time he left the Gundam concealed in a grove of cypress trees and returned to the house, exhaustion was etched on his face. He paused long enough to nod in a brief, abrupt way to Quatre and then fell onto a bed in one of the two bedrooms and crashed.
His sleep was not without dreaming. He wandered through unfamiliar landscapes surrounded by strange people speaking a language he did not understand until it faded into a still quiet darkness that seemed to have no feature and no end. The panic and discomfort of it caused a purely emotional rebellion in his consciousness and he woke himself with a deliberate wrench, to find himself sitting, gasping, his eyes darting around the dark room until the shapes resolved themselves into things innocuous and blandly familiar.
Rising, he pulled off his shirt, which was sticky with sweat anyway. Moving as silently as a cat, he walked through the dark cottage, finding himself drawn to a particular door, a particular room. He knew without entering that Quatre was there. It wasn't logic, it wasn't a guess or a hunch. He knew it. He could feel something, like a warm, clear energy. It made him uneasy because it was the same feeling he had followed before. And he didn't want to think about that.
A few silent steps brought him beside the bed, looking down. The Arabian pilot was asleep, shadows under his eyes telling the tale of his own exhaustion. Trowa found himself standing there for what seemed to be a long time. Then he left the room as silently as he had come, prowled the house until he found a laptop computer, and sat there until the sky lightened with an innocent, rosy dawn.
Quatre slept the sleep of the dead. He had waited, prepared himself, for the talk with Trowa. He vowed to answer every question as fully as he could concerning the previous days. When he saw that the green-eyed pilot had returned to what he had come to understand was normal, he took himself to bed and tried not to think.
At the first rays of dawn, Quatre sat up in bed. He was unable to stop the flood of images in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he stood and got dressed.
The house was still as he moved through it. Pausing at Trowa's door, he placed a hand on it and then moved past. He thought of making some tea or coffee, but never quite made it to the kitchen. Turning a corner as if drawn, the Arabian pilot looked into a room with a lone occupant as his nose caught the last scent of lotus and geranium.
Seeing Trowa at the laptop, he lingered at the doorway for a moment to watch him, before speaking. "Good morning," he said, quietly.
Trowa stretched and sat back, turning his chair slightly. Vivid green eyes met Quatre's for a long moment, one half shielded by a swath of brown hair. "I've been doing some reading," he said. Then he got to his feet. "Coffee," he said, standing up and walking towards the door.
"You didn't sleep?" Quatre asked, turning to head to the kitchen.
"I slept," Trowa answered, following Quatre to the small kitchen. He'd intended to make the coffee himself, but instead found a stool to sit on as the Arabian began opening cabinets and pulling out items. Trowa watched the blond move around. Quatre seemed... not exactly nervous, but perhaps tense. It wasn't something that seemed very natural on him.
"Good," Quatre said, finding the coffee beans. He got the pot started and then looked up at Trowa. "What were you reading, if I might ask?" he said.
"History. Archeology. Mythology." Trying to understand, he thought but did not add. Trying to find some scrap of reason not to think I've gone mad.
Quatre caught himself staring at the lines in Trowa's face. Images of the smile that was his and yet not filled his mind. 'Stop this,' he admonished himself, silently. 'It is not fair to Trowa and dangerous for you.' "Maybe I can help you," he offered. "What did you want to know?"
Trowa thought about saying no. No, I already found all the information there probably is. I know more than I wanted to know. I know enough to suggest I might not be mad, and as it turns out, I'm even less comfortable with that.
