24 Jul 2006
This is a little fic I actually wrote a while ago, but never quite finished until recently. It's in the same arc as Quatre's Problem, so you can expect Q to be empathic and rather horny...
Title: Trowa's Temptation
Author: WingNut
Archive: Gundam Wing Addiction; anywhere else, please ask
Rating: PG-13 (boys kissing boys! Oh boy!)
Spoilers: for how Quatre and Trowa meet
Notes: This is nothing special, just my take on the Quatre/Trowa meeting (I think every GW author writes one of these...) This is also the second story of Horny!Quatre, who first appeared in Quatre's Problem. I'm hoping to write more of Horny!Quatre's interactions with the other pilots, but that will depend on the muses and rl.
Disclaimers: I don't own the characters from Gundam Wing; Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu do. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction.
Sandrock stood amid the ruins of the Alliance's Corsica base, facing off against a large mobile suit. In the cockpit, Quatre frowned slightly as he concentrated, opening his spaceheart to the enemy pilot so as to better judge his intentions.
Determination, confidence, a deep calm, with only the merest wisp of fear...
"That pilot isn't relying on any sort of firearms," he warned the Maguanacs.
A thundering whine split the air and a transport shuttle shot away from a hangar.
"Crap! There goes an OZ aircraft!" Quatre said, his attention momentarily diverted.
The distraction was the opening the other pilot had been looking for. If Quatre hadn't felt the anticipation through his spaceheart he would have been caught completely off-guard -the other man was that fast.
The red and white mobile suit blasted toward him, a metal blade suddenly extending from one wrist. Quatre stepped Sandrock forward into the slash, trapping the arm against his side. With his right arm, he punched the centre of the other mobile suit's chest, hoping to break through with his gundam's superior strength.
Surprisingly, he didn't cause any visible damage to the other suit. His second blow didn't even land as Sandrock's fist was caught and held in an unbreakable grip.
The suits strained against each other, circuits overloading, metal skins grinding together.
Quatre's mind raced, putting the facts together. The other mobile suit had to be made of gundanium to have stood up to Sandrock's attack without damage, and gundanium was only readily available on the space colonies. There had obviously been fighting going on at the base before Quatre arrived. The gundam's pilot had been calm until that distracting OZ shuttle appeared; now he was emitting waves of frustrated aggression.
"This isn't right," Quatre murmured. "It's not." That other pilot was an ally, he was sure of it.
Quatre locked the controls and flipped open the hatch, running out as soon as it was level. "You and I shouldn't be fighting each other!" he yelled. He could feel the wave of horrified amazement from the Maguanacs at his sudden appearance, unarmed and unprotected, but he kept his concentration on the mobile suit in front of him.
Almost immediately, the green glow died in the other suit's 'eyes,' and the chest hatch opened. A tall, slender young man paced out slowly, hands held up in a classic gesture of surrender.
There was an interesting mix of emotions rolling off the other boy - reluctance, resolve, wariness, and a healthy respect -the last probably reserved for the 40 mobile suits surrounding him.
Then Quatre caught his breath as the other pilot coolly looked him over. He got the impression of a smooth fall of reddish-brown hair over direct green eyes before he was swept up in a empathic wave of admiration and lust, with undercurrents of a softer wistfulness.
Quatre felt his own emotions surge in response as he took in the other's graceful stance and long, limber body. Oh Allah, he's beautiful...
Quatre blinked, recollecting his manners. Gorgeous or not, he lectured himself sternly, he's also an ally, and he needs to be put at ease as quickly as possible, before any misunderstandings rupture our fragile truce.
He smiled slightly. "Put your hands down. I was the first one to surrender and come out, remember?" He kept his stance unthreatening, feeling the other pilot assessing not only his demeanor, but that of the Maguanacs as well.
Apparently satisfied that the desert troops would not open fire if he followed Quatre's suggestion, the other pilot slowly lowered his arms, then crossed them across his chest, looking a little defiantly across at Quatre.
Quatre only smiled a little more broadly. He could clearly feel the reactions of the taller boy - curiosity and that delightful surge of attraction whenever those green eyes swept over him, wonder as the calm gaze flicked upwards to Sandrock, and the slightest hint of nervousness mixed with determination when the Maguanacs were surveyed.
"We are fighting the same enemy, and we have clearly been sent out with similar objectives," Quatre said earnestly. "It would be foolish not to help each other."
"Easy words," the other countered softly, but Quatre could feel that his interest was piqued.
