July 2002
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Gundam Wing; Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu do. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction.
Quatre Raberba Winner was attractive, young and rich. He was the only son of his parents, and heir to the powerful and far-flung Winner Enterprises. He was the youngest of 30 children, tutored and lessoned and stuffed to the gills with business and public social skills. He was also the adored leader of a fighting force of 40 men, the Maguanacs, who both followed him blindly and protected him fiercely.
But more importantly, Quatre Raberba Winner was...
Horny, he decided, looking down at the hard ridge distorting the front of his khakis. Horny was the only word to adequately describe the feelings surging through his body. He felt a little wicked, even thinking such a word. It was obviously slang, and Mr. Watkins, his former languages and elocution master, would be quite disappointed with his low-brow vocabulary.
Horny, horny, horny he chanted to himself, blowing a mental raspberry at the long-departed Mr. Watkins. There was no way he could sit here with a... a... a boner! like this and pretend that he felt in any way proper or formal. Horny was the perfect word.
Quatre sighed to himself. He knew quite well why he was feeling this way. Rashid had explained it to him, embarrassed and gruff, after their first battle together on Earth.
The big leader of the Maguanacs had been right behind him when he had walked into what he had thought was the deserted mess tent, only to find Selim and Faheed with their hands moving urgently inside each other's pants.
The politeness drilled into him since his earliest days had had him gasping out an apology and whirling to walk out again before he could get much more than that single blazing image imprinted in his brain. It would have been rude to stare, no matter how fascinated he was.
Behind him, he had heard Rashid growling, "Private moments should be kept private! Use your own tent next time!" followed by the unmistakable sound of a large palm slapping the backs of two heads.
Rashid had found him moments later, sitting on a sand dune with his knees drawn up under his chin, staring blindly out at the desert evening. With halting words, the big man had explained that after a battle, the men needed some outlet for their excitement, suppressed fear, and relief at making it out alive. Lust was not an uncommon result.
It didn't make the troops any less effective, Rashid had hastened to assure him. In fact, the added bonds made them fight all the more fiercely.
Quatre had absorbed the knowledge with great interest, but, seeing how uncomfortable Rashid was, had merely nodded and thanked him, asking no questions. It wouldn't have been polite to embarrass him further.
But as soon as Rashid was safely out of sight back down the other side of the dune, Quatre had spread his knees, unzipped his khakis, and pulled out the throbbing erection he had had since the second he'd laid eyes on Selim and Faheed. With the mental image of the two Maguanacs to guide him, it hadn't been long before he had learned how to stroke his own flesh to completion.
Now, fresh from another battle and undeniably horny, he was looking forward to easing the ache in his groin. His hand drifted down and rubbed against the bulge in his pants, his hips swivelling automatically at the exquisite sensation.
He stroked twice more, but then pulled his hand away resolutely. He would have to wait until Fitzby had delivered the coffee tray and left again. It wouldn't be very considerate of him to give Commander Mahmoud's old servant a heart attack.
He flopped over onto his stomach to hide his arousal, and grabbed his binoculars to give his hands something else to do. He gazed around the camp, chuckling at the sight of Sandrock reclining by the shallow oasis and covered with flamingos.
He thought of the way Selim and Faheed had looked when they were pleasuring each other. Stroking himself felt wonderful, but he had the sneaking suspicion that being stroked by someone else would be even better. And he thought it would be... very pleasant... to touch someone else's body, to explore with his fingertips, to make another man gasp and moan, maybe even moan his name.
He realized he was grinding his hips against the plush carpet, and stopped himself firmly. Control, Quatre, he chided himself. Fitzby would be impossibly embarrassed to enter and find his master's young guest writhing in mindless pleasure on the ground.
He moved the binoculars idly, watching the shorebirds squawk and flutter.
Of course, he had thought of approaching one of the Maguanacs after a battle, to see if he could make one of his little fantasies come true, but... The Maguanacs were all quite a bit older than he was; the youngest was still nine years his senior. The only way he could be on an equal footing with one of them would be if he called on his status as their leader, and he really didn't want his prospective partners to be thinking that he was ordering them to cooperate. And even if they were willing, there was still the issue of favouritism, real or imagined.
He sighed again. Being surrounded by 40 lusty yet untouchable men was no picnic, especially when he could feel the echoes of their feelings through his spaceheart. He was getting better at separating their emotions from his own, but it was overwhelming when all forty were feeling the same thing, and he was just as aroused as they were.
He was just thinking that maybe he would have had time to ease himself before the arrival of the coffee tray after all, when his wandering binoculars chanced across something quite fascinating.
Selim and Faheed were standing behind a tent, hands groping and mouths meshing.
Quatre almost dropped the binoculars as he fumbled with the focus. His eyes stretched wide with astonishment as he saw Selim drop to his knees and take Faheed's rather impressive organ into his mouth. Selim started to bob his head up and down, holding his partner's hips still, and Quatre nearly came in his khakis. That had to feel better than his own hand...
"Master Quatre, I've brought you some refreshments," Fitzby said, from close behind him.
Only the fact that his entire body was already tense saved Quatre from jerking with surprise. Oh, Allah, what could he do? He was hovering on the edge of an orgasm, and if he moved at all he was going to come. He didn't think he could even put the binoculars down.
Somehow he managed to twist his shoulders around and prop himself up on one hand without either lifting his hips from the floor and revealing his erection, or triggering the orgasm he could feel roiling inside him. He strove to keep from panting, and was amazed when his voice came out sounding completely normal.
"Thanks a lot. Just place it down there." Place it down and leave, please, Fitzby, I'm about to come so hard that I may actually achieve liftoff.
Fitzby smiled, but made no motion to lower the tray. "How are you finding the Earth?" he asked in a kindly tone.
No, no, no, Fitzby, conversation is not what I need right now, Quatre thought, even as his mouth independently shaped polite, inane phrases regarding the beauty of the planet.
Mercifully, Fitzby set the tray down and left again, no doubt thinking that the young master had been out in the hot sun a little too long. As soon as he was gone, Quatre drove his hips down and against the carpet, gasping and shuddering as his orgasm gripped him.
Long moments later, Quatre brushed his sweaty bangs out of his eyes and rolled onto his back. There was an obvious wet stain on the front of his pants. He dragged himself over to the pack with his clothing in it and began to change.
This was getting to be a real problem...
(:./wingnut/quatresprob)