"From what I read, I picked up enough to put together a theory. It's not plausible, it's not even possible, unless we were in some world other than the reality I know. If we were in some ridiculous 20th century movie, for example, I'd say that this is what happened: I was wounded, dying. You found us refuge in some mysterious, previously undiscovered tomb, made accessible by the OZ bombardment. It happened to be the tomb of an ancient pharaoh who's spirit had been trapped there for centuries by the defacement of his likenesses and the obliteration of his name. You read a magic incantation found on an ancient scroll buried in the tomb, and the undead spirit took his opportunity to inhabit my body. He was able to do so because I was already nearly on my way out of it, so he took my place, keeping my dying body alive in the process. For some incomprehensible reason, my spirit did not simply 'pass on' or cease to be, but instead inhabited... his body, taking on some totally ludicrous power to animate the thing," his jaw clenched for a moment as he fought down a shudder, his eyes as hard as emeralds and shadowed by dark recollection. Mastering it, he continued, "You, unaware of the transference, left the tomb with the new 'me'. And I... followed." Trowa's lips closed over the rest, tightly. Under the protection of the 'movie' analogy, he could articulate this much, but not the rest. Never the rest. Never *why* he'd followed. To reclaim his body? Perhaps at first. But the bare instinctive force that had driven him had been to find... the light... find and protect.
"I want to know why it... he... why he gave up... and let me back."
Quatre looked down. Hearing the Trowa's theory, he nodded, agreeing with most of it. "You give me too much credit," he said, raising his eyes. "I... I was aware something had happened. Something was different. I made a choice to believe what my eyes told me, but inside, I knew something wasn't right, Trowa. I wanted you alive so badly, that I chose to just accept it," he added. Unclenching his fist, Quatre continued. "As far as the Pharaoh goes, there were probably many reasons why he gave up. Perhaps because he'd found his answer, or because it was the right thing to do. I don't think he believed that the transformation would last."
Trowa found himself standing up, and crossing the short distance between himself and the other boy. Found himself advancing even as Quatre's eyes widened and he took a step back. "What answer did he find, Quatre?"
Quatre blinked, but looked into Trowa's eyes, steadily. "That the one he loved was not forgotten. That no matter how they had tried to eradicate him from this world, they could not," he said, then looked down as tears stung the back of his eyes. "And... that I was not th... the one he loved," he added, looking back at Trowa.
There was a long moment of silence from Trowa who continued to look into Quatre's eyes. There were emotions rising within him that were unaccustomed. Unknown. He watched the Arabian's teal blue eyes begin to shine a little brighter and felt something reach out and touch him in private places that had always been empty.
"And was he, Quatre?" Trowa's voice was very soft, almost inflectionless.
Quatre blinked, not caring about the escaping water from his eyes. "No," he answered, feeling the word pulled from his chest. "Close," he admitted. "But it would not have been right for me either."
The answer wasn't the one Trowa had been expecting. He reached up slowly and brushed his thumb along the corner of Quatre's eye, watching the clear moisture slide along his skin. What were these tears if not grief over the loss of his... his soul mate?
The idea left a deep anger smoldering inside him, along with a deeper and more familiar chill. Slowly he lowered his hand, and even more slowly he backed away. He recognized his movement - it was the way he withdrew from a beast when he wanted to show neither fear nor aggression. Why did his instincts tell him to do this now?
Letting his eyes drop away, again like he did when working with one of the big cats who might be intimidated by a stare, he moved beside the blond and reached up into the cabinet for a couple of mugs. Pouring two cups, he picked one up and moved back, leaning against the opposite counter.
Quatre felt his hands clench as Trowa moved away. He knew what the actions meant and he needed to act or remain lost. Crossing the short distance between them, he reached up and placed his hand on the green-eyed pilot's arm. "I fought with all I had to keep you alive. I would have gladly traded places with you, Trowa. I would do so now, if I had to," he said, feeling stronger than he had ever felt before.
Trowa set the mug of coffee down abruptly, the force of it making a rat-tat-tat on the counter as his hand shook. "No," he said between his teeth. "Not that. Never."
Quatre placed his other hand on Trowa's wrist. Opening his heart, he could suddenly feel what Trowa might be feeling. "Yes," he said, looking into the beautiful face before him. "It did happen. You are not mad. I don't have an explanation of how, but you did not imagine it. If you need to blame someone, blame me. I couldn't let you die, Trowa. You... you have my heart." Trusting himself to the emerald gaze, Quatre continued, "I understand how strange that might sound to you, but it is how I feel now and always will. I'm... I'm sorry. For everything you had to endure."