"We," he swept a hand out, indicating Maguanacs, "have a compound not too far away. Your gundam is damaged, due to my intervention. Let me prove my intentions by having your suit repaired. You are, of course, welcome to supervise or perform the repairs yourself."
Quatre almost held his breath. Say yes, say yes, say yes, he chanted to himself. He hoped that the taller pilot would read the situation as he himself did - surrounded by forty fresh mobile suits and a gundam, with his own gundam damaged and apparently out of ammunition, surely the only sensible course would be to accept the invitation.
Sensible or not, the combination of the appreciative gaze sweeping over his body and the upwelling of guarded respect that accompanied the quiet "All right" made Quatre almost giddy with happy relief.
This pilot was far too tempting to let slip away. Quite aside from the military or tactical knowledge he could glean from the other, there was the decidedly fascinating idea that here, at last, was a fellow soldier of the same approximate age, responsibilities and situation. There could be no objections to investigating certain... well... urgently personal matters.
After they had dealt with the more pressing matters of war, of course.
Quatre had been in the unsettling presence of pilot 03 - the only designation the other would reveal - for most of the morning.
After watching for a short while to ensure that the Maguanacs did, indeed, know what they were doing, 03 had allowed the repair of his gundam with a nonchalance that had almost startled Quatre. Then he realized that the other pilot either must have no detailed knowledge of his own gundam and wouldn't know if it were being tampered with - unlikely! - or must know the machine so well that he could check it over from stem to stern by himself and be sure of finding any sabotage.
Wanting to discover more about his fascinating guest, he had asked for refreshments to be served. They had sat across from each other at a small table, carefully discussing matters of military significance, at first in general and obscure terms, and then with more candour as the alignment of their ideals and plans became obvious.
But underneath his outward calm, Quatre was almost at his wits' end, and the constant state of arousal he had been in since the destruction of Corsica base this morning wasn't helping. Thank Allah he had a penchant for loose clothing...
He drank his coffee and nibbled on dates without tasting a thing. His guest's facial expression revealed nothing of what he was thinking, but Quatre could feel the other's little bubble of mental enjoyment every time he smiled, the swell of attraction each time those beautiful eyes swept over him, and most distracting of all, the ever-present wash of post-battle lust heating the other's blood.
Those intense sensations, combined with his own surging emotions and balanced by the daunting realization that he couldn't simply lunge across the table and tackle the handsome stranger, left Quatre feeling ready to gnaw his own fingers off.
He had to regain some semblance of control, before he said or did something inexcusable. Perhaps something innocuous would help calm him down. "Would... would you like to look around the base?" he asked.
03 inclined his head and said quietly, "All right."
Quatre hastily rearranged himself under the cover of the tablecloth and then stood, hoping his erection wouldn't be too obvious while they were walking. He led his guest out of the room, dredging up enough pleasant chat about their surroundings to distract them both.
Trowa leaned against the wall of the music room, hands clasping his elbows, long legs crossed, his head bowed so that his bang would cover the direction of his stare.
The little blond fellow currently caressing music from a violin was an unlikely-looking gundam pilot. At first sight, Trowa had wondered if he were, in fact, the desert army's communal bed-toy, put into the gundam's cockpit for protection.
Still... he remembered the way the gundam had squeezed its shotels around the enemy squad leader's mobile suit until it had cracked in two. There was no way that pilot was a total innocent, no matter how angelic he appeared.
And given the half-worshipful, half-familiar respect shown by the Maguanacs, he was in a position of some authority over the desert troops, rather than being an adjunct to their forces. Of course, that could be because of some sort of outdated feudal bond, but Trowa got the feeling that they truly did value the other pilot's skills, both as a fighter and a leader.
He also got the distinct impression that that respect was the only thing keeping himself out of irons while the desert freedom fighters determined his precise loyalties.
When the blond pilot had offered him the freedom of the base while Heavyarms was being repaired, the Maguanac's huge leader had shifted uneasily with barely restrained disagreement. The blond had shot the large man a quick look - half imperious, half imploring - and the giant had bowed his head in acceptance.
Trowa wasn't afraid of the Maguanacs on a personal level. He felt confident that he could take just about any one of them in a hand-to-hand fight. But the other gundam - Sandrock? - was a problem. Until Heavyarms was repaired, refuelled and rearmed, the little blond's mecha was the top weapon in the area.
Even if the kid - well, no, not 'kid', really, not with the muscle tone he could see in the other's shoulders and arms... So, even if the blond... youth... couldn't pilot his way out of a wet paper bag, it would be worthwhile to befriend him, if only to remove the biggest threat to his own freedom.