Trowa stilled into complete immobility. A part of him started counting heartbeats. The sound of blood rushing in his own ears that he had actually been conscious of not hearing during a certain mad time.
A hundred or so heartbeats later, he pulled Quatre against his chest, pressing the blond pilot's face against his shoulder.
"Quatre... shut up," he said, his voice soft and even. Disobedience wasn't an option.
"I... I wasn't trying to figure out why he let me back. I was trying to figure out how the hell he had lasted all this time. You know that they believed that as long as a person's name and likeness were remembered, that person could live in the after life? That's what they did to him. They took his name, and his likeness. Condemned to non-being. So how... did he manage to remain? What kept his identity from dissolving into nothing? Alone in the dark..." Trowa shuddered involuntarily, but his voice continued, calm and even.
"You don't know me, Quatre. You don't know anything about me. You don't even know my name. It's not Trowa Barton. That's the name of a dead man, the intended pilot of my Gundam. Before I took it, I didn't have one. No name, and an easily forgotten face. I have less identity than a man who has been dead for four thousand years."
Quatre relaxed in Trowa's arms. Sliding his arms around Trowa's waist, he closed his eyes. "That's not right, Trowa," Quatre said, "I see your face in my dreams all of the time."
"I told you to shut up," Trowa said. Slowly he ran one hand down Quatre's back.
The next thing Quatre knew, Trowa mouth was pressing against his. It was completely different in every way from the two kisses before. Not gentle... but careful. Less refined... not as experienced... and unmistakably Trowa.
Quatre fell into the kiss, not knowing where it would take them, but willing to let whatever would happen unfold like a lotus. This was not the Pharaoh, but something his soul found more satisfying... a dream come true. Even the thought of it caused his skin to flush.
His arms tightened around Trowa's waist as he tasted and was tasted by the emerald-eyed pilot.
Slowly Trowa drew back, looking down into the flushed face of the young man in his arms. His heart was beating hard in his chest. It was a sensation he'd never liked before. It was associated with fear, anger, anticipation of battle. He'd always worked to disassociate from such feelings, to become cold and distant from them. He remembered the first time in years he'd felt it again - out of ammunition, grappling with the mysterious mobile suit that was as powerful as his. His heart pounding...
Quatre's eyes were wide and held no room for deception. No matter what, he knew somehow that this boy would never lie to him. Like the circus animals knew that he would never hurt them - it was instinct.
But there were wider hurdles to cross than just that. Trowa found another memory invading his thoughts. The arms of the dead man whose name he wore, around his shoulders. A tentative press of mouth to his. It wasn't unpleasant. But it didn't make his pulse race either. He'd allowed the advances in part out of curiosity. The son of Dekim Barton was brash, rough-mannered for someone used to money, but eager to introduce a young, nameless mercenary to the pleasures of the flesh. And frustrated when he could never bring anything more than occasional acquiescence from the green-eyed youth. 'You are as cold as a chunk of space-ice,' he'd exclaimed in frustration.
So why didn't he feel cold now? Why did the face turned up to his kindle an unfamiliar heat in his chest? Why had this mouth under his sent an excited electricity along his nerves and a desire for more?
Licking his lips, he wrestled with the dilemma. "Do you know what you are getting yourself into?" he asked Quatre softly.
Quatre looked up at Trowa, still enveloped in the spell of the kiss. The words sank in slowly and he swallowed. "Not exactly, no," he admitted. "But there are certain... practices I've heard of. I'm not that naive."
In spite of himself, Trowa smiled. The words on Quatre's lips only highlighted the blond pilot's purity. Yes, that's what it was, the thing he sensed even from across the desert and in the dark. A purity that shone all the brighter in contrast with his own experiences, his own cold and meaningless life.
"Oh, you're not?" he said, his voice taking on a slight resonance. "That's good to know. So what are these... practices?" As he spoke, he ran his hand up and down along Quatre's back.
Quatre felt his face increase in temperature. "I meant.. sexual practices," he said. "And then there are... well some of the men... talk," he amended, suddenly unable to meet Trowa's gaze. Looking down, he concentrated on the hand on his back. "That feels good," he said, quietly.
Trowa's mouth curved slightly as he observed the color in Quatre's cheeks. He realized that he liked the image. "I have the feeling that you weren't supposed to be listening," he said, letting his hand slide down further, tracing the outward curve of the blond pilot's rear.
"Listening?" Quatre replied, "Don't be silly, I wasn't supposed to be spying..." he added, then gasped as he felt Trowa's hand move over his rear. The intimate touch was unmistakable and caused an instant reaction in Quatre's body.
Pressed against Trowa as he was, the 'reaction' was perceptible to the green-eyed young man. Suddenly he realized that the reaction was causing *him* to react. A series of pictures assembled themselves in his mind. Things he'd seen, even done, which had never affected him very much... but picturing Quatre...
His hand tightened suddenly on the double curve. He pressed his lips to Quatre's and invaded his mouth, seeking, tasting, taking...
He did not feel detached. Desire was hot, a powerful ache settling below his waist. It wasn't comfortable.
It also wasn't empty. Or dry. Or dead. It was further from those things than he had ever felt.
Quatre felt Trowa's hands tighten and the warm lips pressed once more to his. Moving his arms up and around the taller pilot's shoulders, he held on, pressing his body against Trowa's. The normally loose fabric of his pants were stretched as he felt his own desire pulse and ache. Feeling his manhood brush against the growing hardness of his green-eyed love, Quatre began moving his hips slowly, pressing forward.
Trowa's other hand slid from the base of Quatre's neck up and into his scalp. Slender fingers with tensile strength tightened, pulling his head back and a little to the side, and Trowa's mouth left his and moved down to Quatre's exposed neck. He licked the skin, and then sucked at it, tasting a little salt on the warm surface.
"Oh Trowa," Quatre whispered, as he felt the warm flood of sensations of Trowa's mouth on his skin. The room felt like high noon in the Sahara desert as Quatre felt breathless and too warm for his clothes. Still, he held on to Trowa tightly, enjoying the experience and giving himself over to him.
The soft sigh wasn't lost on Trowa's ears. Nor was the slight shiver in the body he held against his. 'He wants this...'
'I want this.'
It was such a rare sensation.
Lifting his head, Trowa looked down, taking in all the details of the blond's expressive face.
After a long moment, he said, "If we're going to do this, we may as well do it properly. What do you think, Quatre?"
Quatre nodded. "Yes," he said, looking into Trowa's eyes. Then, "You've done this before," he said.
"I've done a lot of things before, Quatre. I hope that's not a problem," Trowa replied calmly, taking the blond by the wrist, and leading him from the kitchen.
Quatre moved with Trowa down the hall. He was about to apologize for being intrusive, but Trowa wasn't leaving him an option. Along the way, he couldn't remember feeling so free. This was different. It felt right and real.
As he moved down the small house's hallway towards one of the bedrooms, Trowa wondered, how did one take a teenage boy's virginity 'properly'?
He didn't realize his mind had fastened on the sex aspect of things because the habit of avoiding emotion was still strong. It had been shaken, subverted, perhaps was beginning to crumble, but habits don't surrender easily. So his thoughts fastened on physicalities. He ducked into the bathroom still towing Quatre and looked through the small collection of toilet articles, ending up with a half empty bottle of massage oil left by some previous tenant.
But habit or no, just the act of picking it up caused a hard flash of heat to run through his body, settling below the waist. Why?
It didn't mean anything. It was just lust. But why was he feeling it now?
Without looking back, he tugged Quatre along to the nearest bedroom. It happened to be the one the blond had occupied the night before. Once inside, he place the small bottle of oil on the nightstand and turned around. He was already shirtless. He unfastened the top snap of his jeans and then stopped. With a slight frown, he decided he didn't want to get naked while Quatre was still fully dressed, and reached out to start unbuttoning the blond's shirt.