What Trowa found disturbing was how very much he wanted to befriend the other pilot. It was more than just simple physical attraction, although that was certainly a factor. He hadn't let himself open up - really open up, with no reservations - to another person since the disaster with his mercenary company. But there was something about this young man that found an echo deep in his soul.
Trowa trusted him.
Maybe it was because the blond clearly trusted him.
Trowa let his hands unwrap themselves from his arms and move to the door of the instrument cabinet, as they had been itching to do for almost half an hour now. He plucked a flute from its rack and tuned it quickly, almost silent breaths floating over the mouthpiece.
He turned and, closing his eyes to slits, began to play a counter-melody.
The clear tone of the violin stopped abruptly. Through his lashes, he could just see the startled look on the other pilot's face. Good - it wouldn't hurt to remind his host that they were little more than strangers, and that trust between them was foolish.
He hoped the reminder would work for himself as well.
The surprised look on the blond's face melted into pleasure, and the young man lifted his violin again. The two instruments sang together, melody weaving with harmony, phrases chasing each other through the air.
Quatre led his guest down the hallway, feeling much more at ease since he'd played his violin.
This was the first time they had been alone together since the music room. Their duet had been interrupted by Rashid, who had come to ask a question about the balance of the servo-motors in the left arm of the new gundam.
The other pilot had accompanied Rashid to the repair bay, and had returned just in time for the midday meal, which was taken in company with those Maguanacs off-duty. It had been pleasant, but hardly intimate.
Quatre really wanted to be intimate.
The problem was that he wasn't sure how to proceed. He disliked playing social games, saying one thing and meaning another, and yet there was such a thing as being *too* blunt. He needed to be honest, yet tactful. He had to leave the other pilot room to refuse what he so badly wanted to offer.
So instead of stopping outside the room that had been assigned to his new... friend?... Quatre slipped inside, waving one hand slightly to indicate the bed. "I thought you might want to rest now, if you are still determined to leave as soon as your gundam is repaired."
Quatre turned to find the other pilot gently shutting the door. He could feel the slight relaxation in the taller boy that came with cutting off one avenue of attack. The green eyes flicked to him, and those thin lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. "Thanks. But I doubt I'll sleep."
Quatre almost shivered at the sound of the warm voice and the concurrent wave of attraction. He desperately tried to think of some reason to stay.
"I could bring you some warm milk," Quatre offered. The smile deepened very slightly as 03 shook his head, a wave of rather affectionate amusement flowing off him.
Quatre continued, "Read you a story? Tuck you into bed?" He took a daring step forward with each suggestion. The handsome pilot kept shaking his head, but Quatre could feel his interest growing, particularly with that last offer.
"Kiss you goodnight?" Quatre said, trying not to sound too hopeful. The swell of desire coming from the other boy made his stomach flutter, but he took one last step closer and tilted his head to look up under the concealing hair into those fascinating green eyes.
Confusion, suspicion, disbelief, wonder - they swept over his spaceheart and were gone, replaced by an irresistible temptation. Slowly, the other pilot lowered his head.
Quatre's eyes slid shut as he leaned up into his first kiss. He could feel the warm mouth against his, the puff of breath on his cheek, the tongue sweeping across his lips, the - wait, the *tongue?!?!*
His eyes popped open with surprise and he swayed back. The other pilot followed his move, sealing their mouths together and tasting him deeply.
Quatre's eyelids sagged down again as he realized just how incredibly good this felt, for both of them. He laid one shaking hand against 03's firm chest, and slid the other up to curl in the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck.
When they finally pulled apart a fraction, breath gusting warm and quick, Quatre looked at the shy smile that quirked the other boy's lips and felt his heart twist with longing.
He tugged that handsome head down again and pressed forward with an open mouth, eager to try out his new-found knowledge. Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him steady and hugging him close as his kiss was returned with interest.
His mind was whirling, awash in sheer physical sensation. His body wanted to simultaneously shake with excitement and melt with desire. This was much, much better than watching Selim and Faheed.
When they finally had to break apart for a gasp of air, Quatre looked up into other pilot's smiling face with a happy grin. "There," he said playfully, "did that make you sleepy?"
The other pilot chuckled and leaned back against the door, pulling Quatre with him, his eyes laz-
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK "Master Quatre?!" came Rashid's deep, penetrating voice from the other side of the door.
Quatre stumbled backward in guilty panic.