Quatre's teal eyes watched Trowa, fascinated by his every action. When he unfastened the top of his jeans, the Arabian pilot unconsciously licked his lips and did not turn away.
Feeling Trowa's fingers unbutton his shirt, Quatre felt a little like a kid again. This time was different from being undressed by a nanny or his father for a bath. Taking a deep breath, he reached under Trowa's hands to unfasten his pants. He had not bothered with shoes that morning.
The air was suddenly cool on his chest, relieving his warm skin. Standing there, he placed his hands on Trowa's waist, watching him again.
Trowa's green eyes seemed unreadable at the moment. His hands, however, moved a little slower - not that he'd been rushing - as he pushed the shirt off Quatre's shoulders. He took a moment to look at Quatre, now that they were both half exposed, as if trying to determine what was causing him to react.
Smooth skin. Slight build, but what there was, was solid. He looked, felt, *smelled* like a rich man's son, one that had never done any work. Except of course for his hands. Still sensitive and fine, his palms were roughened with mobile suit calluses. It was a wonder it didn't affect his ability to play the violin.
Trowa noted that Quatre had unfastened his own pants. He reached down and pushed them off the other boy's hips, letting them fall to the ground. Now he was clad only in a pair of light blue silk boxers.
Losing his focus for a moment, Trowa pulled Quatre against him and ran his hands along the blond pilot's sides and down his flanks. The silk felt smooth, and caught briefly on his own none too smooth hands. The open upper teeth of Trowa's zipper rasped lightly against the smooth skin of Quatre's stomach as Trowa bent his head down, inhaling the other boy's scent.
Quatre closed his eyes, feeling enveloped by Trowa. He slid his own hands along the emerald-eyed pilot's slender muscled back. He basked in the warmth of the long arms around him and marveled at how Trowa was able to reach through his barriers, seemingly without effort.
The intensity of Trowa's actions had surprised him. From what he could tell, this was not just a casual amusement, but something Trowa really wanted. Moving his hands along Trowa's waist, Quatre unzipped the pants that Trowa wore and slid his fingers inside. Touching skin, Quatre smiled. Trowa was bare inside his pants and Quatre's fingers curled around his manhood without interference.
"You're beautiful," the blond pilot whispered.
Trowa's breath caught at the touch. Quatre's actions were bold. Trowa admitted to himself that he hadn't expected that. It disturbed him just a little, but it also made things easier. "You've got weird taste," he muttered, hooking his hands in the boxers' elastic and pulling the garment down over Quatre's hips, leaving them to pool at his feet on top of the tan trousers. Then he moved back a little so he could look down. A half-smile twitched the side of his mouth when he saw Quatre's erection rise quickly to match his own. Reaching between them, he wrapped his fingers around the swelling flesh in a firm grip. Then he began slowly stroking it.
Quatre felt his eyelids droop slightly as the sensation of Trowa's hand on his flesh sent waves of pleasure through him once more. This time was different, more intense. It drove Quatre's temperature through the roof and left him hungry for more. "I've got good taste," he managed, a little breathlessly.
"Whatever," Trowa muttered, and then took Quatre's mouth. As the kiss became more heated, his hand on Quatre's cock increased its pace and became more demanding. He kept it going as long as he could, drinking in every reaction from the other boy.
Quatre moved his hands around Trowa's waist to steady himself. He felt completely overwhelmed as his body rocked under Trowa's command. Perspiration beaded his brow and left a fine sheen on his body as he felt close to climax. It was hard to think and Quatre found himself caught up in the ancient dance.
"Trowa," he hissed finally, feeling his body give way. Quatre shuddered as his essence streamed from his body and caused his knees to buckle.
Trowa caught the blond around the waist with his other arm, taking his weight easily. His eyes focused on Quatre's face as his came, drinking the expression like water after a long march through the desert. He felt the warm thick fluid spurt out, some of it coating his fingers. He felt the muscles in his face stretch, not realizing a slow smile was painting itself there.
Finally letting his hand move away from the diminishing organ, he lifted Quatre and placed him across the low bed. Then he bent and pulled off his jeans - they were too tight to just fall down his legs. Climbing over on his hands and knees, he reclined on his side next to Quatre, looking down. The smile was still there, and he was still unaware of it as he looked down.
Quatre looked up as his body slowly started to settle. Trowa was next to him on the bed and simply stared at him for a short while. "You should smile more often," he said, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Trowa's face.
The expression was replaced with a blank one. Then a slight frown. The frown was because Trowa found himself wanting to lean into the touch on his face. "I guess you liked that," he said aloud, changing the subject. He reached over and began idly running his fingers across Quatre's chest. His own body was aching, but he wasn't in such a hurry to do anything about it.
"Yes, I did," Quatre said, watching the expression on Trowa's face change. You're scaring him, he thought, brushing Trowa's cheek, then moving his hand away. "I... I guess that's selfish, but I liked it a lot, Trowa. You're ... great."
Trowa laughed. It was soft, and short, but it was definitely a laugh. "One handjob and I'm great?" he said. Leaning over, he kissed Quatre, actually putting a little tease into it. "You need to get out more, L4." His fingers spiraled around first one of Quatre's nipples, then the other, watching to see how the blond would react.
Once again, Quatre was caught by conflicting emotions. Everything seemed to happen at the same moment, making him a little dizzy. He kissed Trowa back, enjoying every second. He felt pleasure as Trowa's fingers touched his nipples and found that he could not suppress a moan that emanated from deep inside his chest.
Hearing the soft moan, Trowa leaned closer the licked one of Quatre's nipples. He seemed to like everything Trowa did. Consideringly, he licked the other one. Leaning over this way, his hair brushed Quatre's skin. "So what do you want to do next?"
Quatre closed his eyes as he felt the warm, wet tongue on his skin. As Trowa's hair brushed him, he giggled. Sliding his hands around Trowa's face, he pulled him up for a deep kiss. Looking into the jeweled eyes later, Quatre considered the question. "Lie back," he said, softly and reached for the bottle of oil.
Uncapping it, he poured a little in his hands and warmed it by rubbing his palms together. Then, he placed them on Trowa's shoulders and moved them up Trowa's neck and back down.
The oil was of good quality, Quatre could tell. It was viscous enough to last, but not so much as to suffocate the skin. A little went a long way. Moving his hands over the expanse of Trowa's chest, Quatre could feel the muscles just beneath his love's skin. Beautiful, he thought to himself.
Gliding further down Trowa's long body, Quatre's eyes took in every curve and nuance. Moistening his lips with his tongue, he slid his hands over Trowa's flat stomach and down over his thighs. His eyes, however were transfixed on Trowa's erection. He wanted to touch it again, caress him as he had been caressed. "I'm afraid I've reached the end of my practical knowledge," he said, looking back up to Trowa's face. "I like touching you," he added. "I've dreamed about it, but I've never gotten this far with anyone. Most of my knowledge is from watching or reading books. I'm sorry."
Trowa relaxed as Quatre moved his hands over his body. It felt pleasant. The oil had a nice scent. His eyes blinked open as he heard the blond's last remarks. Reaching down, he took Quatre's hand and placed it on his cock. " 'Watching'?" he repeated, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "A nice boy like you shouldn't be watching other people fuck, Quatre... you're quite the closet pervert, aren't you?" There was a note of amusement in his voice along with an increasing roughness as he was aroused by Quatre's touch.
Quatre squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, feeling his cheeks warm again. "Yes, I know," he said, as he stroked Trowa's manhood. Trowa's body was so different from his own and so exciting. He heard the slight roughness in Trowa's voice and it spurred him on, making him want to take other bolder steps. "You're the only one I've ever told," he said, leaning further down over Trowa's body.
"Do you find it... distasteful?" Quatre asked, watching the loose skin move up and down in his hand.
Trowa laughed, and this time it was a loud sound, driven by sexual tension. "Dis... ha ha! Master... Quatre... you don't have any idea what you are fraternizing with, do you?" He took deep breaths to calm the laugh and get control of his body's escalating reaction. "I'm not that refined. I find it... a little cute, and more than a little... naughty." Sitting up abruptly, Trowa pulled Quatre's head up and kissed him. This one was deeper, aggressive, and a bit nasty.