Trowa was already leaping, twisting in mid-air to land facing the door with his gun in hand, before he realized that the knock had been on the door across the hall.
Surprise turned to self-directed anger. Fool!! He had been so caught up in kissing the sweet blond that he hadn't even heard the huge Arabian outside in the corridor. So much for being careful. Here he was, surrounded by suspicious allies at best, offended enemies at worst, and he was letting his hormones get the better of his natural caution. He didn't even want to think about what kind of mayhem would ensue if the Maguanacs discovered him molesting their revered leader.
Scalding shame at his naivety washed over him. He was alive only because he hadn't trusted anyone fully in a long time. He would do well to remember that in the future.
He holstered his gun again, overwhelmingly aware of the young blond still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. From under his bang Trowa caught sight of the boy almost wincing, rubbing one hand over his heart and reaching the other out towards him, saying softly "Please, don't..."
Whatever the other pilot intended to say was lost as the loud knock sounded on Trowa's door next.
Trowa stepped forward immediately and swung the door open, revealing - surprise, surprise - the enormous Rashid.
The Arabian bowed his head courteously, saying, "The repairs on your gundam are..." Then the Maguanac's head came up and he caught sight of the blond pilot, his hair mussed, his lips wet and ever-so-slightly swollen, and, most damning of all, that recent look of discomfort still lingering on his face.
Trowa had to hand it to him - Rashid was fast. One swift glance towards the still-pristine bed and a quick flaring of nostrils to check for the scent of sex, and the huge man continued his sentence with barely a pause.
"...complete, young master." The dark gaze speared him. "You may leave at any time." The look in the big Arabian's eyes left Trowa in no doubt that he was meant to leave at once, or suffer severe personal injury.
Trowa nodded back, not quite able to prevent the bitter twist to his lips. "Understood."
"Rashid!" the blond pilot hissed, clearly upset at this breach of hospitality.
Trowa snagged his duffle with one hand and walked quickly from the room, before he could do anything stupid like kiss the other pilot goodbye, or ask him to come along.
Two minutes later he was headed across the courtyard, determinedly planning his next steps. He would have to run a complete systems check on his gundam as soon as possible (what was Rashid thinking, letting him go like this?) and go over every access hatch and panel with a fine-toothed comb (if their positions were reversed, he would have attacked immediately) searching for unwanted additions like tracers, remote controls, or explosives (he would have half-killed anyone he had thought had tried to force the blond pilot.) He would also have to ensure that his ammunition was topped up, and that they were actually live rounds...
"Do you really have to leave?" a light tenor voice called to him. His thoughts scattered as he realized the other pilot was watching him from the room where they'd kissed. They had kissed... He firmly turned his rebellious mind away from that delicious memory.
"I won't stop you, but at least tell me what your name is before you go." There was the barest hint of pleading in the smooth voice. Then he announced with pride, "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner."
Trowa changed his slight jerk of surprise - Winner? As in the rich, pacifist Winners? - into a turn. "I have no name," he said, and was a little startled at how the admission hurt him. He had thought he was past that reaction years ago. "But if you must call me something, it's Trowa."
He turned and continued his solitary walk. "Call me Trowa Barton."
There - that would kill off whatever attraction there was between them. It wasn't likely that a peace-loving Winner would want to associate with a warmongering Barton. He resolutely ignored the little voice in his head which reminded him that this particular Winner was piloting a gundam, and that 'Barton' was an assumed name.
"Goodbye, friend Trowa! We'll meet again."
The young man known as Trowa Barton walked away without a backward glance, but the word 'friend' lodged in his heart with a warm glow that he couldn't extinguish.
When Trowa - his friend, Trowa - was out of sight, Quatre wandered over and sat on the bed. He didn't want to leave this room just yet - there was the faintest hint of the other boy's presence lingering in the still air. He hugged the memory of those two sweet kisses to him, both a balm and a disturbance to his soul.
Rashid finally voiced the anxiety which he had kept silent but not hidden. "Quatre, should we be letting him go like this? He knows the location of this base, after all."
Quatre almost laughed. "I wouldn't worry. He's not the type to go around telling anyone." He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Trowa wouldn't betray him - his feelings of almost fierce tenderness towards Quatre made the idea ludicrous.
"But what if he attacks?" Rashid persisted, his own concern coming through loud and clear.
"I almost wish he would - then at least I'd be able to see him again." The wistful words were out before he really thought them through, but even when he felt Rashid's startled reassessment of the situation, he couldn't regret them. He wanted to see Trowa again desperately.
End
(:./wingnut/trowast)