Quatre was surprised again and more than a little swept away by the kiss. Violent and dangerous, he thought absently, recalling his first assessment of the other pilots to Rashid. Trowa's assessment of his clandestine activities was about what he had expected. Naughty was the most he could rouse, leaving him feeling not a part of the violent and dangerous set. When I die, they're going to say, he was a Gundam pilot... the nice one, he thought.
"Ok," he said, a short time later, "What now? You'll have to show me and I want to learn, Trowa. I'm just sorry to be a burden."
Trowa's eyes widened and then he moved suddenly, pushing Quatre onto his back and moving over him. "You little idiot," he growled softly. He kissed Quatre roughly, wanting to make that brief moment of self-pity self-destruct. He rubbed his body against Quatre's, nudging his legs apart instinctively. He leaned his forehead against the blond's. "You're not a *burden*. You're a damn tease. I want to *fuck* you, Quatre. Do you understand that?"
Quatre's mouth opened in protest that he was a tease, but the words froze on his lips. Feeling Trowa all around him again, he swallowed. "Uh... ok," he managed. "I... I understand."
Trowa frowned. He thought Quatre didn't sound particularly eager. Of course why should he? "You don't have to," he growled, but his body wasn't agreeing with him. He wanted... he'd already slid between Quatre's legs and nudged them wider apart. His cock rubbed itself against its counterpart, the friction sending waves of heat through his body.
"Trowa shut up! Tell me what I need to do," Quatre said, leaning up to kiss him. His breathing had rapidly increased with the delicious friction of Trowa's body above him. Suddenly, he didn't care if he was laughed at or made the nicest guy in the universe, he knew what he wanted and he was right there in his arms.
Trowa wanted to laugh at the blond telling him to shut up, but his body was a bit past laughing now. He reached over and snagged the bottle of oil and managed to pour some into his palm. Then he reached down between Quatre's legs and rubbed the oil deeply into the cleft under his balls. "Bend your knees," he instructed, as his long fingers delved deeply, seeking the tight opening.
Quatre moved his legs up to comply with Trowa's instructions. The long fingers felt wicked and decadent probing his body. Quatre felt himself stir and harden as he raised his hips for Trowa.
Trowa's body was aching, but he made himself go carefully. The man whose name he stolen had gone carefully with him, he didn't want to think he was more of a brute than Barton. He eased his finger inside, murmuring "Relax..." under his breath. He worked Quatre's body until it began to do that, and accept what was happening. More probing and stretching. A little more oil, some of it smeared on himself, easing the ache but only by a fraction. He took his time but was damp with sweat when he finally began to ease himself inside the blond's tight body. It was almost painful, and definitely pleasurable. It felt amazing. Looking down, he watched Quatre's face. That was amazing. He felt his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He wanted to thrust hard, but he also wanted to see pleasure on the blond's face. Quatre should enjoy himself... otherwise it was all... wrong...
Slowly he began to move.
Quatre was shocked, delighted and pleased as he felt Trowa joined with him. This was a lot more than what could ever have been described in a book or even observed. Suddenly, he was truly not alone, but a part of a union. His eyes opened wide up to Trowa, watching the emotion and expression play across the emerald-eyed pilot's face.
As Trowa began to move, Quatre felt his body awaken in a way he'd never felt before. Pain gave way to pleasure and soon the Arabian found himself moving in time with his lover.
"Oh Trowa," he breathed, bracing himself against Trowa's shoulders. "Could you... a... harder..." he manage, shivering at the contact.
Trowa eyes closed for a moment and then a slow smile curved his lips. "Yeah," he mumbled. His body followed suit, taking on a faster rhythm, a deeper thrust with each stroke, his own body submerging in the wonderful friction and velvet heat. He kept his eyes on Quatre beneath him. Somehow Quatre's face still had a near-angelic look even when flushed with arousal and moaning his pleasure. The energy radiating from his body seemed to shine through Quatre's skin. And with each movement, Trowa was joining to that light, taking part of it for himself.
Quatre reached down, taking his cock in his hand. The dual sensations of Trowa moving inside of him while he stroked himself sent him to another level. "Yes," he intoned without much awareness. Opening his eyes wide, he looked up at Trowa. "Trowa... more," he breathed. "As much as you want," the Arabian said, feeling Trowa fill him completely. His hand flew over his cock, urging him on.
Trowa silenced the blond with a deep kiss, muffling his own groan as his body began to build towards completion. One of his hands closed over Quatre's and his back arched as he reached it, the sensations more intense that he ever remembered feeling.
Quatre was breathing hard as he felt Trowa climax inside of him. his own body gave up its essence moments later. After a while he opened his eyes, feeling and seeing Trowa around him.
Trowa relaxed on top of Quatre as his breathing slowly returned to normal. He felt deliciously relaxed. He'd never felt a relaxation like that before. It was... a little decadent. Slowly he shifted his weight a little to allow the blond some breathing room. Settling on his side, he curled around Quatre. He met the other boy's eyes, gazing back. Perhaps there were words to say but he didn't know what they were. He was too immersed in this feeling. Or lack of a particular feeling - no emptiness. Somehow, he felt filled with light.
Quatre smiled up at Trowa, not feeling the need to speak either. Later, he thought, settling himself, I'll talk later. No need to spoil this time we have.
Trowa almost seemed to hear Quatre's thoughts. A little curve touched his lips and he settled, resting his head down as his eyes started to fall closed. One arm drifted across Quatre's waist and his hand fastened there. This time when sleep came, there were no dreams.
~owari~
ABOUT THE PHARAOH:
Smenkhkare was one of the last pharaohs of the 18th Dynasty of the New Kingdom. He was succeeded by "the boy king" Tutankhamun. Smenkhkare's predecessor, and for a short time co-ruler, was Tut's father, Akhenaten, who was known as 'The Heretic'. The reason for the name:
"Virtually no phase in the history of our planet's civilizations has so many unanswered questions, and attracts so many theories, as the Egyptian 'Amarna Period' when the Heretic Pharaoh Akhenaten turned away from the traditional gods and embraced his one god, the Aten sun disk.
Why did he turn his back on the existing Gods and close their temples, what was the relationship between Akhenaten and Tutankhamun, and what was the real reason for the apparent massive anti-Atenist backlash that followed his death?"
from "The Amarna Site", http://homepage.ntlworld.com/dizzydalek/amarna/index2.htm
"King Smenkhkare is thought to have ascended to the throne either in the latter years, or after the death of Akhenaten. Very little is known about his reign which appears to have been quite short. A mummy found in tomb KV55 in the valley of the kings is thought to be his, although the evidence is by no means conclusive and a lot of lively debate continues on the subject.
This body was found in a coffin which had the royal cartouche hacked out making a positive identification impossible."
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/dizzydalek/amarna/smen.htm
For someone so little known, a number of strange and interesting theories have arisen around Smenkhkare:
"Here is another typical couple image. However, it seems to be a picture of two kings rather than a king and a queen. Since the cartouches have been cut out, it is impossible to make a definite identification of both figures. The figure at right is almost certainly Akhenaten. The other one is probably his co-regent, Smenkhkare. However, the intimacy of this scene has led some to doubt this identification -- one proposal is that the figure on the left is actually Nefertiti, who was occasionally shown in a crown usually reserved for men. However, the person's figure is portrayed as no more feminine than Akhenaten's, nor is he/she wearing the long gown that Nefertiti almost invariably wore. Still others have proposed that the other figure is indeed Smenkhkare, and that this picture indicates a homosexual relationship between the two kings."
http://www.heptune.com/art.html
I have used these facts and supposition for inspiration and no claims of historical accuracy are being made.
Please feel free to direct feedback to the authors!
sablexo1@yahoo.com,
bonnejeanne@yahoo.com.
